A book or a sign?

Had I been smart I would have taught my daughters what little I know about DIY, power tools and home repairs. But by now I think we can all agree I'm not smart.

Moreover, what I learned was always during a heated confrontation between my father, a CPA turned self taught Master Craftsman who built his own shelfs, his own furniture and even a full sized Finnish Sauna off his master bathroom.

"Hey Richie, come in here and give me a hand, I'll show how to work a miter saw."

"I'm busy"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm watching Monty Python."

"Get in here."

This is not to say that my daughters are not resourceful. One assembled an entire 6 drawer Ikea dresser to perfection. All by herself. And the other put together her own queen size bed without my assistance.

But when it comes to hanging shelves on the wall, drilling through drywall without hitting a stud, and the proper use of Mollybolts, that's when my phone rings. So I ventured into my incredibly messy garage, carted out the tools and started looking for a convenient bag in order to trot them over to Abby's place. 

I looked high and low, but since discarding the heavy duty shopping bags my wife used to bring to the supermarket, I'm not a bag toting guy, I couldn't find anything. Then I looked in the closet by the entryway. There, behind the long winter coats that shield us from the brutal Southern California winters, I spotted a small paper bag with handles.

That's when the shock set in.  

It's also when I start to question my own cynical, even nihilistic, beliefs about the universe, metaphysics, and how did early mankind discover which mushrooms were OK to eat.

I pulled out the bag and found a brand new copy of a David Sedaris' book. My wife knew what a fan I had become of his easy going writing style, quirky humor and poignant revelations. According to the receipt, she bought the book just before my birthday in 2021 and was planning on wrapping it as a gift. I guess because of her chronic fatigue from the chemo treatments she never got around to it.

The floodgates opened. 

But let's be honest, it takes little very little for my hyperactive tear ducts to go into overdrive. Hook me up to a water collection device and I can solve California's drought conditions in about a dozen June Gloom days.

But wait there's more.

I pulled out the receipt and noticed my wife had purchased another book the same day.

As I mentioned before and in a thousand other posts before this, I'm not big on the paranormal. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't attend seances. I don't go tea readings or see psychics. But it does seem like some sort of sign.

It should be noted that Deb was not as close-minded about that stuff as I am.

Maybe she was right and maybe I was wrong. There's certainly a lot of precedence for that.

Now I'll pick my jaw off the floor.