We're driving, heading from breakfast to the recycling center to drop off the latest pile of packing boxes. Richard picks up one of the clear crystal-cut ring boxes that have been floating around in my car since the wedding.

"This looks like something I could use in a D&D game." He adopts the voice of a wizened old mage. "Here, sonny. The Box of Ringing....except it's empty. Because it's invisible."

And then a few seconds later. "That makes it immaterial."

"Immaterial?"

"Yes."

"And if you put it on?"

"Then you're immaterial too." He ponders for a moment. "Well. Except it's hard to put on because you can't really touch it."

"So then you just think boring thoughts and it'll slip right on, hmm?"

Luckily he wasn't actually drinking when I said that. I'd have had coffee spewed all over the dashboard.

Things have a way of just ending up in my car. Every once in a while in a spurt of cleanliness guilt I empty out the back seat and try to figure out where everything goes, but the reason stuff often lives in my car is because I'm just not sure where to put it anyway. Okay, that and I'm lazy when it comes to bringing stuff in. The notebook I use for the two organizations for which I play secretary (never tell anyone you can type or you can spell. And never tell one group that you're the secretary for another. It's an endless loop, I tell ya!) pretty much lives in the car full-time - only coming inside when I've got to type up the minutes. Usually the day of the meeting. Sometimes only an hour or two beforehand. Luckily I can type really really fast. Heh.

********