To my Norwegian-accented grandmother,

Who always called dessert "delsi" and potatoes "passoes."

Inventor of the perfect golden McFarland Pancake.



To the twice-a-day vacuumer

Who always covered the good mahogany dining room chairs

With plastic before

We kids could sit in them.

Who would always scold us

When we accidently knocked the lampshades

off center.



To the driver of a sparkling grey '69 Mustang

Who would always go thirty-five

On the San Francisco Parkway,

And when someone else drove

Wanted to know,

"Where's the fire?"



Just wanted you to know,

Every other Sunday,

Your pancakes live on.



Just wanted you to know,

Dad is now

The lampshade policeman.



Just wanted you to know,

We still go over thirty-five

On the highways.