Sometimes It Pays to Have the Memory of a Goldfish

When I walked through the door Wednesday night, my father was waiting up for me. Probably because it was after 1:30am and the last time he had spoken to me was when I was in the lot searching for the ticket stub I needed to claim my car and couldn't remember my license plate or car ID number for the little "I lost my ticket, but this is my car" card. Even if he had called while I was driving, it wouldn't have mattered since my phone died about the time I was stuck in traffic on the FDR.

"Dina, did you get my message this morning?"
"Message? What message?"
"I sent you a message about what I left you."
"You left me something?" We weren't off to a good start.
"Yes, I left you something in your boots."

I looked down at the boots on my feet and over at my snow boots near the door. Reaching into my snow boots, I found an envelope from my father with a little message about how he noticed I was very frazzled the day before and that I should do something nice for myself. There was money inside.

Remember this? Let's just say that that was the perfect end to a day that started with a phone call from Jon, the guy I was organizing a concert with, waking me to tell me that the sound guy's van wasn't available and we needed a solution quick.

Have a Shabbat Shalom, all.