COLUMBUS _ Twenty-one years ago, we tied the knot, and the other night we celebrated with a pot roast dinner.

Hon, who’d been making interior storm windows all afternoon, was still in the shower when Uncle Chet and Alice arrived.

"Something smells good." He took off his coat, passed me an envelope.

"Beef in beer; onions, potatoes and carrots," I said. "It’ll probably be more of a stew than a roast."

"Where shall I put this?" Alice had a hot casserole dish.

"Right here." I put a hotpad down on the table for her as the kids came out of the office, where they’d been on the computer.

"Hello, pre-teeny bopper; this is probably the last time I can say that." He gave her a hug, hung his coat on a hook, turned around. "Hiya, Buddy."

"Hi, Uncle Chet. Did you bring the kittens?" the little boy asked soberly.

"No. They’re home."

"You should have brought them." [an error occurred while processing this directive]