My grandpa here calls me Kelsita and I think it’s really cute. He lives behind us and whenever he sees me he says stuff I don’t understand and laughs at me. (Sometimes at my lack of understanding, sometimes because I’m so tall that I hit my head on the washline and practically behead myself—this happens wayyy too frequently.) To finish the conversation he says something about me dancing and playing the guitar. (He always sees me on my way to my weekly guitar lesson!) We laugh, he calls me Kelsita and I go on my merry way. I think he’s adorable. He’s also ridiculously agile for his apparent age—he’s helping my uncle BUILD my dad’s window workshop. I should really take some pics of it, the progress is unbelievable. The other day when I got home from school he was stomping on beans or something and I helped. I was a little concerned that we would be consuming these beans because I was stomping on them with the same flip flops that stomp around on dog crap. But hey, whatever, germs SCHMERMS. He told me it wasn’t sunny enough to dry them but that tomorrow it would be and lo and behold, he was right! The next day was really sunny.