Travel Reference
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Our next order of business was getting the metal tracks installed for the shutters to slot
into.
But for some reason this relatively small task seemed almost insurmountable.
Every time we broached the topic with Jane she seemed to come up with a new excuse
for not doing it: “The screws don't fit.” “You have guests in the house.” “Pablo has a cold.”
Why was she stalling? We never really knew.
Our working theory, however, was that she loved big tasks but hated small ones. Ask
her to oversee, at short notice, the reconstruction of one whole floor of our house? No prob-
lem. Hang a towel rack in the upstairs bathroom? Zzzz.
We quit mentioning the tracks. The beginning of the next hurricane season was, after
all, nine months away.
But the next time we were down for a visit Michael took the tracks out of storage and
laid them underneath each window and door they belonged to. “Are we going to install
them ourselves?” I asked.
“I hope not,” was Michael's cryptic answer.
Later that day Jane stopped by. She had her usual list of things that needed to be dis-
cussed and so did we, but nobody mentioned the tracks. And every time we walked past
them she managed to look the other way.
“I don't get it,” I remarked after she'd left.
“Give it a day or two,” Michael advised.
And guess what?
When we returned home from the beach the next afternoon the tracks had magically
been installed.
Occasionally, for old time's sake, I'll surf past the Weather Channel and pause for a
short, nostalgic moment, remembering those long autumnal afternoons on Michael's sofa.
Shelley's hair is still a rat's nest.
But I'm happy to report that Rob finally bought himself a new jacket.
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