We’ve been hanging the show and dealing with the myriad of accompanying details all week. For Tuesday morning, Katherine visited Nana’s house because there was no space for her at the gallery in the early stages of the hanging and I needed all my mental facilities, diminished as they might be, about me.
The following dialogue (or something rather like it) was reported to me:
Katherine: Daddy takes his lunch to work and I help give it to him.
Nana (my mom): Oh? And what does he have in his lunch?
Katherine: He has…. a sandwich, a yogret, apples and his drink.
Nana: What kind of drink?
Katherine: He has black, grown-up drink.
Nana: Is it coffee, maybe?