I sat there probably forty minutes.
And then I went upstairs and opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand and took out a blue folder.
Arthur Used to Make Fun of Me for Keeping Every Receipt, and On Thanksgiving Morning I Thanked Him Out Loud
Fifty-one years he teased me about it.
“Maggie, you’ve got a receipt in here for a loaf of bread.”
And I’d say: “Well, what if it’s a bad loaf.”
That blue folder had every single thing in it. Four years of receipts from that house, in order, by year, with the credit card slip stapled to the invoice on anything over two hundred dollars, because that’s how I was taught to do it in 1973 at a job I had at an insurance office before Daniel was born.
