Safe places, safe in my own mind.

As long as I can remember, I like to put things in safe places. Problem is, it's so safe, I have problems finding it again.

Please see the picture. It's pertinent to the story.

This is a National Geographic issue from March 1977. The significance is that my brother, The F-18 Pilot, was born then. Of course, having been to Chicago just to SEE Tut's stuff, I think you can figure out how this little gem caught my eye at a yard sale, no less, 9 years ago. I've been holding onto this, because Mr. Pilot has been in school, doing things, getting married, flying fighter jets, on boats, etc. Finally, this Christmas, since I drew his name in the Christmas lottery, I figured...WOW. It's time.

It was also time to find that "safe" place. I tore up the storage room. I went through closets. I looked, and hunted, through boxes of storage materials, old magazines (although I knew I'd never put such a wonderful thing in with back issues of fishing mags), and dressers. Then, with the demise of my business, I started putting records away.

Of course! I put Tut with my most important documents!

So, Tut has been found. I'm not sure he's seaworthy, so I told Mr. Pilot that I scanned the cover so he knew I wasn't lying and actually jilting him out of part of his Christmas presents and will send The Magazine to his home.