Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

Tom has been very pushy, if you ask me, about chucking shit that's in the basement. Last week, every time I turned around for days on end, there was some important item I didn't even remember having on it's way to the curb. My office overlooks the driveway so I was right on top of the goings on. Tom kept talking about the importance of getting your junk out early because this gives everybody cruising slowly around the neighborhood in pick-up trucks ample time to pick it over. These pick-up truck people for sure had marked their calendars with a red X for Big Garbage Day. They headed out with high hopes and bungie cords. Tom and I had a few wins. Someone took a gigantic decorative urn. They also took a very heavy folding wall screen.  Then somebody else came by and left a brand new bedspread. It was still in its original plastic wrapping. Whoever it was just set it right down next to our driveway.  WTF. We're trying to get rid of stuff not get more stuff. Also this beds...

 My grandmother's name was Beatrice, but her nickname was Bobby. At some point in their long marriage, my grandpa started calling her "Roberta."  Grandpa inexplicably wearing a bike helmet and "Roberta." I can follow the Bobby -> Roberta logic path.  It's kind of funny in the way that my grandfather was kind of funny. He'd call grammy Roberta like your mother calls you by your given name when she's had just about enough of you. Or when she needs you to come and do something for her.  Meaning, he called her Roberta a lot. After my grandfather died, the Mackoveks who lived next door for 50 years or something came over to offer their condolences. They brought flowers with a card for "Roberta." My grandmother snapped at them. "My name," she said, "is not Roberta." They were completely confounded but too polite to ask what the hell her name was then.

The whole fambo -- mom, pop, my bro + co, all showed up at our place last Friday. We had planned a weekend in the city and I was super thrilled it all came together.  Most arrived on the early side.  My brother and Jack showed up at like 11pm on Friday night.  On Saturday morning, our first group activity was to go make sure their car was still there. Sometimes parking signs around here are hard to decipher and tow trucks are a thing. Good news! The car remained, with no tickets even. We all admired how it was parked at like a 30 degree angle. Unsurprising, I guess. They were coming in hot. We all walked over to Chelsea Market for lunch. Chelsea Market wouldn't be the first place on my list, but it holds family memories.  out front Chelsea Market I remember when the twins were babies and required constant entertainment. Like 24-35 hours a day, every day of the week entertainment. It was harrowing. When they'd visit, we'd wheel the strollers over to Chelsea Market and...