Hello Muddah, hello Faddah

We had my parents over for Father's Day today. It went okay. I always struggle to find a card that seems appropriate. My dad doesn't golf, grill, or fish, so that rules out many of the cards. I need a card that says something to this effect: I don't always like you or your opinions but I do love you. I did okay card-wise. After our lunch and dessert, my mom had a headache and had a nap. Lars also went to sleep, since he's working overnight tonight. That left my dad and I. I suggested we come into the living room and I popped the TV on. We watched a couple hours of PBS, chatting a little. He also snoozed a bit while I knit. When my parents got ready to go home, I went and got a throw rug that I bought on whim and gave it to my mom. It seemed something she would like. I do this sometimes. I pick things up that I like, but subconsciously I must know that my mom would really like it. Anyway, my dad saw the rug and started squabbling with her about it. "Just where are you going to put that?" he asked her. I didn't catch her answer, but his response was "Let's not get into it here," and then they drove off. I think the rug will look lovely in their sun room, with the terra cotta tiles. So there, dream squasher father!

When it comes down to it my mom is a bit of a collector, and my dad is more orderly. It doesn't mean that he doesn't collect things. Some day I will inherit his many, many notebooks detailing the planting season and subsequent harvest and selling of stuff. It will be interesting to look at, but not profound. It will probably remind me how much I am becoming like him.

I'm watching the Celtics. I remember my young girl crush on Danny Ainge. I've sadly lost touch with the Celtics, but they're always there to come back to.