A drop removed from the bucket

Diana’s 19-year-old daughter will head back to her college town today, along with a VW beetle full of items we will not longer be needing.  If only she had a bigger car.

As it was, I poured all of my creativity into filling every inch of that pea-green egg.  And Diana was even more tenacious, digging through closets, cabinets and hutches for just one or two or seventeen more things she might be interested in.

When all was said and done, we had succeeded in providing most everything Jennifer would need to move into her first apartment, except silverware.  We had two sets of that, as well, but both Di and Jennifer hate the “guy silverware” I brought to the party from my bachelor days.  It’s ultra heavy with a clean modern look that they’ve been making fun of since they day I moved in.  Apparently, the forks look like “sporks” and the spoons resemble alien heads.  Bottom line: Jen won’t take it and Diana won’t eat with it, so it was determined that we needed to go buy some.

This felt sick and wrong.

In other news, I decided to explain to my 82-year-old dad what a blog was, then showed him mine.  He spent a good part of the afternoon reading the whole thing from the bottom, up.   If you’ve been following along, you know that Dad pretty much thinks we’re bat-shit crazy, particularly when we talk about dragging him along.  However, after he finished reading, I did get the sense that he at least understood where our heads were at.

I’d write more about all that, but he may decide to keep reading this stuff going forward (Hi dad!).  And given that we’re locked in a game of poker, here, I need to keep my cards reasonably close to the vest.

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