Making coffee this morning in my Dad’s new house in Colorado. Helping him to get settled - stacks of full boxes turned into stacks of empty boxes. The “someday” boxes sorted and put out of sight. The boxes with his office papers (cannot do these for him) are spread out in his office for easy access, and somewhat out of sight from the main room (looks organized anyway). The kitchen - well, that is for the later half of the day.

I like to make my coffee strong. First thing my dad does is add water. My uncle liked strong coffee - made coffee for him only once (he approved). He brought a lot of joy into my life as a child. Wish I could have paid him back somewhat as an adult.

My grandmother was also an enormous joy when I was a child. She became estranged from my mother and uncle in her last several years, and through occasional phone calls and letters I became her only family contact. One day she called confused and upset though I could not tell why. Talked to her for a while until she calmed down and sounded better. As best we can figure, she died later that same day - alone. Wish I could have done more for her.

Waited until I was 30 before my first child. Seemed to make sense to wait until I could buy a house before having children, and southern California is expensive. In retrospect I think that was a mistake. My oldest never really knew my grandmother or uncle, and my little brother is a fading memory. My youngest will have few and faint memories of my mother. There is something to be said for overlap between generations.

Whimsy.