In 1988 my brother Bruce and I went to Pittsburgh to help my mother move from her house to California. Hoping to preserve her modest equity with our sweat, we wanted to fix up the house as best we could before she sold it.
It was a monumental job. The house had not been cleaned out in 35 years. There was all kinds of unspeakable cleaning disasters. We worked like dogs, every day, all day. To make matters worse, Pittsburgh was in the middle of a record-breaking heatwave. Every day was 90+ degrees with 100 percent humidity. We swam in sweat.
Late in the day we would clean up and go out to find something to eat. Then we would return and do some more work, usually lighter duty tasks like sorting.
Pamela and my friend Bruce Favish had arranged to messenger me a bottle of single malt Scotch. Oh man, did we appreciate that. Every night Bruce and I would have a nightcap to calm our nerves so we could sleep and get up to do it again the next day.
Preparing for this trip is starting to remind me of 1988. I had a shot of Scotch last night.
It was good.