Last night we went to a dinner we couldn't afford and didn't have to pay for. When we were dressed, I said, "Let's run over to Charles's house and have someone take our picture!" We did, and Anne was on hand to snap us with her phone. (If my father suddenly returned from the dead, he'd have no idea what that last sentence was about).
We are carrying our increased ice-cream weight with dignity. He can use the extra heft. Mine is squished in spanx.
We ate osso buco and watched paintings and Napa Valley weekends sell for cash. Tom sold two paintings, which paid for my new shoes and then some. There was not another painting there that looked like Tom's style. Not even close.
I wonder what his mother, Elva, would have thought. See sold paintings below: