There was a package for me in the mail today. Actually, my name was misspelled in about every possible way, but since the name on the package most closely resembled my name and not any of the neighbors', I figured it was for me. Then I noticed that the package came from my dad's girlfriend's mother. Huh??? I don't really communicate with the girlfriend, much less the mother of said girlfriend. Ohhh, but I remember (vaguely) the party on our wedding day...the mother of the girlfriend was there, for some reason...I barely remember her, but there she is, stuck in there with the delicious leftover salmon mousse and the ketchup-and-banana shenanigans of M.W. & S.M. "But what's with the package?" I thought. I tried to imagine what it could possibly be, and I was a little afraid to open it. I shook it, and while it made lots of noise, there were no clues, just the obvious fact that she did not pack it very well.
I opened it.
Inside was a beautiful melamine platter from the 1950's. C. and I collect '50's dishes. And there in the box was one damn fine specimen. Here's a scan of it:
No note was enclosed, no message. The only clue was the return address. Then I remembered that this woman and I had had a conversation at the party (last September!) about our dish collection.
Who'da thunk? I mean, I have always thought of Dad's girlfriend and her family as a group of people I neither liked much nor had anything in common with. I have even thought they were kind of creepy.
Methinks perhaps I judge too harshly.
