Telling stories on ourselves . . .

N rode his bike into work today. He was finally up early enough for the extra long trip, in spite of his wife sleeping in. This morning, I had called Salem Clinic to get Fran in (5:30) to see Dr. Weeks about her rash and edema in her hip area. I emailed N to let him know we wouldn't be home when he got off work, but forgot to mention that we also needed to stop off at Costco to pick-up several prescriptions. Jon, Fran and I, didn't get home until 7:30 and immediately noticed that the truck was missing. Our first thought was, "he's gone on a bike ride". And then our second thought was, "why would he go for a bike ride when he rode his bike to and back from work?". Before we could go on to our next thought, the door opened and N's head popped out. We looked at him and asked where the truck was. We all must've had silly looks on our faces, because he thought we were joking. When we finally convinced him we were serious and even more concerned, he dialed the Salem Police to report a stolen truck. I was still having a hard time believing anyone would come all the way out to our little lane and take a big truck in broad daylight, but the proof was tough to ignore. Fran emerged from the bathroom (thinking room) and solved the mystery. "We forgot to pick-up the truck after our trip to Portland yesterday!" N immediately got back on the phone to tell the police to cancel the bulletin. And then we laughed ourselves silly. To save time yesterday, we picked N up from work and then drove up to OHSU. We were too preoccupied with digesting our day and seeing Jon again to remember the truck was downtown.