I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning and put my shirt on backwards.
So here we are again, just the two of us. Should we say things like, “Sorry I haven’t been in touch” or “There’s so much to catch up on!” Nah, let’s just hug and kiss and jump right in like a set of worn sleeping bags.
I took the Collector home with me to OH. When he disappeared with Uncle John, that was the only time I really worried about him. But the worry was almost immediately replaced by relief when I realized that Uncle J. was just bubbling over with joy to have someone new to tour his fishing rods and guns, and that I was now off the hook from having to look at fishing rods and guns.
My family drove me absolutely nuts for the first time ever. I feel like this is some sort of right of passage where the “home” baton has finally been passed from Ohio to Maine.
Thank god for small favors in the shaped of the pork truck down the street. Damn! That’s some good brisket.