I packed minimally for the week. Three pairs of socks, three pairs of underwear, a couple t-shirts and a change of pants, No jacket or hat, just a sweater. And yet I still had too much on me. My Swiss Army knife was confiscated at the airport check point. I could have mailed it home for twenty bucks but I chose to say goodbye to it. My sister-in-law offered me a beer when we arrived at her house and I reached in my pocket for the opener. Grr.
My nephews, one from Venice and the other from West Hollywood, met us here. The younger is a chef and he made Mexican. He grilled the vegetables outdoors and we watched the moon rise. We are not in Rochester anymore.
Peggi’s sister turned in after dinner and we started watching her Netflix disc, “Straight Outta Compton,” but the soundtrack was too loud upstarts so we saved it in our queue for or return.
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