Half a dozen amusing titles came to mind as I was first thinking of writing this post many months ago, but they've since been forgotten. But I'll tell you how it was and that should be plenty amusing.Maybe not so much these days, but in the last few months that we were living in Anchorage, G had a habit of picking up and taking home rocks that she would see in parking lots or flower beds. They weren't small pretty rocks, or even notable; they were simply rocks. A favorite pickup site was right outside the library over on Denali. Usually I would kick them to the curb in some parking lot, or remember to chuck them out into the yard at home, but some still succeeded in getting into the house – we had the makings of a small archeology museum display.
Fast forward to the days after the moving company delivered our belongings here in KCMO: You can usually fairly guess what's inside all those layers of paper, wrapped to prevent scratching, breaking, etc. But I had to give a hearty chuckle when I found the last holdout of G's rocks carefully papered among the pots and pans, a solid memento of our time in Alaska.
