A) I simply cannot stop listening to this! It's been my constant soundtrack today.
1) Barely awake, slumped into Daddy's recliner and my first cup of coffee, and Laura asks, "If you got dressed now, could we have breakfast at IHOP?"
Me (truly bewildered): “Why wouldn’t we have breakfast here?”
Laura: “Because if we went out we wouldn’t have to clean up afterward.”
2) En route, and learning that the IHOP was across town and had already not gotten a good review from Taylor (who wasn't joining us), I suddenly blurted out "Why don't we go to the Pitt Grill?!" The grill had the advantage of being quite close by and (at least for me) being a small local business as opposed to a chain. We all agreed, and were almost instantly there.
3) Mother looked as though she'd "stepped from a bandbox*," crisp and trim in a long brown jacket, brown slacks, a leopard-print silk scarf, and perfect makeup. As for the rest of us . . . not so much.
4) This is the third location of the Pitt Grill that I've known. And even though it's quite different from the first location, every time I come here I remember going to the first location on Prom Night 1980 for midnight supper . . . which is a story for another time.
5) A good breakfast . . . except for their coffee. A diner really has to use its coffee as the cornerstone of its reputation, and this . . . this was just tepid.
6) Bathtime with The Economist was preceded by an alarming visit with the bathroom scale. No wonder my relationship with Size 34 had become so strained!
7) Three-sided Scrabble after my bath. I had both the Z and the Q, and Laura noted at the end that I used 100% of triple word scores played in that game. Then Laura and Niece Who Must Not Be Tagged drove off home to beat the rain. Before departure I asked Niece to take a photo (see above), but when I tried to do a selfie with her, her hand immediately went to her face, and that was that.
8) After lunch the weather started to turn, and Mother was anxious to get to the post office to get more stamps. I tried to put her off since the weather (hopefully) would be better tomorrow, but nothing doing. So I hastily packed a box of chicory coffee and Christmas presents to mail myself, and off we went. I mean, it WAS Boxing Day - why not actually do something with a box? And this way my anvil collection will be that much lighter at the airport.
9) Then the bank, and the first time I'd driven through a drive-through window in many years. The bilingual deposit and withdrawal slips in the pneumatic containers started Mother on her interest in making English the official language on the U.S. We had a spirited discussion on the topic.
10) The rain was coming down by the time we left the bank, and we settled in for the rest of the day at home. Today this ended up meaning no NAP, but Postmodern Jukebox (see above), corresponding with a couple friends, and solitaire. Because at that point, my brain was Jello.
11) During more early evening Scrabble, I continued in earnest my online research of the organizations that keep pelting Mother with junk mail. My goodness! The blog Drowning in Junk Mail is quite helpful (even though some of the info is from a couple years ago), and there were some other sites. I'll refrain from naming the charities 'cause I don't want to turn up in searches, but my goodness, some of 'em are wily about reporting, changing their addresses, and their telemarketing practices.
12) Over dinner, more discussion of charities, but also health and healthcare, and Daddy, and last Christmas. Mother remembered that her father was 57 when he had his fatal heart attack, and made it clear that I need to do something about my paunch.
13) I can hardly believe it's 10:30ish now, and that tomorrow is my last full day at home. It feels like I've been here forever, but arrived yesterday.
* This phrase was used by Walter Lord in his influential book A Night to Remember to describe Mrs. John Jacob Astor as she headed to the lifeboats on the Titanic.