The shame closet

Okay, so it's not a shame closet (but that's one of my favorite phrases from The Simpsons). Today Dean and I drove out to my parents' house (120 miles one way) to fix up a closet that used to have a heater in it. Mom wanted it painted and with shelves so she could store her seasonal decorations in it.

Dad had done his best to fix it up but had gone waay overboard with the spackle. I think Dean must have sanded for a hour in this tiny closet.

Dean also put a light in it to make it easier to see everything, and even installed a switch (which he put in upside down on purpose to see how long it would take Mom to notice -- she never did, I had to tell her).

Mom and Dad are lookin' good, although I think Dad's thinking a lot about the end of life (he's 82, and has outlived all his family except for one sister, and they were mostly all long-lived). They are still busy, but Dad tires easily these days and has to take several catnaps (5-10 minutes) every day. I love them dearly and worry much about losing them.

Anyway, we drove back this evening. A nice day, all in all.