Good afternoon and welcome to the first non- Covid column in ages. I trust you’re in good spirits. I hope you’re social distancing. I pray conspiracy theories haven’t overtaken your mind. I expect you’ve graduated from the bandana “stick ‘em up” look to the “random quilt fabric” homemade mask look. Lemme just say I know it hasn’t been easy, and I’m darn proud of us both for hanging in there. Enough about that. We’ve had some downright awesome goings on in our neck of the burbs! After 18 months of construction and a year of tiny house living, renovations on our 110 year old bungalow FI- NALLY came to an end. As I’m writing this piece, I am covered in bruises. I have more knots in my neck and shoulders than a sailor trying to pass a figure 8 tying exam. One of my hips has a hitch in its getalong. Also, I am painfully happy and incredibly blessed. The last month, in particular, was rough. Turns out, subcontractors don’t like to stay 6 feet away from anything. Nevertheless, we are in & the process of unpacking has begun. Boy am I finding surprise after surprise. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about today. I have mental conversations with my late daughter daily. Sometimes, she even talks back. This week, she’s a chatty Cathy.
Hoppin' around with Cary
In our Aug.
This is the time of year that I feel I must put in an editorial word about hot cars.
I went back to school Tuesday evening, Feb. 28— and I really enjoyed it. On Feb.