the great leslie

My brother, father and I went to the half-price sale at the Salvation Army today to look for some pants for my brother. He found $2 in the pair he bought, making the deal pretty sweet. He also bought a sweater, which he questioned purchasing, but one of the women working there said: "Don't be anal. You got two women saying it looks good." It was her advice, not mine, that sold him. Or perhaps it was the fear of looking anal.

We were talking about how you just run into a lot of people here in Portland while we waited in line. Not five minutes later, my father recognized a woman who used to babysit my brother and I when we were living in Portland 30 years ago. She seemed somewhat overwhelmed that the little kids she remembered were so grown-up and chatting her up at the Salvation Army counter. But we talked about some of the times she took us to the art museum and how we rode the bus and we told her that my mother has been telling stories about her for all these years. We didn't exchange contact information, and I wish we had. It'd be cool to invite her to a picnic or a dinner later this summer.