Life at Casa Plumb

The thing about Casa Plumb is, the more things change around here, the more they stay the same.

I finally finished my story, "The Portal of Time." I used some of Aunt Margaret's notes from when she researched the family history and wrote my story imagining that I was whisked back in time through dad's telescope.

Speaking of dad, he was all excited at breakfast the next morning when he revealed that he'd discovered a satellite and he named it 'Sebastian' after my baby brother. I didn't know he had astronomy as one of his hobbies. I suppose it makes sense, though. Sometimes I think dad belongs in the skies.

We started training Bastian in earnest. Gotta tell ya, after dad is done with him, he'll be an expert in digging up earthworms and eating them.

Meanwhile, mom was working on her latest painting for the gallery. When she's not conducting the orchestra and pretty much running the household because my dad is a space cadet, that's what she does. And she's so good at it people pay her thousands of simoleans just to have her paint for them.

My dad survives on burgers and cookies, really. The only time he'll eat a home cooked meal is when mom or Aunt Margaret cook it for him, and even Aunt Margaret indulges him most of the time. I'm surprised he isn't as big as Nicholas.

I decided to take a stroll down to the art museum after I'd gotten done writing. I didn't know I'd run into Ms. Daniels there. "Hello, Savannah, we meet again," she'd said, admiring the latest masterpiece to grace the walls. "Lovely painting."

"Thanks," I said, "it's my mom's."

"She's very talented."

"I know." I gave her a wide grin.

"You know why I like you, Savannah?" Ms. Daniels said, nudging me on my shoulder. "Because you're feisty. You tell it like it is."

So, remind me of that when I write my eventual blockbuster tell-all memoir detailing my family for posterity to read, when I'm on all the major talk shows talking about it.

Does my family know about this site? Not really. I have so far fairly successfully been able to keep them at arm's length about it. They think I'm making a scrapbook when I'm snapping pics.