We’ve been helping my sister this past week as she moved into a smaller apartment. Some things just had to go but she was able to find a spot for the desk my parents gave her when she turned ten. No idea what happened to the one they gave me but I remember writing a girlfriend’s address on the bottom side of one of the drawers. It was probably handed down to one of my brothers when I left the house. My sister is much more sentimental than I. It would be more accurate to say she is sentimental about more things than I am.
It was such a nice night we decided to drive east along the lake and have dinner at El Rincón in Sodus. We couldn’t do that without stopping at my brother Fran’s place. We never expected to find him home but his truck was in the driveway. We hollered inside and he came out, shaving cream on his face and a towel around his waist and told us he was getting ready for his fortieth reunion.
Between courses at El Rincón I looked up our niece’s address. She had just moved and it turned out she was six minutes away in a two hundred year old farmhouse. We stopped and got a tour while the kids broke open a stuffed animal and scattered lightweight styrofoam kernels all over the house. We never talked about the upcoming family picnic, the one where one party refuses to vaccinate their kids and another won’t bring their kids for fear of what they might be exposed to.
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