I remembered, from being up at Mom and Dad’s the other weekend, a conversation Mom and I had about Dad retiring. He doesn’t necessarily want to, at least not cold turkey, and I said he’d need something to do, otherwise he’d go stir crazy. He needs to tinker, and he needs to be outside. (And he needs to burn stuff, but that’s another story.) I offered to replace Giuseppe with a succession of really crappy cars to give him something to work on. Hey, I’m a giver. 🙂
The conversation then meandered forward in time and I told Mom that they’d have to live with me when they got really old, cuz I’d never find a nursing home that would take Dad. She wondered why I thought that, so I did my bestest impression of a nursing home administrator: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I just cannot allow you to bring that… air compressor and… oiling rig in here, sir…”
Mom thought this was pretty funny, and when Dad came in for lunch, she recounted it to him. Without missing a beat, and quite seriously, he added, “Well, and the chainsaw…”.
Good Lord. And at the family meeting on Wednesday morning the aunts and uncles were worried about paying sufficient tribute from them to Gramps (not just focusing on us grandkids, as they had been). It was all I could do not to laugh out loud at them. You need to type out some words on a piece of paper? You’re all turning into him.
Don’t forget the chainsaw. 🙂