"The brave men who died in Vietnam, more than 100% of which were Black, were the ultimate sacrifice." - Marion Barry

Jefferson Street in the area of 21st Ave is a one-way street heading east.
Thankfully, Jefferson Street in the area of 21st Ave is very lightly traveled at 3:30 p.m.
However, there is one driver who probably went home and changed his shorts.

Hey, I've never been down there before.

I think I'm getting my stitches out tomorrow. They called me at 9 this morning to remind me of the 10:45 appointment scheduled for that purpose, at 10:30 to tell me to come in next week Wednesday instead ("it's probably too soon to remove them"), then at 2:00 this afternoon to ask how I felt about having them removed tomorrow. We ended up agreeing I'd go in tomorrow, they'll look at how things are healing, and decide what to do. All this because the dr. is gone for the week and his PA is running things.
It's OK; this is just about removing stitches. If we were talking about a kidney transplant....

I had hoped to have the brake lines made and installed by dinnertime. I have none of them done. I did, however, spend almost the entire day working the issues.
I've upgraded to a modern and safer dual master cylinder. The new rear axle I had built has the brakes out of an early 70's Chevy truck. The front wheels have the stock '59 setup, but the T fitting is no longer made and doesn't fit current brake lines.
I spent the day going to three different brake parts shops (one of them near Jefferson and 21st) getting the lines and fittings to make this hodge-podge work. Well, it's supposed to work, but I won't know that until it's all in and filled with fluid.
Tomorrow I'll try my hand at flaring steel brake lines and then bending them to run from the master cylinder to each wheel. The goal is to have it all done by Friday when the kids will help me put the cab back on the frame and all of this will be covered up and a pain to work on.

I've done a lot of weddings and funerals, some of them more memorable than others. One of the funerals...I don't remember the service itself, but something that happened the day before has stayed with me.
Helen was probably in her late 70's, tall, and distinguished looking, always put together, and gracious. Soft-spoken and articulate. She attended regularly, but usually alone. I'd met her husband at Christmas and Easter services, but he rarely showed up the rest of the year. I don't remember exactly what he did, just that it involved government service, he was pretty important, and they had lived all over the world.
When he died rather unexpectedly I was asked to do the funeral. Their two unmarried adult kids came into town for the service, a son I'd met a few times before and a daughter I had not.
In the kitchen of the house the day before the funeral I had an opportunity to talk to the son alone. I told him I was concerned about his mother because she seemed too quiet, distant. Everybody grieves in their own way, but I was worried she seemed to be withdrawing from everyone.
He didn't hesitate for a moment. He told me his father was a mean, self-centered man who had mistreated Helen for over 50 years. He said she felt no grief at his death, only relief. She was too proper to have told people about the mistreatment so everyone thought she would be distraught over his passing. The only thing she could do was continue her in her private world.

Like I said, I don't remember the service itself. I just remember the son walking out of the kitchen leaving me standing there wondering what in the world I would say the next day that wouldn't betray Helen but also wouldn't amount to a dishonest portrayal of a guy I suddenly didn't like at all.

If I got it wrong Helen was much too gracious to have told me so.