Okay, I've got a funny one. We all know Dad's office is a collector'sheaven. (At least his.) One day, I was cleaning out Dad's office onMinton so Tara could move into it. (They were moving back from St.Louis.) I did a pretty good job, and I was still careful to not justtoss everything I thought was unimportant. I wanted to check with Dadfirst. So, I loaded a box full of all the items I thought weregarbage, but wanted Dad to go through so I didn't throw away somethingspecial to him. (Tara's conditioned Dad to worry about this kind ofthing, you know.) I set the box on the kitchen table. (See, aren't Inice, I waited to ask him!) When Dad got home, I told him about thebox, and the fear of "Tara" came into his eyes. You know thelook--eyebrows jerk up and eyes flash with sudden knowing, lower lippulls up with eyebrows to cover upper lip. Without saying a word, andbefore he did anything else, Dad walked over to the table,protectively hoisted the box under his arm, marched over to the garagedoor, turned and looked at me triumphantly, filled up his chest withair, then proclaimed to all the house: "SANCTUARY!" and leapt intothe garage.
On that same idea, with the garage lovingly now named the "Sanctuary",Bryan and I were laughing about that story about a year ago. We cameto the conclusion that Dad's "Sanctuary" is full of Holy Crap!
Stay tuned...Summer
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