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I have to get up at 9 am tomorrow to catch a plane to Oakland. From there, I'll go to my Aunt's house where there's going to be a celebration for my Grandpa's 90th birthday. I thought he told me he was born in 1913, which would make him 89 tomorrow. I'm not sure which is right, but it doesn't really matter. The older you get, the less exact you have to be about it. When you're born, it's all about weeks, then months, then years and a half (oh yeah, well I'm eight and a half plus one!), pretty soon, not even the year matters. 9 decades, 89 years, it's all the same. All I know is that he's old enough to be somewhat senile. This should be interesting. It's time to start packing. You probably won't hear from me until sometime next week.