We didn’t have a kitchen dancing kind of father’s day but in the end, a couple of father-ish things happened yesterday, on Juneteenth. Turning the tables, the GG did something for each of his daughters. Drove one to pick up her vee-hickle after maintenance and replaced a battery in the other’s CO alarm. Oh, not that she can’t change a battery. But the “new” battery she tried to use as a replacement was in fact dead and she didn’t have any others. He (of course) did. I know he was happy to “save the day” in both instances. As an adult I lived a five hour drive away from my parents so they weren’t usually available to help with stuff like that.

[Delete rant about smoke/CO alarms that beep raucously at any time of the day or night because the battery is low. The last time this happened to me, it did the most awful caterwauling imaginable and then a voice started saying “fire, fire”. It stopped – because there was NO FIRE — but I could not get back to sleep. Jeebus.]

The Landfill Chitchen, while not very big, is big enough to allow for a bit of kitchen dancing. You can maybe see in the pic. The moomincabin is mostly a one-person kitchen although I can remember The Commander cooking with all FOUR of her granddaughters on stools, well, maybe the eldest was tall enough to reach the counter without a stool. Sure wish I had a pic of that but digital cameras, not to mention iPhones, were not available in those days and I was never any good at managing film cameras but that’d be a whole ‘nother story.

Anyway, when two adults are in the moominkitchen they are constantly bumping butts. Back in the day, before the Marine Traffic app, when a freighter came into view, it was always very exciting and somebody or other would yell, “BOTE!” I remember my mother and I scrambling to get out to the front window to see the bote, bumping butts the whole way. As if we hadn’t ever seen another bote in our lives.

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