C'est Le Weekend: Diarrhea-cle Vehicle

Yes.
Today is the day that we pick up our new old car.
And it is indeed, having thought about it carefully, a lovely shade of diarrhea, as a faithful reader pointed out.

The husband and I picked out the music that would accompany us in the car, until I revert back to Cat Stevens again.
The kids are excited, and so are we.
Son#3 is ready for action, because cool glasses (albeit too small), must be worn in a cool car.

Just the usual, you know.

On Southern shores in South Africa, my mother is picking up my geriatric grandmother this morning.
We haven't had much contact with her over the years.
I worry about my mom, even when she would abhor the idea of me worrying.
I still do.

We all miss my father, and my mother misses him the most acutely of all of us.
I go to bed with him, and get up with him in the morning.
And as long as I don't think about it too deeply, I get through the day with no crying.
But, as I write, the faucets open.
I don't like this one bit and I want the world to go back to the way it was.
Childish, I know (at almost 40 years old), but my honest wish. 

I think my dad would have thought us completely mad to buy a 37-year-old car.  
But I hope it will make him smile, nonetheless.
We love you daddykins.

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