A couple years ago, Cara became obsessed with finding a record player. A record player. Yeah. I know. I don't get it either. She just feels that classical music is more 'authentic' when played as a record on a record player. I remember my experience with records. Skipping. Popping. Repeating. Yeah. I wasn't a fan of the authentic nature of the record player, much preferring my CDs. But like I said, Cara became obsessed, and when Caras are obsessed, they generally get what they are aiming for, so she found a record player. Interestingly enough, she wound up buying a new record player with a MP3 dock. For 20 bucks or something insane. She really is quite a wheeler and dealer, and no, I've no idea where she got that wheeling, dealing gene from, so don't even ask.
So now that she's got this record player, she's been collecting records, and you don't get the new stuff on records. So she gets classical music, and she has become a fan of musicals. I found "The King and I" for her for Christmas. Last night, she and Taylor went thrift store shopping and discovered "South Pacific." Now Cara received quite a bit of money at Christmas, and so she also bought herself a new lap top. It was a display, and she argued her case so effectively, that she got it for $150 off, and several upgrades. (No. I've already said that I have no idea where she gets that from, so why are you even asking?!!! Gees!)
In any case, last night, she and her friend, Taylor, listened to South Pacific, singing along as they played with the new computer. Tim and I were already in bed when we heard the front door, and then her car, and the two of them were gone into the darkness. Much to my surprise, it was a midnight 'craft attack,' and they went to Walmart to buy material to MAKE a laptop case for the new computer. I listened to this and said, "This is not like you, Cara," to which she replied, "I KNOW!!! All I can say is that we were magically transported back to 1949 while listening to 'South Pacific', and began to think of things like sewing."
It must have happened like that, because I know for a fact that she gets her artsy-craftsy gene from me, and sad to report, I have none of those genes to bequeathe her.
Just in case you cannot make yourself believe in time travel, here's proof positive.
Still not convinced? What about this?
If you add all of this evidence to the simple fact that one genetically non-artsy/craftsy girl is suddenly moved to sew a quilted case for her new laptop just as girls did in 1949, you'll see that the evidence is unequivocal and scientific.
Time travel exists.
And don't look under the kitchen sink.
I rest my case.