April 23. Sunday Night.

Hi Journey.

Whenever I feel like failure is imminent, I know where to go.

“Hi Dad.”

“How's my girl? Work all weekend again?” he asked. I could tell he was upbeat. Good; then the trip to San Francisco hadn't pulled him down too far.

“Just yesterday. Trying to figure out a little flyer or business card to send out for an open house were going to put on.”

“Is this for that networking club you joined? What's it called again…Kegtap?”

From half a continent away I could see the wry smile on my dad's face. He's eternally been much fonder of his little puns than us kids are.

“Biz Tap, you goof. And yes, it's for that. But it's not really a club; it's just a once-a-month social.”

”Yeah. When I started out at AssureGuard I spruced up for two or three of those little soirees a month. I lasted about a year, then I had enough contacts built up I could gradually drop out of all of them. Of course, nobody missed me—too much. Lordy, but I never knew a person could get finger-fatigue just from holding the same martini glass for two hours.”

“I don't remember you going to any of those,” I said.

“I'd stopped right about the time Carm came along. I was consistent in putting my handshake and then my business card in a few thousand hands. And in that order, I might add.”

“Martini glass, hmmm? Probably easier to grip than that frosted tumbler I carried my rum and coke in.”

“Sure. You just encircle the stem by making a circle of your thumb and indy finger, and then let the glass cradle atop it. Much easier than gripping a glass all night, that's for sure.” He shifted gears smoothly. “But you called me up to discuss Mattie, didn't you?”

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