Have I ever told you guys that my father may be the most popular former teacher in the history of Weymouth, Massachusetts? Growing up we always had his ex-students in and out of our house. Joining us for dinner, showing us country kids what it was like to be from a big, bad town like Weymouth, what with their mullets and camaros and ripped jeans. You cannot travel to any public place within a 10 mile radius of the Town of Weymouth without my dad being detained by at least one former student. I personally, cannot spell out my last name for anyone in this town without them looking up in astonished recognition “you’re not related to the art teacher are you?” although around these parts with the language difference, he taught “aaht” and was a “wicked cool teachah.” Once, I was in the emergency room with an impacted sinus infection. I had been sobbing in pain on Erica’s shoulder for about 4 hours when they finally called me into urgent care. I handed over my insurance card so blind with pain I could barely talk. The receptionist asked me my birth date and full name, as they so often do. “Jessica Pithie, P-I-T-H-I-E” I eeked out. “Hey! Was your fathah the aaht teachah?” “Yes. Yes that’s him.” “He was the coolest teachah!” “Thanks.” (subtext: so does my cool fathah get me into see a doctor around this place?).
Fast forward to last Saturday night. I came out of volunteering at a two hour yoga workshop into the dark parking lot behind the building. As I sauntered up to my car in a dreamy cloud of namastayed bliss, I saw all this crap on the ground. “Say, what is all that crap on the ground” (internal flash of me setting my big fat, stuffed with my whole life purse right on the seat of my car before locking it and heading into the workshop). “SHHHIIT” I had been burglarized. The VICTIM of CRIME. I felt violated, I wept a little, I called the cops. My yoga buddies gathered round me and offered support. We checked the dumpster hoping that maybe my purse had been rifled through and then ditched. The Weymouth Police arrived on the scene. “So you left your purse in the car” (what he really means: “so you actually ASKED out loud to be the victim of this crime, idiot?”).
Weymouth PD: “And what is your name?”
Me: “Jessica Pithie P-I-T-H-I-E”
Weymouth PD: (eyes light up) “Any relation to the art teacher?”
Totally classic. I had to laugh at times like this it’s still pretty nice to know that your dad’s a living legend. I like to find the humor in otherwise completely and totally irritating situations. I also like to focus on the small victories, like the fact that the thieves may have made off with my purse, filled with my whole wallet, unused Christmas gift certificates and my (sob!) camera but they neglected to steal the brand new, unopened bottle of Sauvignon Blanc on the passenger’s seat. I might have had to drive home with a broken window in the middle of February and I might have had to brave lines and customer service representatives from the DMV to Bank of America but at least I still had my wine and at least I was the daughter of the coolest aaht teacher in Massachusetts history.
So the moral of this story is this: no Porky Dickens post this week due to varying technical difficulties. First, I’m moving on Saturday so my house is in a shambles and I can’t even think about preparing a meal right now. Second, the Porky Dickens house camera has been stolen. So even if I made the most beautiful soufflé in culinary history I wouldn’t even have the means to prove it to you. Have a great weekend and here’s hoping I’ll be back up and running from my NEW kitchen next week. Until then, here's a farewell to the kitchen at 59 Beaumont, where Porky D was born. Aw! I'm getting verclempt!