thisrequiresthought: January 2010

what I missed

Recently, young friends of ours were married in a magical, tender, crazy, unique, memorable ceremony. #1 Son was the photographer for this shin-dig. I missed the wedding reception, as I volunteered to put a few babes to bed.

(I was not sorry to do this so-called generous deed, as I got to eat Christmas cookies with pajama-ed darlings, watch Winnie-the-Pooh get his butt stuck in Rabbit's back door, and bask in the glow of a pretty Christmas tree until I fell asleep on a comfy couch.

But I did miss some kind of par-tay.

What do Americans DO at a wedding reception? They rip up the dance floor in various ways.
(This move was also included in the actual wedding ceremony.)

People whom I love are shown here and here, moving to the beat more conservatively. Nevertheless, they radiate radical joy.

Young and old alike, people touched and swayed and laughed and celebrated.

All this hullaballoo to celebrate the union of this beautiful couple.
Congratulations, Andrew & Jen!

* after agonizing over which pics to choose, I see that one must be logged in to FB to view them.
please advise if this works!

very very funny

This article made me laugh hysterically.

How does a thing like this happen? Too much leaning over? A shove from behind?
A high-heel malfunction? Drunkenness? Over-enthusiasm?

Perhaps the painting's skewed perspective caused a temporary loss of balance. I suppose it could happen. And then it's not the fault of the viewer at all, right?

I feel such sympathy for the person who caused all this hoop-lah. Because for the rest of his/her life, every trip to a museum, china shop, or playing card tower-building exposition will be fraught with fear that something like this would happen again.

WHY is this so very funny to me?

January walk

We set out across the frozen river, the two of us.

In discussing the possibilities of one of us breaking through the ice, my nephew & I outlined how one could rescue the other with a broken branch snatched from the edge of the bank. After resolving that the whole scenario would not likely happen, we fell silent under the late afternoon winter sky and concentrated on our footsteps. Mostly we stayed in the boundary of fresh bootprints and snowmobile tracks that had gone before us earlier in the day. We knew the footprints would lead us to where we wanted to go.

As we approached the lathe and plastic ice shack, we wondered whether to knock like neighbors out to borrow a cup of sugar -or merely announce our presence like the meter man. We opted for the meter man method.

"Hello, hello. Anybody home?"

Two men in carhart gear welcomed us in. They sat on overturned sheetrock buckets while tending their poles. A heater of some sort warmed their 6x8 man-cave. A battery-operated clock hung on the wall. They also had a fancy fisherman's camera which gave a view of the riverbed beneath them. We chatted about the thickness of the ice (12 inches), the kind of fish that were biting (walleye) and the comfort of their little shack on the ice.

"I live at the stone house at the foot of the bridge," I informed them "and any extra fish would be welcome there!" I smiled and added, "We'll work out a deal."

After this pleasant business transaction, Nephew and I ventured back outside and decided to walk the river for a bit. We pointed our noses toward Chase Mills and set out on a frozen white highway. It was freeing to walk where I had only kayaked before.

When the skies began to lose their luster and the sun began hunkering down behind the scarecrow-trees, we did an about-face and hoofed for home.

Not much else to say about it except that t was a wonderful walk.

Haiti

The plight of the orphans in Haiti has gripped my heart. Here is an inspiring report of a young family from New York that we know who were interviewed by Fox TV about their adopted children there.

Prayer changes things.
A call to the State Department might help, too! Call Senator Hilary Clinton's office to request this red tape be dispensed with to bring thee little ones to their adoptive parents!

(202) 647-9572

O -P -E -N

On this fine Monday morning, #1 Daughter and I arise from our slumber, lumber our way downstairs, and contrive to do school. From the pair of comfy chairs in front of the woodstove , we spy the village square just up the hill. The view is very familiar.

Cars are making their morning commute, wet tires slogging through the slush and throwing a fair share of dirty snow into my yard. All is gray; the sky rains down frozen drops of something the weatherman calls "a wintery mix" which paints everything with a dreary haze.

Through the drab air, a spot of color and movement makes itself known. The Hometown Diner blinks companionably O -P- E -N. OPEN. O -P -E N. OPEN. Most mornings, most afternoons, and most evenings, a cheery red electric sign signals that cheap, greasy, and hot food is to be had only a few strides away.

We cave, #1 Daughter and I. Within mere minutes, French toast for $2.50 and a cup of something steaming which masquerades as coffee is ours. A wake-me-up. A morning motivator. A strangely satisfying plate of carbs & sugar which makes our brain cells stand at attention. It gives us the impetus to do what's got to be done.

Hometown Diner's French Toast. The Breakfast of Champions.

cool idea

I really like this idea.

On my desk is a pile of magazines which I can't bear to toss. Last year, I clipped hearts from red or pink colored pages and strung them up for Valentine's Day decor. No cost and oh so fun.

I'm not sure why, but working with scissors & paper is so very relaxing. And it is a wonderful winter craft that brings a bit of color into these long, dark months!

winter delight

A walk on a frigid winter's day is an act of courage. But when the sun razzles & dazzles through our deep windows, I bundle up like an eskimo and venture out.

Outside, everything is either blue or white.

If I could name the hue it would be Arctic Mistral.

A paintbrush laden with Arctic Mistral swabs the countryside. Finally, all is hemmed in by my favorite trim color: pure white.

Together, they bring me winter delight.

the babies are coming

Finally.

A movie I want to see.

a peek into the past

This precious toddler is Hubby's dad. This tow-headed darling is now seventy-seven years young. He resides in Albuquerque New Mexico.

Here, this sweet baby boy poses with his grandfather and a basket of apples. The location was Derby, Connecticut. The year was around 1933.

The aforementioned grandfather is great-great grandfather to #1 Son and #1 Daughter. A gentleman dressed in white back then, you betcha.

Toddlers take the cake in adorableness, then & now. Note the Christopher Robin-esque shoes. The dimpled elbow. The chubby bottom.

This poor dog seemed to comply with the mode of transportation.

This chubby, dimpled baby grew into a little boy who sailed the ocean blue.
I don't know who the photographer was, but check out the composition! Perfect.

Another great shot -as if the lay of the rope was arranged. I'm fairly certain it wasn't.

Belted wool pea coat. Wool knit cap. Is this a page from a Woolrich catalog?

I love the squint of wisdom in this salty face. This salty face grew up, married, and fathered my dear Hubby.

These terrific photos (and others like them) will eventually have a place of honor in our dining room. But I just couldn't wait any longer to share them with the world.

a winter picnic

We started off the new year with an interesting venture: A Winter Picnic. The weather was perfect and the snow was excellent for snowman-building.

The menu was simple: peanuts, fruit, hot chocolate, herbal tea, and marshmallows.

I loved watching bundled-up kids fumble their way into the hot chocolate.
Don't worry. After taking the picture, I helped them.

Eventually, the marshmallows were toasted -after a herculean effort made by Mr. Steven Smith to light a fire in an ice-laden grill under falling snow.