Well said sir. As accurate a recollection as has ever been recollected. A fine tale you tell. An extra c in the surname is the only inaccuracy I spot.
Now the big lever sits idle on the stand masterfully designed by Barb, and I finger shots for me and the wife on the pathetically inadequate little toy lever on the Andreja. The Pasquini is long gone and the Europiccola now resides in a neophyte's home in Ashland. The President is hidden in the Idaho mountains somewhere.
I can't remember the third problem either, but I remember the fourth through the fourteenth. The original site is still a disaster of epic proportions, the baby is awesome, but the cascade of unforeseen medical bills continues to accrue. At least the nurse to be is in her senior year and continues to ride herd atop her class.
The cobbled together team of tradesmen and professionals is held together with fraying twine. With a lot of hot air, bullsh**, duct tape and baling wire, I've managed to keep it all together and move on to another site, replete with a couple more investors and some high rolling neighbors.
As for the charm, it must have been lacking, the day I tried to talk you out of the Diamante. I guess my gab was operating at a more acute level when we discussed the President. Still confused as to why it's under your stairs instead of mine. That part of my plan did not come to fruition. I guess the 'finders keepers' rule doesn't apply. Maybe it just means I'll be pointing the FJ NE across the eastern Oregon barren lands toward Barb and Doug's lair. I'm good at plumbing so maybe I can help prevent a recurrence of the sh** volcano. But that's another story. And as much fun as espresso is, Leilani beats it hands down.

Oh, and if you talk to the wife on the phone, don't mention this:

Had to mix babysitting and chores somehow.