Those of you who live in Fairfield County and the surrounding area now know we had a little earthquake Friday night.
At first I thought maybe it was the universe’s comment on the fact that Basil and I actually left the house for dinner out. Then, when we had those torrential rains and a tornado warning yesterday, I thought maybe there was a different message to decipher. And there was.
Last night, while Catherine was babysitting and I was on the couch, doing that thing with my eyeglasses trying to catch up on last month’s Bon Appetit, Basil was in the garage with one of his boxes of stuff I teased him about pushing around the garage year after year.
And he was cleaning it out.
I don’t know if last week’s blog post shamed him into it or if the planets finally aligned after 19 years, but I’m not questioning it aloud.
(And believe me, if I thought for a second that this blog had the ability to get him to do things, I would have been choosing my words much more carefully this past year.)
Anyway, there is now a box of papers to recycle and a pile of papers to shred.
And a bunch of treasures he keeps running into the house to show me:
His autograph book with the signatures of friends and teachers from Dundee School and Eastern Junior High.
A life-size poster of George Harrison from the All Things Must Pass album.
A picture of Elvis and another of Cybill Shepherd.
The scorecard from our first game of miniature golf together (yes, I was surprised).
Numerous love letters, birthday cards, messages from friends and family.
An anonymous “congratulations” card on his engagement to me from what appears to be a disappointed old flame. Sorry sweetie. He has no idea who you might be (or at least that’s his story now and he’s sticking to it. Not sure I understand why he hung onto the card if that’s the case).
A clipping from the Greenwich Time where he was interviewed for a Man on the Street feature that asked what movie people had seen over the summer (his choice was a James Bond film, and he was rockin’ some serious sideburns).
Enough school papers that he announced: “I could have been a writer.”
And there was this photo, which Catherine has had enormous fun with:
There is a guitar case tucked up on a high shelf of the garage. It’s followed us from apartment to apartment to house, but I’ve never seen it opened.
Catherine took one look at this picture and exclaimed: “Dad plays the guitar?!”
I guess he does.
Wonder what other surprises lurk in those boxes.
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