For a middle-aged dad spending a relaxing weekend with his two 13 and 9 year old girls Pixie’s place opened communication in ways an already loquacious and annoying father can only dream about. Pixie’s place brought us together like the whiskey and the rye, the ice cream and pie, the lover and the sigh. His description of his home boasts joy, light, peace and heart. True story. My daughters are budding writers, singers and avid readers. This father loved this place as will any old soul or child of the 90’s unwilling to admit the latter is indeed; just old. Pixie’s home matched our needs like the beach and suntan lotion, like gypsies and magic potion, like instant replays and slow motion, like Jacque Cousteau and the ocean, like whippersnappers and newfangled notions.
Offering books authored by Plato to David Byrne, concert DVD’s from Lucinda Williams to Guns n’ Roses, and a movie collection hitting every genre from ‘The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly’ to ‘Network’ we were as happy as hell and if we weren’t going to take it anymore it was only because one of us had to tinkle. Pixie’s place and my family went together like the leg bones and the knees, the toast bread and the cheese, the cowgirls and Lee’s, the deadbolts and the keys, the carrots and peas, the sailors and seas, golfers and tees. My kids and I bonded like burgers and fries, hippies and tie-dyes, bankers and ties, the bakers and pies, the mascara and the eyes. We were happy to say hello; sad to say goodbye. Give Pixie’s place a try.