Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Now, don't be shy...everyone who thinks this shirt is a little (eh hem) loud, please raise your hands.
All righty then...it's unanimous.
Someone (friend? foe?) gave my husband this golf shirt. When he wears it he looks like a walking, talking construction cone. It's not a color he normally wears, but for some reason he likes to wear this shirt when he goes to the range to hit some golf balls.
A walking, talking construction cone with a golf club.
But look what I discovered this morning...
the icky shirt at the bottom of the laundry hamper.
I am thinking that I will keep it buried in there...under a mountain of clothes...and it will be there waiting to be washed...waiting forever and ever and ever...
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Of course, we all think it's funny. No . . . we think it's hilarious. We're going to Hollywood! was the common phrase on both sides of the Atlantic.
The only glitch is that they referred to the photo as a vintage rafting photo. Hmmmm. Now, I ask you, if the photo is vintage, does that mean that those in the photo are vintage, too, as in old?
But it doesn't matter . . . we're going to Hollywood, baby!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
here and here.
here and here and here.
Here's to a new adventure to a wonderful couple. Buon Viaggio! Buona Fortuna!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Not just an ordinary antique store, but one in an old Victorian house. I smiled at my husband (whom I love very, very much) and despite facing a three hour drive home, he very graciously pulled over and parked.
When I entered, my heart went pitter-patter. Antiques everywhere . . . in every nook and every cranny. Antiques on all three floors. I could have spent hours in there, but my husband and three sons were waiting in the van, and I had ten minutes . . . fifteen at the most.
I worked fast, and there, on the second floor hidden behind an old ironing board, I found a three-legged corner table. I knew it would be perfect for the bare, sad corner just outside our downstairs powder room at home.
Here's the best part (and you might want to sit down for this): the price was $15, as is.
As is???? It was perfect!
So my husband (whom I love very, very much) climbed up to the second floor, moved a pile of antiques out of the way, carried my table downstairs, paid for it, and rearranged our suitcases so it would fit it in the back of the van.
Did I mention that I love my husband very, very much?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Then, on Saturday, we drove to Helen, a small town built to resemble an Alpine village complete with gingerbread trim on all buildings, cobblestone alleys, clock towers, and German restaurants serving the finest bratwurst and viener schnitzel.
Bavaria nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
After a morning hike to Anna Ruby Falls, we explored the town looking for a nice place to eat lunch. We found a German restaurant with outdoor seating on a balcony overlooking the Chatahoochie River. We ordered our food and watched the people below us floating down the river on inner tubes.
All of a sudden our son, Jonathan, gasped. We turned to look at him, and he looked horrified.
"I accidently dropped my knife over the balcony," he whispered.
We could hear shrieking from the river below, and we all froze.
A thousand thoughts were running through my head. My son just skewered someone, and I could just see the headlines:
MURDER IN THE MOUNTAINS!
HEADLESS IN HELEN!
A BEHEADING IN BAVARIA!
How did he drop a knife of all things??!! Why did we let Jonathan, of all people, sit next to the railing . . . Jonathan, who lost a soccer ball down the side of mountain in Tuscany and, when we bought him a new one, lost that one as well the very next day on a different mountain. Jonathan, who fell out of bed and chipped his tooth.
I wondered if there was any (gulp!) blood?
We knew we had to look over the balcony, and in slow motion we all got up, leaned over, and winced.
People everywhere, yelling, shrieking . . . and laughing.
And there, in the midst of those floating pink and blue inner tubes, a knife, shining on a rock under the surface of the water.
So what did we do? We calmly sat down, politely finished our meal, and valiantly tried to contain our laughter.
Knife? What knife?
Sunday, June 7, 2009
a marathon of a workout.
For two and a half hours
the sweat poured down
and the calories burned.
For two and a half hours
I cursed through the pain.
Two and a half hours
of hell on earth . . .
shopping for a bathing suit.
Friday, June 5, 2009
So here's the deal: my husband has something against the 26 letters of the alphabet. The books he reads only have numbers . . . charts, graphs, columns, data tables . . . in other words, numbers everywhere. How, I ask, can you read numbers? Who wants to curl up on a rainy afternoon with a book of numbers? What's up with that?
I don't know, but something tells me Jonathan is headed that way . . .