This has not been the most wonderful day of my life. I was working at a very slow home show in Chehalis and it was hard to keep real life from intruding into the workplace.

We were told last Tuesday that Stan has more than 99% chance of lung cancer; he will have biopsy Mar 1 and after we get results, a course of treatment will be started. Some lung cancers are now curable so we're praying his will be one of those. 

The other thing that was heavy on my heart today was that our neighbor girl, Baby Abbey, was being taking off of life support today. (She was born last summer after her mother was put into a medical coma as a result of swine flu and subsequently died.) Abbey's daddy, Kenny, and brother Jacob have certainly been through a lot in the past 7 months. Abbey spit up in her sleep 3 weeks ago and aspirated. She has been in Children's Hospital since then until she went to Heaven this evening. My heart is broken for Kenny.

Since Stan's diagnosis my eyes have leaked quite a lot and most of the time very unexpectedly. Just a little bit ago I saw a picture of Nicole at WSU where she plans to go next fall. I cried just thinking that Stan may not be here to see her go off to college. So many memories come back and even though most of the memories are happy, they bring tears to the eyes and they spill out. 

Shortly after Stan decided he wanted to be married and prayed for a wife, we both went, separately, with friends to the Circle K Tavern on March 15,1969. The Circle K was across the street from Boeing Plant 2 and had a country/western band and large dance floor. Stan was already sitting in a booth w/his friends when he saw me walk in the door. He watched to see where I sat and soon came over to ask me to dance. 'Spose you know I said yes. My friends and I had an agreement that if any one of us was asked to be taken home by anyone we didn't know, that one would automatically be the driver and the others wouldn't have a way home, so when Stan asked to take me home, I was the "driver" so best I could do was agree to see him when Juanita, Vivian and I would be back the next weekend. After seeing each other 3 weeks in a row, I agreed to let him take me home. A few weeks after that when he brought me home from a date, he "accidentally" asked me to marry him. I say accidentally because he said afterwards that he meant to ask me what I planned to do with the rest of my life, but "will you marry me" came out instead. I said "yes" before he could change his mind and we were married June 28, 1969. This is probably not the type of courtship I would recommend for most people, but it's somehow lasted for 40 years!

Most of you who will read this never had the privilege of knowing him when he was not in pain. In October of 1970, while helping a coworker move a refrigerator through a door, he wrenched his back, rupturing 2 discs. He had his first back surgery a few months later and even though he had that surgery and another 5 years later for same reason, he has been in constant pain for ever since. The pain has caused him to become even more quiet than he was naturally, he still has one of the funniest--altho a bit wacky-- senses of humor of anyone I've every known. Unfortunately he keeps most of it to himself.

Blake, Kelli Mark's younger boy (11 yr-old), is over here for a few days--we're actually providing taxi service, but he sure is fun to have around when he's here. He fixed omelets for lunch today and other than the fact that we should have had 2-egg omelets instead of 3-egg, they were very good. He had a bit of trouble flipping his own, but was able to rescue all except one little bite. Fortunately he held it over the stove and not over the floor to flip. I'm sure he inherited some of his culinary skills from me, for instance, he said and he's right, that he's a good cook and baker, but messy. Stan insists that I must pre-flour the counter before I ever start to make pies.;-)

I think we've all made a few blunders in cooking. Don't know if I've already blogged about the time my sister Audrey baked an angel food cake from scratch and I'm not going to search back through to find out, so if you've read this before, you can ignore it. One time when our folks were gone and she was about 12, she decided to make the cake as a surprise. It was truly a surprise because she didn't beat the eggwhites. I don't think you could have cut it with an ax. I know when it was thrown out for the chickens to eat, their beaks bounced off it.

Recently my oven accidentally got turned off while I was baking cookies and one sheet was just a big blob of mess. I won't say who turned off the oven, but next time I ask Stan to turn off the timer, I will be sure he knows which button that is.

My dad had to have been the worst cook of all time. Once when Mother was in the hospital, and he was in charge, he made cucumber omelets for us. Another time he fried mush with green beans in it. You know the expression, "at least he tried," well that still didn't make it edible. I will say he wasn't afraid to try something new.

As I'm sitting here typing this (keying), I wish that I had have inherited my grandma (Anna) and her brother Victor's abilities to tell stories. For whatever the reasons, story telling seems to be mostly a lost art. I suppose it has much to do with the availability of books, tv, movies, etc., that we don't depend on stories being passed on from one generation to another.

I think you know that I am a deacon at my church--the first year of a 2-year term. Anyway, at our meeting last Tuesday evening we put valentine boxes together for the widows and widowers in our congregation. There were some homemade cookies, homemade as well as "storebought" candy and a couple of other things that I've forgotten. Each of us delivered them to the widows and widowers in our parishes. I know that I enjoyed delivering them and visiting with my three "deliverees" at least as much as they enjoyed getting the boxes. I hope it becomes a tradition.

Speaking of homemade cookies, I should get off here and mix up a batch. When Blake gets back from his Grandma Karen's tomorrow and before he is picked up by his friend's mom to go skiing, he and I are going to roll, cut and ice some sugar cookies.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Thought I would get right back at this once fall settled in for real, and here it is January 3 and I haven't posted for months. So far I've had to retype most of the words I've entered because of typos.

For Christmas we gave each of our grandchildren a china cup that had once belonged to my Grandma French. I know most of them won't appreciate the cups at this time, but hope they do some day. That made me think that I have a couple of things that had belonged to my great-great Aunt Alta French. She was my Pop's Uncle Bill's wife and I met them when Vic was a baby. They lived in Indiana and were both in their 80's when I met them. (I believe they lived in Farmland, but would have to look it up to be sure.) Anyway, the two items I have are on the bottom shelf in the curio cabinet in the dining area. They are a china pitcher and bowl. I think that some day I want Bruce to have the bowl, but the story behind my reason is for all my kids, grandkids and others that I love.

Bruce was the typical "I want to help" 3-year-old. The Thanksgiving after my divorce, we were living in a very tiny 2-bedroom house, with linoleum floors, across the street from Maplewood School in Puyallup. Grandma French lived in an apartment in Tacoma and had come out to have dinner with us. Bruce had been helping set the table, etc., and the only thing left to go on the table was that bowl filled with potatoes. I didn't want him to carry it, but since he was being so helpful, I gave in, but told him to be very careful because if he should break the bowl, Mommy would cry. He got about 2 steps from the table and stepped on a drop of water, went down on his bottom and the bowlful of potatoes flew up in the air. While in the air, the bowl turned upside down, the potatoes landed first and the bowl right on top of it, making only a very small crack in the bowl. Poor Bruce was hysterical, so that's when I really learned that no thing is more important than a person--especially one of my own children.

Kelli reinforced that when she was 6. The remainder of her birthday cake was in a Princess House cake plate with dome. I didn't know she decided to help herself to a bit of cake until I heard the dome crash. It broke in half, so was fit only for the garbage can, but I was so thankful she hadn't been hurt that I didn't even care about the crystal dome. And, yes I gave her a piece of cake. (I can hear all of her brothers saying, "of course, that was Kelli, Mom's pet..."

Another thing on that shelf is a white china cup with gold trim that Anna May told me was one that she saw Grandma Stobie drink tea out of many times. She also told me the small brown teapot on top of the refrigerator belonged to Grandma Stobie and I would have no reason to doubt her as that company, Gleasons England, has been around for a long time. I can't tell for sure that it's Gleasons as the name has been nearly eradicated, but it is identical to the larger one I have. I did mistakenly wash it in the dishwasher, however, causing a lot of the salt (I suspect that's what it is) to "bleed" from the pottery.

I've probably thought of 50 stories or more that I've said, "I need to put that in my blog," but can't think of any more right now--at least not in a way they could easily be tied in. Besides that, I'm still making a typo about every 5 or 6 letters--maybe I was cursed this morning.

There was a man in church today that I went to high school with. Unfortunately I didn't get to talk to him because I went out early to take care of the coffee and he never came out to the fellowship hall. Anyway, both he and his dad had been ministers in the Free Methodist Church. Paul was really a nice guy--the kind that no one could say anything bad about. Just because of circumstances, our pastor helped me clean up after coffee, so I told him that Paul had been there and one of my few memories of him. He was an excellent typist and, as seniors, we had a map from U.S. News and World Report on the wall in our Civics classroom. It had various stories around the edges that we needed to study for a test on Friday and Paul was given the job of typing them and running them off on the ditto machine--bet he never got extra credit for that either. The one story I remember was when he made a very embarrassing (to him, but funny to everyone else) typo about Thor Heyerdahl being the first person to cross the Pacific on a "fart," the KonTiki. Now we all know how easy it is to get an "f" and an "r" mixed up while typing, but he sure got teased about it.

All for now. Will try to be a little more regular about this and if any of you who read it, would ask a question about something in my childhood, my kids' childhoods, or things that I remember hearing my elders tell, would be happy to try to write something about it.

9/7/09

Wish I didn't have to work and could be with Kelli & family in Chicago. Just knowing they're there has reminded me of so many things--I could take pages to write about them. 

A good friend of mine, while working in Harvey, was Arlene Sendera who worked for Mr. Gilley, an attorney whose office was about 1 1/2 blocks from where I worked and she lived in Posen. I remember the names of Johnny (Sarna) and Wally (Przybyla), the two guys who owned the cafe across the street from where I worked; Names of several of our neighbors: Joe & Mary Batera, Steve & Chris Christian, Hilda Tucci & Chuck and    Kamykowski. I worked for Clarence Hoffman in an insurance office 3 of the salesmen's names were Don Jensen, Bob and Ray Neff

So many firsts for me back there--some I won't mention, for which you'll thank me.

First time I ever ate pizza was at the Blue Ribbon in Harvey; can still smell it and if I were there, would have to have a beer with it, even tho I haven't had a beer in well over 20 years. Tried one when we were at the Ranch a couple of years ago, took 2 swallows and threw it away, but would have to have one w/that pizza. Really, tho, the best pizza was at Tinley Park, the crust was paper thin and crispy--oh that was good.

First time I ever saw a lightning bug was in Harvey. Also the first time I ever heard of chiggers. They never bothered me, but they drove Audrey absolutely nuts some times.

I loved the little dress shop down the street from where I worked; I still remember the little yellow shirtwaist dress w/white trim I bought there. Thought I looked super in it and I probably did.;-)

That was also the first place I ever took a commuter train. At least once a month Arlene and I would take it to the Randolph Street Station, have dinner at the Copper Kettle, shop a little at Marshall Fields and go to a movie. On the way home we always stopped at the flower shop in the station and bought flowers to take to our mothers. One Friday evening we took our mothers to the State (I think was the name) Theater where we saw Oklahoma on a BIG screen.

First time I ever flew was out of O'Hare to SeaTac the summer after we moved there. Actually, I believe the first time I ever took a train was to move back there in the summer of 1955.

First and only time I ever shoplifted anything--and it was purely by accident--and I don't think even those who know me best, have any idea what it was. That was later, tho, when I had gone back to visit Mother and Daddy (Grandma Jeanne and Grandpa Kelly) after they had moved to Crete.

How about White Castle hamburgers? They only cost a nickel or dime, were about 2" square and I loved them. Mother thought they were disgusting, but I thought they were wonderful--don't know how I'd feel about them today. I guess those little hamburgers are what they now call "hamburger sliders."

First place I ever ate frog legs--they were mighty good. That actually was in a restaurant in a suburb of Chicago in Indiana. Come to think of it, I don't believe I've ever had frog legs since, but a friend just told me there's a place in Waitsburg that serves them, so maybe next time we go visit Timm and Teri. I'll have to try it.

Couple of funny things I remember happening, but a couple years later. One time, when pregnant w/Vic, Red and I were waiting in line to see a movie when the elastic band in my half-slip broke and it fell down around my ankles. Embarrassing at the time, but still funny.

Another time was when I was pregnant with Timm before we moved back west. My neighbor Ellen and I had gone grocery shopping. She always bought coffee beans and ground them in the store grinder (that's before whole beans became so "in," she bought the whole beans because it was cheaper). She bought 2 pounds and forgot to turn the grinder off between so when she poured the beans in, they went flying all over the place. I laughed so hard I pee'd my pants and it went clear from one side of the aisle to the other. We hot-footed it around the corner and left others to wonder what happened. 

Another kinda funny thing happened when I was still single and working, as well as living, in Harvey, I was going across to Johnny and Wally's cafe on my coffee break and while waiting for the light to change, a bird pooped on my head. I didn't think  was funny until quite a long time after.

I've had an earache today and it reminded of a time when the kids and I were back there when Meg was a toddler. She had an earache and Mother could not get it stopped and get Meg to quit crying. She told me how she was going to cure it, but I wouldn't let her. She waited until I'd gone to bed, had Meg "tinkle" into something other than the toilet, got a little of it on a cotton ball, put it in Meg's ear and she quieted right down and went right to sleep. That was an old German cure that Mother had learned from my Aunt Catherine, Beryl's wife. No, I haven't tried it for my ear--I put ear drops in instead, but maybe I'll try it before I go to bed if it doesn't go away soon.

Loved driving out into the country in the fall--not only was it pretty, but you could actually smell autumn. On a very rare occasion I've smelled it here, but only about 3 times in the past 50 years.

I don't, however, miss the smell of the stockyards in So. Chicago nor the pig farms out in the country. I miss the forest preserves and the oak trees. We only have "scrub oak" here and their leaves just turn brown instead of gold, orange and red. Don't miss the humidity in the summertime and the bitter cold in the winter. I always liked to shop at Krogers, but didn't like the A and P even tho there was one right across the street from where I worked.

Enough about there and then.

The weather here was crazy yesterday--we got about 1/2" of rain and they had over an inch in Olympia. But the craziest part was not only did we have thunder and lightning go through a couple of times during the day, but a small tornado touched down in Buckley (where it took out a barn and shop) and in Enumclaw (where it took off a roof and took out a row of trees). It was first spotted in Bonney Lake, but as far as I know there was no damage done there.

'S all for now.

9/2/09

Recently our boxer, Luci, got Stan's starting-to-look-decrepit "Goofy" baseball cap that we got in Disneyland some time ago. All she did was chew the adjustable band in two so he can't wear it.

That got me to thinking about hats--I used to wear one frequently. In fact, I sometimes miss the fun of wearing a dress, gloves, heels (well not them so much) and going Downtown. In fact, I think lunch tasted better! The only time I wear a hat now (and not a particularly dressy one) is if I'm going to be out in the sun a long time--such as Relay or watching Michael play baseball. And, of course, the only gloves I ever wear are to keep my hands warm in the winter time. I know, I know, things were better in the "good ol' days," and some things really were.

It was nice when everyone knew (and looked out for) neighbors; houses and cars could be (and most often were) left unlocked; kids could ride their bikes or go play at a friend's house for hours at a time--the term "play date" still sounds foreign to me; teachers and policemen were to be respected, etc., etc., etc.,

However, I know it's also nice to be able to do such things as sit at the computer and send messages to my family and friends all over--sometimes even to Siobhan in Belgium; I started my 2nd PowerPoint presentation tonight--and didn't even need to call a school kid to help me with it ;-); it's nice to pull something out of the freezer for dinner and maybe pop something in the microwave as well; ice cream is available any time--not just on those special occasions; my car has both heat and air conditioning; the house has heat, but the portable a/c leaves much to be desired as 4 of our grandchildren can attest to. Yes, it's too bad we can't pick and choose what of the past we'd like to keep and what of the new we'd like to embrace, aaah, what a wonderful fantasy.

Anyway, a little more--but not too much--about hats. I don't believe I ever saw my dad (Grandpa Kelly) or Pop (Grandpa French) go outside without a hat on. As Daddy got older, it wasn't always a fedora, but most often he would wear a baseball cap, except in the winter when he needed more warmth.

My cousin (in actuality my mother's cousin) Chris Stobie had a hat when he was a young adult that made many people shiver just to look at it. I've wondered many times what made him finally get rid of it--maybe he didn't, he may have just retired it. Anyway, it started out as a red had as many men wore when working in the woods. By the time I saw it, red was a questionable color for it. His friend Eddy tried to blow it up w/cherry bombs, but that just put a few "character" holes in it. I believe it was Eddy who also threw it in the river, but being the good fly fisherman that Chris was, he just retrieved it. He must have hidden it under his pillow, or some other safe place, when he slept as I'm sure someone would have been happy to discard it for him.

I needed to make cookies for the reception following a neighbor's funeral the other day, as well as some to take to church. The picture in an earlier post of me with the mixer and batter all over would have been an apt picture to use w/this post.

My first cookies--Lemon Coolers--turned out very well, but I got into trouble with my oatmeal/raisin and I've made them several times before. Anyway, I looked at 2 different recipes and put more egg in than the recipe called for. Then I was doing 2 sheets at a time, so, of course, my hands were covered w/dough after loading the first sheet, so I called Stan to come lift the top sheet off and set it on the other counter. Next time I thought I could do it myself, so was trying to balance the cookie sheet on my forearms; tilted it and since i had parchment paper on it, the whole sheet of raw cookies ended on the floor. I might have been tempted to go by the 5-second rule (I know it's a myth, Kyle), but since we have a couple dogs and a cat, I was afraid there would be too much pet hair in them for anyone to eat. Next, I realized, while again my hands were all covered w/sticky cookie dough, that I needed the timer reset, so I called for Stan's help again. in the process of trying to set the timer, he shut the oven off. Now I didn't realize it at the time, because it only needed to be reset for 2 minutes, by which time I'd cleaned my yucky fingers off. So, I put the final 2 sheets of cookies in and when I was going to rotate the sheets halfway through the baking process, I discovered the mistake--I had one GIANT cookie that virtually covered the entire sheet. The edges were nice and golden brown while the middle was half-baked cookie dough. Thankgoodness I had enough for what had been promised.

I see it's about bedtime, so that's it for this time. Love to all

8/14/09

I knew it was about time I sat down to do another post, but didn't realize it had been over a month.  Lot has happened in the month.

July 26 we went to Sandpoint and picked up Kyle, Blake, Kenna and Erika to spend a few days with us before they leave for their B I G road trip. It was fun to have them before the whole family leaves within the next day or 2 for a year traveling the US and Canada. I am really excited for them, but lonesome again.

We got together last Thursday for a "farewell picnic," with them. Mark's folks, aunt and uncle, brother and his family joined us along w/Bruce and Janet, Blair, Jackie and their kids, and Meg and John. We actually had to put sweaters or jackets on that evening after the days leading up to then being very hot--some days over 100º, which is very unusual in western Washington.

On the hottest day we had in Puyallup--104º, we took the kids swimming out at Lake Alder which is just under an hour from our place. When we got to Eatonville, the thermometer there said 79º, and it was really quite cool when we got to the lake. A thunder storm had gone thru and really cooled things off. The kids swam for quite awhile and then it was time for us to take them to the other grandparents, Ward and Karen's. We stopped at a little hamburger stand and then gave them their choice of hamburgers or having Grandma Karen's spaghetti--the spaghetti won out. We expected it to be cool when we got there, but it was still well over 90º. The Eatonville area was the only place that had been cooled by the storm.

Before Mark, Kelli and kids had even gotten settled in to their motor home I was already missing "Gamma, Gamma, yook, yook," etc. By the time we see Erika again, she will probably be able to pronounce her "l's" and Kenna will probably put the "n" before the "m" in animals. But I'm betting that Erika will still be putting on a pretty dress and dancing while singing how pretty she is. Sure hope so, anyway!

One of the days, the boys went to their friends, the Nettletons, and we took the 2 girls up to Olympic Game Farm in Sequim. In case you're not familiar with it, Gentle Ben--the grizzly from the television show of the same name--was one of the first residents and now it is a game farm where you drive your car thru and feed bread out your windows to the animals. I was trying to take a picture of Erika feeding a bull elk and heard Kenna say, "Grandma, Grandma, GRANDMA!" When I turned to see what she wanted, she had been trying to point out that a cow elk had her head almost entirely in my window. I immediately decided the picture of Erika and the bull wasn't necessary at that time.

One of the things we noticed and appreciated with all of the kids is that they aren't nearly as picky eaters as they were just a short time ago. Kyle fixed salmon for us for dinner one evening. Maybe the reason they didn't seem so picky is that with it being so hot most  of the time they were here, we relied a lot on coldcuts, watermelon and yemonade!;-)

I had to work at an RFL carwash the Saturday they were here and the boys surprised me by vacuuming and mopping the floors while I was gone. I don't know who did which, but they did a good job and I appreciated it a lot. They're getting so grown up; seemed strange to be able to drop them off at the mall by themselves for a couple of hours.

When Bruce and Janet came up, it was like farmers' market coming to us. We've certainly enjoyed the beets, string beans and zucchini. I've made a couple batches of zucchini bread. As we were eating beets and greens, Stan commented how much like spinach the greens taste.

That reminded me of how Vic tried so hard when he was little to like spinach so he could be like "Pie-Pie." That's about the same time he came home from VBS singing about "Ronnie Gopher." If you're not familiar with them, ask me and I'll give you a translation.

Tuesday August 11, our neighbor Katie lost her battle with Swine Flu. Her baby, Abbey, had been taken by c-section when she was first put in the medically-induced coma. Abbey is doing great, she now weighs 5#, 1 oz. Kenny isn't sure when she'll come home from the hospital, but he realizes he has a long hard job in front of him and is very grateful for a loving family and friends.

Michael was here today and we had him bring books (about 15 bankers boxes full) down from the attic. I can tell that Stan and I must both be from a long line of bibliophiles as some of the books belonged to his parents--who have both been gone since before we were married--and some belonged to my parents and Anna May. I thought I would just be able to look at them and discard most, but I'm trying to figure out how to have storage for most of them. Hoping that Bruce and Meg will be able to come sometime before too long and sort thru and find any they want--that I don't, of course. I started reading Jane Eyre today. Don't know how long I've had the book, it probably came from Mother (Grandma Jeanne), but I've never read it before.

Yesterday I was in the home of a genuine war hero and his wife. He is a very nice, humble, retired Coast Guard Commander. His best friend was killed at Guadalcanal and was the only Coast Guardsman to ever be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Ray Evans, the man in whose home I was, is one of 2 men  who were awarded the Navy Cross during WWII. I "googled" his name after I got home and he was really a hero. They went in to Guadalcanal on the opposite side of the island from where we suffered so many losses, but they went on the side where an airfield was being constructed. Had they not taken out the airfield, there could have been a completely different outcome of the war in the Pacific.

Shortly after I got back home, we had a thunder storm go thru here. We got just about 3/4" of rain in 10 minutes! I'm here to tell you that I was very glad to be snug at home.

We've set up a Skype account, but haven't used it; hope I can figure out how. I'm hoping to read an occasional bedtime story to the kids as they travel around the US. And, of course, see and listen to them tell me some of their wonderful adventures.

7/12/09

 One of our neighbors is very ill w/swine flu and her baby had to be delivered by C section last Tuesday after Katie "coded." Katie has been kept in a medically-induced coma for almost 2 weeks so her body can concentrate on getting well. 

But thinking of her 2# 11 oz. baby, who is doing very well, reminded me that Victor Stobie, Grandma French's brother, weighed apporximately 3# when he was born. Of course that was long before modern hospital neo-natal units with incubators, climate control, respirators, specialists of every type you might want, so he was kept in either a shoebox or cigar box, lined with cotton batting, kept very close to the cookstove. Having been the mother of 6 healthy, normal-to-large babies, born in hospitals, I can't imagine the worry that a tiny, probably premature, baby would have caused Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa Stobie.

Thinking of that made me think of my own birth--I don't remember but have heard stories. My mother carried me for nearly 11 months. Of course, everyone thought she had her dates mixed up, but when I was born, instead of being a rosy, healthy pink, I was gray and my eyes were little slits. The doctor told her that had I waited one more week to make my debut, I would have been stillborn. Of course that was back befoe there were ways to induce a birth. At the time we lived in North Bend and when Mother (Grandma Jeanne) went in to labor, there was not time to get her to the nearest hospital, which was in Seattle, so I was born at home. The story goes--and I don't know whether it's truth or fiction--that Daddy was kept busy boiling water to keep him out of the doctor's way.

See, one story always reminds me of another that I think about almost every time I'm in a public restroom. As you all know, there are signs posted that employees must wash their hands before returning to work. When we lived in North Bend, Daddy worked in a dairy. One day, as he was using the restroom, another employee started out withoug washing his hands. When Daddy asked him if he wasn't going to wash his hands, the man responded that he didn't need to as he was going to lunch not to work.

I'm here to tell you that none of us ever dared try to get to the dinner table without washing our hands. The same was true of using the bathroom--we were in trouble if we didn't wash our hands afterwards. To this day, my hands feel dirty if, for some reason, I can't wash my hands immediately. I remember one time Meg and I were going to Walla Walla to visit Mother and Daddy. We stopped at a rest stop and there were no facilities for handwashing. We had none of the hand sanitizer, such as I always have with me now, in the car, so the best we could do was "wash" our hands with an ice cube from the cooler. Neither of us knew if it killed any germs, but we did know we didn't dare go to our parents' house w/o washing our hands!

This is probably my shortest post, but we need to go to a birthday party for our firiend, Dick Ryan, and then to Mercer Island where Michael is playing in the State Sandy Koufax Tournament.