When we came home from Texas last weekend the phone line was dead again, only, this time the problem was inside somewhere.
It was getting old.
Richard stayed home this morning until he tracked it down to a problem in the jack in the kitchen; unplug the wall phone, boom, there you go, just in time. (Sing it, Paul!)
My little sister, 19 months younger than me and who was always almost catching up to me growing up, being just a year behind me at school and getting the same teachers, who (since she was the fifth kid) would say to her like they’d said to me, Oh, *another* Jeppson, called: “How does it feel to be an old fart?”
“Actually, I can’t fart anymore.” I grinned.
That stopped her a second. “I never thought of that!”