I started cleaning out my desk a couple of weeks ago, at which point I pulled out my 1973 diary, thinking it would be interesting to read. I stuck it in the headboard bookcase above my pillow. One day Dad asked me if he could read it, as he had noticed it there. I hadn’t really spent any time with it, but Dad took off reading and was soon through the entire year. He asked if I could pull out 1974, so I did. He was reading through that one night, when he came upon the time period where I had started the crewel embroidery picture of a grist mill. I worked on it, sitting by a pond in a field in Oklahoma while Dad fished. I remember that well. It was my first project, and my one and only time to do crewel work. There was a complimentary picture that Dad thought we should have, and I remember going to purchase it. I remember Dad framing both pictures. I have never remembered actually doing it, and according to my writing, that was because Dad embroidered the picture. He read me the part where I said I was very amused to watch him at work on it, which I’m sure I was. All these years later, 34 to be exact, the two pictures hang side-by-side over the piano, the grist mill done by my hand, the windmill done by Dad’s. I totally forgot, but now you know.