Friday, July 29, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
I had the HARDEST time choosing shots for this post.
Look at those eyes.
Behold the heart-squeezing power of freckles.
Note the moment skepticism sets in.
Witness the forming of an opinion.
Embrace the moment at which this new opinion is spoken.
And selfishly, silently, fervently wish that this one never grows up.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
I took a drive yesterday and noticed this groovy little sculpture in a yard here in the north part of town.
Turns out, it had just arrived here from Mexico.
I loved the use of harsh materials to embrace whimsy.
As it turned out, the owner of the home didn't think it was weird that a completely strange stranger wanted to take photos of her garden art.
We got to talking, and the next thing I knew, we were in my car, tootling down the highway on our way to some land a few miles north of town.
My new friend Julie (HI, JULIE!) had me park in front of this unassuming little barn.
I felt like the kids in the back of the War Drobe as they entered Narnia. It was like stepping into a different world.
And then I started to meet some folks. Well, equine folks, anyway.
I met a beautiful, beautiful boy. A retired racer, this Morgan's muscles and form were sheer beauty.
I wish I could remember his fella's name. I met a BUNCH of horses, and know I've got their names all mixed up in my head. (Sorry, new friend Julie.)
While I can't remember his moniker, I don't think I'll ever forget his extra tail-sprout. Apparently, it's a genetic anomaly that confounds vets. I think it's awesome.
Then I met this young lady.
She taught me that not all horses like having their photos taken.
While she may not enjoy having a shutter snapping near her, she was visibly overjoyed to see Julie.
True love is beautiful, isn't it?
This is Diamond. She followed us around like a dog, nudging here and shoving there, sniffing and snuffling at everything. She was so bold. And fearless. And I couldn't figure out why, but I really, really wanted her to like me.
And then Julie explained the alpha-mare concept.
Look at those eyes.
It all makes sense, doesn't it?
As we were leaving, we were treated to even more beauty.
Here's to what is possible when we don't try to be anything but in the here and now, the wonderful people we meet, the connections we make and the memories we cherish.
And to always wearing cruddy shoes when you go out exploring.
Because you never know what you're glorious thing you're gonna step in.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
We've experienced some especially nasty humidity this summer. One of the effects of this type of weather (besides unintentional helmet-head and swass) is wet windows. This was taken at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The a/c was set at 74° , so it's not like we were bein' all crazy with our Cheese Whiz. (points for the lyrical reference!)
Given that it's too hot and nasty to heat up the kitchen, I resurrected old people lunch.
In case you're not familiar with the concept, it's something I started doing with Mike and his posse (Yup, my kid has a posse. They carry Winchesters, have badges and wear chaps. ASS-LESS CHAPS. It's okay, though. They're all adults now.)
OK, I'm sorry about the ass-less chaps. It's just where I go any time the word "chaps" enters my space. It's probably a self-defense mechanism put into place because of a high school boyfriend who insisted on wearing a certain cologne by the same name. I shudder.
Back on track:
Old people lunch is a concept I was introduced to when moving to this region.
The older generation will get up in the morning and have breakfast. Then around 10am or so, they'll have a snack. They refer to this as lunch.
At noon (and rarely a moment later), they will have a meal and refer to it as dinner.
Around 3:30 or so, another "lunch" is rolled out.
Supper, a large meal consumed at 6pm, is immediately followed by dessert.
One final snack, ALSO referred to as lunch, is enjoyed about an hour before bed.
It's like living with Hobbits.
When Mike was a high school junior, I figured out that having the kids all come to the house immediately after school every Wednesday meant I could throw the contents of the fridge and pantry on the table and a) wouldn't throw away leftovers (and don't tell him); b) I would know what was going on in his life and who he was hanging out with. It's still one of my favorite things about his high school years.
Today, we had old people's lunch, family-style.
I announced it, and everybody came running.
And by "everybody," I mean EVERYBODY.
Lee, Mike and I emptied the left-overs from the fridge and contents of the pantry onto the table, set out our paper plates and sat down.
And so did Amos.
He hopped up on an empty chair and looked so expectant that we gave him a plate.
He minded his manners.
When he was finished with his turkey and cheese, he sat politely waiting for Mike to finish HIS sandwich.
I wish I had a photo of what I'm about to describe, but it only happened twice, and only briefly.
When Amos' plate was empty and he was ready for more, he would gently place his paw on Mike's arm and give him the sweetest eyes you've ever seen on a feline.
It was pretty easy to believe he was a little fur-covered human, having Sunday dinner ... er, lunch, with the family.
And wouldn't you know it? Just as we were all singing his praises, he gave me this look.
His, "I am planning something. Something only an evil genius the likes of myself could pull off. And YOU should be afraid."
And then he hopped down and left the room.
You know where I found him?
In the family room.
Sitting like a bear on the ledge in front of a window.
With his paws on the lock, trying to open it.
I've never been so glad someone didn't have thumbs.
Even someone with impeccable table manners.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Life with Amos is much like it is with any two year-old. If you can hear him, everything is fine. But if he's quiet, you can assume he's holed up somewhere, building an explosive device or sharpening a kitchen knife.
The dining room is placed in our home in such a location that unless you're specifically headed there, you've really no reason to wander through. (As evidenced by the dust on the table.)
Apparently, Bad Diddy figured this out and has been taking advantage of the quiet, lounging on the dining room table at will.
I went in looking for a phone charger and he streeeettttched and sat up.
I scolded him for being on the table.
He stared at me as though I'd lost my mind.
I sighed in defeat and went to grab my camera.
He stayed put.
I raised the camera and adjusted some settings, muttering the whole while about the "damn cat."
He responded with a surly, "What?" look.
Welcome to my life.
It's dusty and it's surly.
At least the cats are comfortable.
Friday, July 15, 2011
(points if you get the fish stick reference)
Maria's husband, Tate, is quite the fisherman.
This is a good thing, because around my house we LOVE us some fish. (Or, as Mike called it as a child, and as we still say, "pishy-pishy".)
I was at 'Ria's house last night to celebrate her birthday (read: we are old and had brownies and coffee while watching television), when I asked Tate when he was gonna catch me some walleye.
For those of you not from these parts, walleye is an extraordinarily mild white fish native to these parts, especially MN.
Tate responded by telling me he had a freezer full of the stuff, then hopped off the couch and scurried back to lob a frozen bag at me. (Tate is all boy. Throwing things at you is his way of sharing.)
As I was leaving, I mentioned to 'Ria that today is the anniversary of that hot-ass, no air-conditioning, marshmallow of a dress, mosquito-ridden day eleven years ago when my husband and I were married.
That's when Tate whipped open the pantry and threw the Shore Lunch in my direction.
Clearly, I'm to understand Shore Lunch is for special occasions.
Lee and I are pretty pleased to have an anniversary to celebrate.
And the walleye?
Well ... when you're old like us, walleye is cause for serious celebration.
Thank you, Tater Tot! We will no doubt toast to you this evening.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
A few mornings a week, The Bob and I like to go outside for some sunshine time. Bob likes to start his time out on the ledge of the deck railing, facing the sun. Something along the lines of a downward dog pose, but more feline.
Eventually, Mr. Bobcat will give me the, "okay, I'm done" look.
Then we hang out and read for the rest of our time outdoors.
Well, I read.
Everybody needs a Bob in their life.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Tuesday morning dawned bright and early.
Texts flew between the newly-returned-from-vacation Miss Sarah and I.
It soon became obvious that iced coffee was the only thing that would cure ... well, morning.
We made a date.
I set about getting things ready.
And then Sarah showed up with CUPCAKES!
That's probably because she's a genius.
There were red velvet.
And these little lemon dreams. That topping is a meringue, and (MUCH to my delight) a rich, lemony goo inside. If I'd shot video, you would be able to hear angels singing. You'll just have to trust me.
The sky was beautiful.
Sarah was, as always, knowledgeable. And funny. And real purty. (And a genius. Let's not forget that.)
I didn't manage to be much more than messy, the evidence of which you'll find on my upper lip.
Those coffee ice cubes were perfect. You really should freeze whatever it is that makes your iced drink go 'round instead of using water cubes. You'll thank me, I promise.
Thanks for a wonderful morning, Sarah.
Your existence is proof God loves us.
From time to time, I try out red lipstick. It usually lasts for about ten minutes before I get self-conscious and wipe it off with a tissue.
This application was no exception.
The exception lay in the result of the removal.