They got here at 6 pm, we went out for dinner, and they fled for the city at 9. So anxious were they to make their train, they wanted to go to the station -- which is 3 minutes away -- a half hour early. On their way out, Mrs. B., who's never shown even a flicker of interest in sports, was grumbling that they'd miss a Lakers game on TV while en route to the city. Whaaat!? I hope the searing pain of that loss has subsided a bit.
Also bizarre: when we got back to our house after dinner, Jarv's mom pulled out the tin foil and started wrapping up wedges of brie and gruyere from my cheese platter to take back to the hotel. And the crackers I had set out during cocktail hour were no longer as crisp as she would have liked, so she traded those in for some fresh ones from my pantry. The cheese, she reported, would be her breakfast the next day. (Come to think of it, that's not much stranger than the time we had a picnic and she packed up a whole, untouched pie to take home.) What are we, the food bank? Doc must have her on one heck of a budget.
But Jarvis was placated by their appearance and the kids were delighted to see Grandma and Granddad. It was an odd night. In other words, pretty normal for this group.
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