The mail is here. It's not for you.

When Mike and Adam were teenagers, Sandra and I pretty much stopped answering the telephone because it was never for us. Even now, we still get calls for Mike, Michael Francis, or Matt. We receive letters for Adam occasionally and most days we get at least one mailing for my mother. Yesterday, though, was something new. Some mail, addressed to my father at this address, asked he wanted to sell his house.

In the evenings, now that we can keep the windows and screen doors open, we can hear the sound of the ice cream truck in their neighborhood.

My father brought an armadillo home from his travels during the 30s. His mother lined the innards with satin and made it into a basket for her sewing things. We now use the armadillo to hold our napkins.

Let me see if I've got this straight. Not content with outsourcing its call center operations to India, a subsidiary of ebookers is sending young Europeans to India and paying them Indian wages.

The Canadian Air Guitar Championship competitions are underway in Québec. The world championship will be held in Oulu, Finland. My mother's family comes from the Oulu area, Oululanni, in the northwest of Finland near the Arctic Circle.

Seven years ago today, Sandra called me on my cell phone to tell me about the birth of our second granddaughter. At the time, I was driving on Route 101 in Santa Clara, California.

Happy Birthday, Tess.