Sarah, can you ring me....

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My daughter is visiting my parents on Spring Break this week, which means two things. Upon her return she will clearly be able to see several differences in our home and her Nana's. First, Nana's house is much cleaner than ours. "Maybe if you didn't stay on the computer and drink so much wine, Mommy...". Secondly, Nana never has any dirty laundry in the house. Never. I have no earthly idea how this shit is possible. Short of standing at the washer and stripping down to your skivvies right there. Anyhow, this will also be another of my shortcomings that certainly will not go unnoticed. I have enough dirty laundry to levee the flood waters in North Dakota. Call me FEMA. I'm happy to help.
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My father built a loft apartment over their garage, which must feel like a college dorm to a 12 year-old (sans empty beer bottles, bongs, stale pop-tarts, and the stagnant odor of dirty sheets). Last night I received a call from my daughter describing all the treasures that she and Papa had found when rummaging in the attic of the garage. There were big square folders with pictures on them, and inside there was a round black thing that you put on some machine and it played music. "That is called an Album, sweetie. Back in the days of Moses and the burning bushes, that is what your Mommy and her friend Laura Ingalls frolicked and sang to by candlelight when she was your age."
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She continues with, "You will never guess what I'm calling you on. It's this kind of phone, it sits on a table, it's square and you put your finger in the hole of the number you want to dial and then pull it down to the silver thing. It's called a rot...rota...'Papa, what is this called?'...it's a rotary phone! It's awesome...I've never seen one of these, Mommy. Did you use one of these when you were growing up?" Oh. happy. day. When she comes home this weekend and asks if we have plans, I'll tell her I'm trying to send a pigeon carrier message to Betty, Barney and Bam-Bam so we cook out brontosaurus burgers and have a gay ole' time.
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Excuse me while I go find a sharp object to insert into my chest cavity.
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~j