"The Monday...Two?"

In my travels as a newbie in the blogosphere, I've been coming across the phenomenon of fellow bloggers who create lists on specific days, with alliterative titles like, for example, "The Thursday Thirteen." I'm not sure if this practice has a name. The way it seems to work is that you list random things about yourself that your readers are probably unaware of (unless they're on intimate terms with you). I'm not sure why anyone would want to read these lists, but I definitely know why people write them - creating an interesting entry every day is harder than it seems.

It's Monday, and no do-able numbers alliterate with that (though maybe some enterprising blogger would like to try the "Monday Million"). But I've been thinking for a while that I wanted to occasionally list positive things I know or remember about my parents, so I don't just seem like a bitter, aging daughter who hates her folks - which, in fact, I don't.

Here, then, are the Monday Two. I don't think they're supposed to be this long, but I just can't help it.

1. My dad never went past ninth grade in school, but he has ("had" is more like it, given his mental state) a strong sense of history. When I was about five and the North Side of Pittsburgh (where my dad is from) was undergoing major urban renewal, he salvaged red bricks from 19th-century houses - including his grandfather's - that were being torn down. Sometimes he took me with him on his expeditions. He would load the trunk of his car with bricks and haul them home. From them he fashioned, brick by brick, a driveway to match my parents' red-brick house. This may be why I have two degrees in history, worked in historic sites and museums for a while, and have a general fondness for old stuff - Katie and I, for example, live in a red-brick house built in 1916.

2. My mom should have been a CEO, and if she'd lived in different times or under different economic circumstances, she might have been. She managed a small amount of money with aplomb, and her negotiation skills were enviable. When Katie and I were buying our house and we needed to raise money for the down payment, I approached my mom with what, in fundraising lingo, is called "an ask." But I didn't do it exactly right – I didn't specify an amount, but I informed her that Katie's dad was helping us. My mom called me up and said, "OK, how much are we talking about?" in a no-nonsense way. I was blown away by her directness, but I was still vague, the scared daughter. "Would $3,000 help?" she pursued. I gratefully said that it would. "Then I'll send you $3,000," she confirmed. "If you're short and you need a couple of thousand more, though, you can come back to me."