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IT WAS A (SMALL) COMEDY OF ERRORS! It wasn't as comical as it could have been (which gave me only a tiny pang of disappointment, and really didn't dampen the pleasant evening one iota). But let me start at the beginning, Reader Dear, as it's ever so hard to back up with a load of comical errors, albeit small!

I listened to a phone message this morning and heard the young man who had left the message yesterday saying, "Hi, Qathy, this is Dave. I'm in the area; I'm visiting Jenn. We'd like to come see you guys if it suits you."

Dave? I thought. Dave? I should know this Dave; his voice is familiar. I listened to the message again. I hadn't a clue, but began a mental rundown of all the Daves I knew. I kept bumping up against anonymity!

It just so happened, fortunately, that an hour or so later my daughter showed up. "I got a call from Dave," I told her." I must know him, but I don't!" I pulled up the message on the phone and put the phone to her ear. She listened intently. "The voice is familiar!" she said.
She listened again. "Hmm. He sounds young."
We pondered.
I listened to Dave again.
We discussed the possibilities.
And she listened to Dave again.

And then she said, "I think maybe it's Gabe!"

Well, Dear Reader, I listened to the message from Gabe, my nephew from Virginia who is in the area visiting his girlfriend, Jenn, and he no longer sounded like Dave!
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So now come forward in time, Reader Dear (which will mean less backing up for me), to this evening. The yard man and I are taking Gabe and Jenn out to eat at a nice little Asian eatery. Jenn, we find out, is my husband's cousin's husband's cousin's daughter! We have a very nice visit while eating the Vietnamese food (very likely it wouldn't have been as enjoyable if Dave had shown up instead of Gabe!) As we're cleaning our plates of the Xoi Ga Lap Xuong and the Bun Ga Nuong, my yard man suggests that we follow up our Asian meal with ice cream at Oregon Dairy Store, a few miles away. But then we're leaving the restaurant and we're struck by the lateness of the hour; it's very nearly nine o'clock. "Oh," says my yard man, "it's possible they'll be closed!"
"We could go to Carmen and David's," says Jenn. "In the city...Of course, they might be closed, too."
"Well," says Gabe, "we could just pick one and make a run for it!" (This nephew of mine likes ice cream [hard to tell if that'd be true of Dave]).
"Yes, yes, let's do it!" I say.
"Oregon Dairy!" says the yard man. "Does she know how to get there?" He's talking to Gabe.
We're leaping into our respective cars, squealing tires out of the parking lot (I've embellished just a bit, Reader Dear, I confess).
I convince the yard man that taking the limited-access highway will get us there faster; he's well-accustomed to driving with a heavy foot; we pull into the nearly empty parking lot at Oregon Dairy Store just as the digital display on the clock says 9:00.
Gabe and Jenn aren't there yet, but the yard man and I scramble from the car and race for the door of the ice cream shop. "Look," says the yard man, "the OPEN sign's still lit up!" No sooner do the words leave his mouth, the neon goes black...

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(Great big sigh, Reader Dear.....it's late. The digital display on the clock NOW says 11:47)
To be Cont'd...