It might just be me but I’m thinking you don’t want to see another picture of a white fireplace being painted…white. That thrill-a-minute will be saved for later in the week.
Instead, I thought I would share another Grandpa story. We love our Grandpa and he had some very formative years in the Boy Scouts. Actually Grandpa was an Eagle Scout so he more than rocked the Scouts.
A few years ago my brother made a stew and over-did the salt. He’s generally a really good cook (much better than me) but this time, he said, it was really pretty awful. Grandpa happened to be staying with him and when Grandpa tried to eat the stew, it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to eat it.
As this was during his lean, college years, my brother was broke at the time and wasn’t inclined to waste anything so when he saw Grandpa take the bowl of stew away from the table my brother said, “I’ll eat that Grandpa, don’t throw it away.”
Grandpa, clutching the bowl to his chest, said, “No no, it’s mine” and proceeded to take the bowl out the front door, into the empty, woodsy lot next door, and buried the stew in the ground. Clearly, Grandpa felt it was so awful, it had to be laid to rest.
He did return the bowl. So there’s that.