The van pulls out of Boston early with the three of us - me, Steve, and Steve’s wife, who we’d both thought would be staying home, but surprises us with her enthusiasm for the pot roast tour when she quietly slips into the van this morning, slides into one of the back seats and says only, “My bags are on the porch,” which I’ll admit I first thought meant bags of potatoes, but of course ended up meaning her clothes and things, which luckily, ended up wedging between the leftover coolers just fine.