Genetic Defects & Nashville Barbecue

Dear John,

 

I've had a good Sunday. We had a baby baptized at church this morning. And Peter and his fiancé were there - he's home for Thanksgiving. She's in school in Nashville, so of course I told him where the best barbecue in town is.

 

I realized something today - I'm turning into my grandmother. Not my grandmother Keistler - I've always known how much like her I am. I mean Nana, my grandmother Lattimore. Remember how she used to complain about the nursing home, that there were nothing but old people there, and she was 93 and the oldest one? And then when Daddy was in assisted living, he did the same thing and complained about having to be around all of the old people, and I'd tell him that he sounded just like his mother? I'm doing the same thing. The last time I was at the eye clinic, I looked around the waiting room and thought that everybody there was old. Then I realized that they were my age.

 

This is disconcerting. Maybe it's because our self-image doesn't keep up with the calendar - I know mine stopped somewhere around 35. Or maybe it's just a genetic defect that runs in the family. Whatever it is, please tell Daddy and Nana about this - they'll love it. I'll be glad to give them a good laugh.

 

I'd better get to bed - it's tomorrow already. I'm off work and don't have anything special going. I dusted and vacuumed this weekend, but still have the bathrooms to do. And there's always laundry. There's plenty to keep me out of trouble! It would be more fun if you were here, you know. Or we could just skype all day!

 

Adore you,

Joan.