Tuesday, June 21, 2011

A WEEK IN THE LIFE

So, my mom and I have our birthday in the same month. Because I work full time, like many families, we usually plan family celebrations on the weekend.

I usually bring a complete lunch and some cake and all the trimmings, no matter whose birthday it is. The weekend we would normally have had the celebration for my mom’s birthday found my older daughter down with the flu, so we put it off one week. I called that Monday to set up the whole thing.

MONDAY:

“Hi, Mom. I’m calling about lunch this weekend for your birthday.”

“Okay. That will be nice. What are we having?”

“Oh, I was thinking Chinese, since Dad loves it so much.” (An inside joke. My Dad hates Chinese. He gripes like mad about it, even though my mom just loves it.

Mom chuckles and says, “Oh, good! That sounds great!” An aside to my dad: “We’re having Chinese for my birthday. How do you like that?”

From my dad in the background: “I’ll be out for a burger and beer that day.”

Into the phone: “Your father says it sounds good.” Laughing: “What are we really having?”

“Well, I thought I would bring the makings for Chicken Parmesan. How does that sound?”

“Well, I’ll check with your father, but I think that sounds very good. We really like your Chicken Parmesan.” Aside to my dad: “Isn’t that right?”

From my dad in the background. “Anything not Chinese sounds delicious.”

Into the phone: “You heard that?”

“Yep, I did. We’ll be there about noonish and get started on it. We’ll bring some kind of snack to have when we get there, and then we’ll have lunch around 2:00.”

“Well, okay, then. That sounds fine.”

A bit more chatting, then we hang up.

TUESDAY:

Phone rings at work: “Are you going to be here this weekend for my birthday?

“Yes, Mom. Remember yesterday we talked about having Chicken Parmesan?”

“Oh, yes. Your father will like that. Well, I can make a cake. I’ll make a chocolate cinnamon cake.”

“Mom, it’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to make the cake. We can do that.”

With asperity: “I can still bake a cake, Sharon Lee.” (The middle name thing!) “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“I know, Mom, but it’s your birthday. I just want you to have a nice day without doing anything.”

“I’ll just make the cake. Your father loves that cake.” Loudly, from my dad in the background: “Your father loves any cake. Or, pie. Or anything else for that matter! Except Chinese.”

“Okay, then, Mom, you make the cake and we’ll bring the rest.”

“What time will you be here?”

“About noon with some snacks to hold us over while we make the Parmesan. Then, we’ll eat around 2:00.”

“All right.” With a bit of ire: “Everyone okay at your house, I guess?”

Warily: “Yes. Everyone is just fine.”

“Just wondered. No one from your house seems to call and check in.”

Uh-oh. “I’m calling right now, Mom. And, we spoke yesterday, too.”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything from either of your sons or daughters in a while.”

“They called you on your birthday, Mom. You told me you heard from all of them.”

“But not since.”

There is no appropriate response to this. I try shifting to something else. “Do you think some ice cream would be good with that cake?”


WEDNESDAY:

Phone rings at work: “Sharon, your father is driving me crazy. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Everything okay, Mom? Is he feeling well?”

“He isn’t sleeping at night. He gets up in the middle of the night and goes in to watch television or read and stays up for hours and then naps all afternoon.”

“Sounds like he’s got his days and nights mixed up, Mom. Maybe if he forced himself to stay awake all day, he would be able to sleep at night. Have you talked to him about that?”

“I told him he was keeping me up and making himself sick. I’ll talk to him. You just don’t know what I have to deal with every day.”

“Maybe if he gets some sleep, he’ll feel better. Maybe you can just suggest to him to go to bed at a regular hour each night and try staying in bed until he falls asleep.”

“I don’t know. It’s like he just does it to make me mad, sometimes.”

Time for my usual evasive tactics. “Hey, Mom? Do you think I should bring salad to have with that Parmesan? It would probably go very well, don’t you think?”

“Oh, that sounds good! Salad and Parmesan. And, I’ll bake a cake.”

“Sounds perfect to me, too. Okay, I’d better get back to work. Talk to you later.”

“Okay.” All cheerful. “Bye!”

“Bye, Mom,” and I hang up, sighing.


THURSDAY:

Phone rings at work: “Hi, Mom.”

“I was wondering which silverware you want. There’s some that belonged to each of your grandmothers.”

“Oh.” Blinking. Silverware? “Well, I don’t know, Mom. Do you have a preference?”

“It’s not going to be mine, so you have to decide on your own.”

“Well, why don’t you let me look at it when we get there?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. You can decide when you see it.”

“Okay.”

“And, you can go through some of these things on the shelves above the television and decide what you want.”

“Oh. Well, okay. If we have time. I’ll be cooking dinner and stuff.”

“Well, just how long do you think it will take you to make dinner, then, Sharon Lee? You have to be letting it just cook at some point, don’t you?”

“Well, sure. I’ll try to go through some of that stuff while it cooks.”

“Fine. And, you can take a bunch of it home.”

“Mom, I am trying hard to remodel my house right now. It’s in very bad shape and I have things piled everywhere. I don’t really have the space to add more things to the piles, at present. We aren’t even using three of the rooms while we are working on replacing everything. I just don’t have space.”

“Well, I guess you think I can just hold on to all of this while you decide what you want to do?”

“I’m just saying that some things may have to wait a bit before they come to my house.”

“Well, fine. I’ll just pack them up and you can go through it all when I die.”

Pause. Pause. “By the way, Mom, what kind of ice cream do you think will go best with the chocolate cinnamon cake?”


FRIDAY:

Phone rings at work: “Sharon, I need to ask you something. Do you want one of the family Bibles? Your brothers want one of them, so I figured you would want one, too.”

“Um. Sure.”

“Well, you can pick it up whenever you come next.”

Pause. “Mom, I’m going to be there Sunday for your birthday, remember?”

“Oh, that’ll be nice. I’ll cook something for us.”

“Mom, I’m bringing the makings for Chicken Parmesan, remember? And, you are going to ak a chocolate cake.”

“I guess I remember. You know what? I have been really, really wanting gumbo like I had growing up in Louisiana. Why don’t we have that?”

“Well, Mom, are you sure you want to do all of that? I already have all the stuff for the Parmesan.”

“No, I think we should have gumbo. It’s my birthday, and that’s what really sounds good to me. I’ll start it early, because it takes 3 or 4 hours from start to finish.”

“I’ll be there about noonish to help you with it, too. I’ll still bring salad, and I’ll bring something for the girls to eat.”

“They won’t eat gumbo?”

“No, Mom, remember? The girls don’t like shrimp or crab.”

“They sure don’t know what’s good.”

“Be that as it may, I’ll bring something else to fix for them.”

“I didn’t know they didn’t like my food.”

“It’s not your food, Mom, it’s the taste of shrimp and crab. They just don’t like it.”

Sharply. “Well, I’m sorry they don’t like what I fix.”

Sigh. “Well, I’m looking forward to it, so we’ll see you Sunday and I’ll bring something for them. Do you still want to make the cake?”

“Do you think I’m that incapable of doing two things at once? Yes. I’ll make the cake.”

Bigger sigh. “Great. That sounds good.”

“Why don’t you bring some ice cream to go with the cake.”

Huge sigh. “Good idea, Mom.”

SATURDAY:

Cell phone rings while I’m washing dishes.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sharon, what time will you be here today?”
“It’s tomorrow, Mom. We’re trying to catch up on laundry today. We’ll be there after church tomorrow.”

“I thought you said you would be here this morning.”

“No. Tomorrow at noonish. We’ll come straight from church.”

“Oh, I remember. Well, I’ll make the gumbo tomorrow, then.”

“Good. Sounds great. I’m getting hungry for it.”

“I have some fabric upstairs I want you to take home for your quilting. There’s some nice knits there.”

“I usually quilt with 100% cotton, Mom. Knits are too hard to needle.”

“Well, you’ll like them. You are always buying more fabric, so now you won’t need to.”

Mom, I haven’t been out to buy fabric in a while. I have plenty of stash to work from. Seriously, I don’t need any more fabrics, knit or otherwise.”

“Well, I want you to have them. Some of them are from your grandmother. It will be nice for you to make something with them. I’ve been saving them for something special.”

Frowning a bit. “How long have you had them, Mom?”

“Oh, some of them were given to me right after we got married, and I’ve been waiting for a good project, so I’m giving them to you.”

“Mom, I don’t need them. Really. I have nowhere to keep more fabric and no time to quilt right now.”

“Well, you can decide which ones you want when you go through them all tomorrow while I finish up the gumbo.”

“See you tomorrow, Mom”

“And, don’t forget the ice cream.”

“Right.”


SUNDAY:

We stop by the grocery after church on the way to see my folks and get packages of macaroni and cheese and some Brussels sprouts for my daughters to eat, as well as some good, crusty French bread to have with the gumbo. Because the girls like mac and cheese so much, we get extra to take home after our visit. All the way to see my folks, the girls tease me about eating gumbo, and make cracks about all the junk their grandmother keeps sending home with us. They tell me that there is no room in the car for anything this time, because there are school supplies for their classrooms in the trunk, and not to take anything home. They bring this point up several times.

When we arrive at the folks’ house, we’re in pretty good moods and starting to get hungry. We walk into the den and greet the folks. The girls are told to go out and put bird seed into the bird feeders.

“So, Mom, what can I do to help with the gumbo? I brought some good bread to eat with it.”

“Well, I haven’t started it yet. I guess we should do that pretty soon.”

“You haven’t started it?”

“I made a chocolate cinnamon cake.”

“That’s good. I brought vanilla ice cream for that. The gumbo isn’t on?”

“Not yet. I’ll make it in a while.”

“Mom, it’s lunch time. Why don’t you let me fix something else so we can go ahead and eat in a little while.”

“Well, the gumbo should only take about 3 or 4 hours to simmer right. It should be ready by then.”

The girls walk back in and hear this last bit. They suggest we make the mac and cheese for everyone, so I turn to Mom. “I brought mac and cheese for the girls, and there’s plenty of it. How about we make mac and cheese and have Brussels sprouts and salad and French bread?”

“Well, all right. We can do that. What do you think?” she turns to my dad to ask.

“I thought we were having Chicken Parmesan,” Dad answers. “But, I’m very fond of Macaroni and cheese.”

“Change of plans, Dad, after talking with Mom.”

“I don’t know why we can’t wait for the gumbo,” Mom says, peevishly. “It will only take me about an hour to go get the ingredients at the store.”

I’m mildly flummoxed. I had all the makings for the Parmesan at home. Time for evasive tactics again. “And, after lunch, Mom, you can show me those fabrics.”

She brightens up. “Good. You can take them all home.”

I walk into the kitchen to see both daughters glaring at me. “What did we say about not getting talked into taking stuff home!?”

I shrug helplessly, and say, “You tell her, then.” They shake their heads vehemently. “No, thanks. We’ll find room.”

From the den, my Dad calls out, “This isn’t Chinese food, is it?”

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

How the Cow ate the Cabbage

Fixed Sunday dinner recently for my folks at their house. I was trying out a new recipe I had come across that was a delicious-sounding, one-dish meal consisting of layers of sliced potatoes, chunked-up cabbage, apple wedges, sliced onions in rings, and link sausage, cooked over a medium-low fire in a large, heavy skillet. (Now, you can cook it, too.)

I had already sliced the potatoes and onions, and was cutting the cabbage into chunks. Mom came in on her walker.

“Are you going to shred that cabbage?”

“No, I’m gong to cut it into chunks.”

“Shredding it is a good way to cook it.”

“Yes, but this recipe calls for chunks to be spread over the sliced potatoes and the onion rings.”

“Why doesn’t it call for shredding?”

“Well, I don’t know. I watched them make this on television and they said to cut it into smallish chunks like this and spread the cabbage over the potatoes and onions.”

“Well, shredding makes more sense.”

“I suspect that doing it this way allows you to enjoy the tastes of each vegetable as you eat it.”

“Hmph.” She leaves the kitchen.

I finish chunking the cabbage and adding the rest of the ingredients: thin apple wedges and sausage cut into coins. Because my mom has a thing about adding no salt, I add absolutely none. Before long, everything is all cooked and I serve it up with some crusty French bread.

Dad tastes it and tells me, “This is really good. I wouldn’t have thought those apples would have gone so well with all of this.”

Mom says, “You added too much salt.”

“I didn’t add any salt at all, Mom,” I answer.

“Well, then, the potato mix you used has too much salt in it.”

“I used fresh potatoes, Mom.”

“Well, then, some kind of mix you used to make this has too much salt.” Starting with the peppery tone, again…

“I used fresh cabbage, apples and onions. Only thing I used that was already made was the sausage.”

“Well, that’s the problem, then,” she says, triumphantly. “You didn’t use the right sausage! You should have used (stated brand name of kielbasa that the family always uses) instead. There’s very little salt in that. You need to start being more careful.”

Cut to view of trash can, where the package that contained the sausage now resides. It is exactly the kind of sausage she mentioned.

“Okay. Next time, I’ll try that,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“And, next time, shred the cabbage.”

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Hanging the Drapes and Taco Soup...

Not too long ago, on a regular Sunday visit to my folks’ house, my daughters and I entered the house and greeted the folks.

“I have something I need your help with,” Mom begins before we are even all in the room.

“Okay. What’s that?” I ask, putting my purse and things down on the table.

“I need curtains put up behind the drapes so we can have a little privacy when we open the drapes during the day. I bought the sheers and the curtain rod, but I can’t get your father to do it.”

Dad is sitting on the couch, reading the paper, and looks up when he hears this. “Do what?” he asks.

“Put up the sheers and the rod,” she answers.

“What rod is that?” he asks.

“The one I bought and asked you to put up last week,” she retorts.

Dad looks surprised and asks, ‘Did you ask me to put up something? Where do you want me to do it?”

“Behind the drapes! Like I said!”

“Oh,” says Dad, looking at the drapes. “That would be nice. We’d have a little bit more privacy when we open the drapes. Do I need to go get a curtain rod?”

Mom sighs exasperatedly and answers, “No. I have the rod. I have the curtains. What I don’t have is someone to put them up for me!”

“Well,” says Dad, pleasantly. “Maybe we can get the girls to help us.”

We affix the hardware to the frame behind the drapes that hang over the patio door. Then, we take the rod and start to put it in the holders. It doesn’t reach.

“Mom, the rod is not long enough.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it doesn’t reach from one side to the other.”

“Well, I bought the largest size they had. 84”. That should fit.”

“Tell you what. Let’s measure it,” says Dad.

“We don’t need to measure. You’re just putting it in wrong. They don’t make one any bigger, so it’s got to fit that door!” Mom snaps.

“Well, humor me,” Dad says, and goes after his tape measure.

We measure. 98”. Hmmm… Mom goes to her room in a huff.

“Why don’t I run to the store and get one that will fit?” I say, and off I go.

She was right. The place she went does not carry a larger rod of that type, even though larger rods are manufactured. So, I get two smaller ones with a plan in mind to make them work.

I get back, we all manage to get the two rods up and get the curtains on them. We open and close the drapes to be sure that the curtains behind them are not disturbed as that happens. Everything works just fine. The sheers hang on the rods I bought and don’t even show that we joined the rods together. Mom comes back in from the bedroom and looks at the job we’ve done.

“Well, I see you finally figure out how to get them up there. I told you that rod would work.”

Next day at work, the phone rings, and when I answer it, Mom says, brightly, "Hi, Honey. I just wanted to tell you what great time we had yesterday and how much we appreciate you all coming over."

Sweet as pie.

...Whattheheck..?!!? Am I on Candid Camera?

……………………………………………..

My mom remembers things that either did not actually happen or that happened in very different ways than she tells. Here’s a typical example…

As youngsters, many years ago (waaay many years ago!), my brothers and I had already formed many of our likes and dislikes; especially as relates to food. For instance, my younger brother, Brian, did not like Mexican or Tex-Mex food, and all of us knew that. Also, one of my brothers liked cake and the other liked icing. They gave each other the part they didn’t like. We all knew that, too.

My mom likes trying new recipes. A few years back, she made a recipe for a dish called Taco Soup. Now, by this time, all of us were grown and had left home. In fact, Brian had lived outside of the state for several years. Not too long ago – within the past 3-4 years - Mom told the family that, as a child, Brian loved Taco Soup. Never mind that Brian dislikes Mexican food, and never mind that he had not lived anywhere near us for many years, and never mind that Mom had only been cooking Taco Soup since well after Brian moved away. She still insists that Brian loves Taco Soup.

::sigh!:: Okay. Whatever.

........................................................

Mom has been going through things in her house to add them to the list of who gets what when she and Dad are gone. The other day, she called me at work. I answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Sharon, are you busy?”

“I am pretty busy at present. I’m trying to finish a report before lunch. Can I call you back?

“Well, this will only take a minute. Do you remember that bar pin?”

“I – what? Bar pin?” (Knowing I will be caught up in the chaos…)

“The blue one.”

“Blue?” Feeling like I’m about to be sorry…

“Yes, Sharon Lee! The blue one.” (oops – the dreaded peppery tone)

“Um, no. I don’t think so.”

“Mama’s blue bar pin, Sharon Lee! The one she and Megan always talked about.” (a bit more peppery)

(Totally lost.) “Oh. Ummm, that one.”

“Yes. Do you think Megan would want it?”

“Did you ask Megan?”

“I’m asking YOU. Do you think she would?” (pepper, pepper)

“Yes? I think that she probably would if she and Grandma talked about it. It’s likely to mean something to her, then.”

“All right. I’ll put that on the list for Megan.”

“Okay. That seems fine.”

“Why don’t you let her know when you see her tonight?”

“Mom, why don’t you tell her? You are the one who is leaving it to her.”

“Because I asked you to do it. You’d better get back to work. Don’t you have a report to do? I’ll talk to you later.” Hangs up.

Later that evening, I speak to my daughter:

“Megan, do you remember talking to Gaga about a blue pin she had?”

“No.”

“Your grandmother asked me about a blue bar pin that she says you and Gaga used to talk about. Does that ring a bell with you?”

“No. I don’t remember talking to her about any jewelry.”

“Well, your grandmother is leaving this pin to you in her will, and she thinks it is something that you will know all about.”

Megan looks at me for a moment.

“Taco Soup, Mom.”

Yep. I guess it is. And, that’s enough for today.

God bless!

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Preserving the Figs…

(Tuesday morning. Sharon calls Mom.)

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m calling about the figs for this weekend. I’m getting all the stuff together I need to bring to make the fig preserves.”

“Well, good. We’re having lots of figs out there, and they look great.”

“Cool! I’m looking forward to having fig preserves on a warm, buttered biscuit this winter. Sound yummy to me.”

“Well, they’ll all be gone by this winter. Figs don’t grow in the winter.”

“No, I mean, the preserves, Mom. Eating fig preserves in the winter. On a biscuit.”

“Well, they won’t still be warm, then.”

“No, but the biscuit will be warm. With butter.”

“Oh. Well, you can put preserves on it.”

“Yes. That’s what I meant.”

“Well, it’s not what you said.”

“So, are there lots of figs out there? Will we have enough to make a good-sized batch on Saturday?” (obviously changing the subject)

“Well, of course, there are. We’ve been bringing them in for days and putting them in the refrigerator.” (mumbling heard in the background) “Well, your father says all the ones in the refrigerator have been eaten. He heard you because I have you on speaker.”

“Tell Dad that we won’t have any left for preserves if he keeps that up.” (more mumbling)

“Your father told me to tell you he isn’t eating them. I am.”

“Well, then, Mom, don’t eat them all!”

“There will be plenty, Sharon Lee.” (oops – the dreaded peppery tone)

“Well, okay. Would you guys just go out and check by Friday to be sure we have enough to make all this worthwhile on Saturday?”

“I said there would be plenty, but I’ll check.” (peppery, peppery)

“Okay, then. I’ll check back with you on what to bring on Friday”

“I thought you were coming on Saturday.”

“Yes, but I’ll check in on Friday to make sure there’s not something I’ve missed.”

“I see. All right.”

“Well, I’m stacked up here at work, so I’ll talk to you guys later. Love you!”

“Love you, too. Bye-bye.”

(Sharon hangs up. Sighs. Makes mental note to call back on Friday.)


(Friday afternoon. Sharon calls her folks.)

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m just calling to check to see if there’s plenty of figs. You said you’d check.”

“I haven’t checked, yet.”

“Well, when you get a chance will you or Dad just go look at them trees to see if there are plenty?”

“All right, Sharon Lee. If it will make you happy, we’ll go look in a while to see and we’ll let you know.” (very exasperated)

“Okay. Thanks, Mom. Talk to you later.” (trying not to sound impatient)

“All right. Good bye.”

“Bye.”

(Sharon hangs up and takes a deep breath. Cut to Saturday morning. Sharon calls Mom.)

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m calling to check on the figs.”

“I already told you. You should listen to your messages.”

“Hold on.” (looks at cell to see if there were any missed calls or messages. None. Asks daughters to check home phone. No messages. No calls from the ‘rents.) “Mom? I don’t have any messages on my cell or on the house phone. When did you call?”

“Last night. We called several times, and it was Robyn’s voice that finally answered and took the message.”

(Sharon asks daughters to check their cell phones. No missed calls. No messages.) “Mom, neither of the girls has any missed calls or messages. And, Robyn’s voice is not on my voice mail. It’s a computer-generated voice on there.”

“Well, I think I know Robyn’s voice. It was Robyn!” (becoming upset)

“What number did you call, Mom?” (Mom rattles off a number that Sharon does not know.)

“Well, Mom, I don’t know who that is, but my number is xxx.xxx.xxxx.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s what I called. You need to check again!” (angrily)

“Okay. At any rate, what message did you leave?”

“No figs.”

“What?” (a little surprised)

“No figs. Birds musta got ‘em. Not a one on either tree. Not even blooms.”

(pause)

“Well, I guess we won’t be making preserves today, then. What a shame. I was looking forward to that.”

“Well, too bad. No figs. None. We’ll have to get them at the store.”

“I guess.” (sighs) “I’ll use the time to get laundry done and some other things, then. You and Dad have a good day.”

“You, too. See you later.”

(Sharon hangs up and bangs head against wall. Daughters are laughing. Sharon starts after them with a hanger.)

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

O. Mi. Gosh.

Newest episode of "Life with the 'Rents" (gotta picture this as if you are watching a sitcom on tv...)

(fade in - phone rings. Sharon answers. It's Mom.)

"Sharon, do you still have T-Mobile?"

"Yes, Mom, and so do you."

"No, we don't There's no light."

"No light?"

"On the phone."

"Whether or not you have a light, Mom, you are still with T-Mobile."

"Well, they won't let us use our phone."

"What's the problem?"

"There's no light. It isn't on."

"Have you charged it?" (mumbling in the background)

"Yes, your father says it's charged, Sharon Lee." (Peppery attitude.)

"Perhaps you should change the battery. There is an extra one in the box the phone came in. Do you have that close by?"

"Yes. We have that." (Peppery-er attitude)

"Oh, hey, Mom, is it on?"

"Why don't you talk to your father. He's telling me what to say. You talk to him." (totally exasperated)

Dad (pleasantly): "I'm actually not exactly sure what's happened with this."

"Mom said the light is not on?"

"No, it's not. There doesn't seem to be power."

"Have you charged it?"

"Well. I had it on the charger just now."

"Is it on?"

"Well, I think so. I'm pretty sure it is."

"Dad, on the phone, there should be a couple of little symbols. One is a phone headpiece that looks like it's off the hook, and one is a phone headpiece that looks like it's about to hang up. Do you see those?"

"Well, let's see. I don't know where to look for them There are lots of little things on the screen, but I can't tell what they are. They're really small."

"Well, you could use your magnifying glass for those, but, what we're looking for is buttons, not screen icons."

"Oh! Oh! Yes, I see. I found them. One on the right looks off the hook and one on the right looks like it's about to hang up."

(very slight pause) "Good. That's exactly what you need, Dad. Press the one on the right and hold it down for a moment."

"Well, okay." (musical sound of phone coming on) "Well, I'll be darned! It was off! Don't know how I did that, but I sure know how to undo it, now!"

"Can you tell if it's charged? Sometimes, it turns off because it loses charge."

"How do I know that?"

"There's an icon that looks like a D or C battery that will have a few bars in it. It needs to be filled up. Some of them have 3 bars and some have 4. Without having your phone in front of me, I can't tell which yours is."

"Well, I'm not sure where that is."

"On the screen."

"Oh, one of those little things?"

"The icons, yes. Dad, I think you should just go plug it in and leave it there to be sure you have plenty of charge."

"Good idea. I'll do that. So, it was as simple as turning this little gadget on, huh?" (chuckles)

"Yup. But, you never can be sure what the problem is 'til you trouble shoot it. I just happened to start with the easiest thing and we bingoed."

"We sure did."

"Well, Dad, I just got out of a meeting and I need to get these notes down. I'll talk to you guys later, okay?"

"Okay, Sweetheart, we'll see you later. I love you."

"I love you guys, too. Bye."

"Bye-bye."

(Shot of Sharon banging head against the desk as we fade out)