I had an unusual experience in a restaurant Friday evening. After a perfectly delicious meal that I pretty much inhaled, I left the building with my family.
My dad had forgotten something at the table and went back to fetch it, and while he was there, he had a brief chat with our waitress. She recognized his last name as mine, and told him she enjoyed his daughter’s columns, and even commented on the first-grey-hair piece.
I’m always oddly surprised when anyone reads what I write, and I surely do appreciate the feedback.
In other news, my parents’ new house is coming along nicely.
My mother and I went through about ten billion books over the weekend and decided to give approximately three of them away.
Actually, we managed to put five or six bags in the "recycle-or-give-away" pile, which is pretty good when you consider that my mom, dad and I are all avid readers and accrue books like squirrels accrue nuts.
We had some challenges telling dad’s and my books apart (we both took philosophy and religion classes in college), but we did the best we could. I keep telling myself we didn’t need four copies of "Utopia" anyway, and that one copy of "The Consolation of Philosophy" is really enough, and that my mom probably isn’t ever going to need a list of 201 French verbs again. Also, four German dictionaries is just excessive. However, having three different translations of Chaucer’s "Canterbury Tales," plus the original, could come in handy some day. Maybe. Possibly. Okay, so it’s not likely, but you never know.
I did find something incredibly cool, however: my family’s Bible. My great-grandmother’s name is written in ornate, old-fashioned handwriting in the front.
The Bible is in German, too.
The other cool thing I found was a gorgeous Bible printed in 1970 with illustrations by… Salvador Dali.