Monday, December 31, 2012

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

A rainy New Year's Eve at my house - just the way I like it.  The future looks bright and colorful already.
 Love to you and yours...

New Years at the Kirkpatrick's

Oh, Mary, it's not that bad.  You'll get used to it.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

And the very best part of each trip is the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel

Awkwardly paraphrasing Jesse Colin Young.  Actually, there are better parts of each trip, but I do love to cross and see the ships to the right.

VB, water's edge, 25th Street

When I was in VA for Allie's wedding a few weeks ago, Tricia and I spent a night at the beach which sparked all sorts of memories.  Been remembering ever since.  Absorbing a moment is tricky, but I stood on the beach for awhile gave it a shot.  Ended up with just a picture and a not-quite-absorbed moment.  And, wasn't able to get a good picture of the jets flying over.  I miss that sound.

The book, hopefully, offsets the not-too-bright expression.

Afternoons at the beach:  rafts, towels, Kentucky Fried Chicken, blanket and a book

My brother, Billy

Hmmm.  The thrill of getting up early Christmas morning seems to diminish with age.

Writing my dad a letter

My father's arrival at home after almost eight years of captivity in Vietnam.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Illinois House

I want that car back.  And, the house.  And, the years, for that matter.

Norfolk - The Illinois House

This was taken when Mom and Dad were out of town.  Thus the slightly crazed expression.

1964-1973 Watergate Lane

Less than ten years in this house and, yet, what a lasting impression.  Ten formative years which would make an interesting book if one could tell the story.  It's just too long.
Jim gave us a mouse for Christmas.  Did Mom not have enough problems?
A couple of weeks ago, my dad recalled to me how cute I looked standing in my cage playpen when I was a baby.  I remembered this picture and when I dug it out of the dusty box discovered that it says "Madeleine's First Christmas" on the back which qualifies it for this Christmas post even though it was taken in France not King's Grant.

I remember the fabric of my shirt, the cross-stitch behind me (made for me by my grandmother and which hangs in my kitchen now,) the red "Princess" phone, and my canopy bed. I'm sitting on that bed, in my daughter's bedroom, right now.  In fact, my daughter was born in this bed, but now's not the time for that story.  I don't remember who I'm talking to on the phone,  but am considering the possibilities.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Merry Christmas

I cross-stitched this Merry Christmas sign for my parents the first Christmas after I got married...   It's important to showcase children's artwork now and then.  This is the second mention of cross-stitch this week.  The second mention in the five years I've been rambling on this blog.

Christmas 2011

My son, David, wearing his Christmas present last year.  If he doesn't give me some Christmas ideas very soon, I'm going to re-wrap those sunglasses.


Last Saturday, we were awoken by a huge crash in the middle of the night.  After Terry low-crawled all through the house with a gun, looking for an intruder, while I reevaluated my stance on guns in the home and wished I kept my own personal pistol under my pillow, we discovered that a shelf in the French chest had collapsed on the Sevrés Louis-Philippe china that Terry had given me on our anniversary a couple of years ago.  Normally, I'd have been upset, but was just relieved that there wouldn't be a tragic story about us in the newspaper in the morning.  Particularly if said story would be accompanied by less than flattering picture of me sprawled out on the floor.

Another weird thing had happened the night before.  For once, I'm going to resist telling a long drawn out story.  It started with a barking dog, followed by a missing husband, followed by police, fire engines, flashing lights and neighbors in front of my house at 3:00 a.m., and on to sulfuric acid, and ended with a barking dog.

Paris in the Springtime

I'm going to Paris with someone I met on the internet.  That's how desperate I am to go to Paris with someone as fascinated with French history as I.   My mother used to warn me about getting into cars with strangers and, though I was a teenager when it was commonplace to "thumb," or hitchhike, I've always had a healthy fear of (and unhealthy interest in) serial-killers, and didn't have to be told twice.  And, now, here I am meeting a complete stranger in Paris.   I think her husband (accomplice?) is going with her.  They live in Maine.  Or so she says.  My new friend won't be a complete stranger by the time the trip rolls around.  One of the several things we have in common is that she has a cousin that lives near me.  She'll be visiting her today, providing us the opportunity to meet at Black Walnut.  What could possibly go wrong at Black Walnut?  I'm sure she's completely legit and I'll tell you all about her later.

I wonder how much it costs to fly un chien across the ocean on Air France.  Wouldn't Keeper be an adorable accessory?  He'd be completely welcome there, too.  Paris loves dogs.  Unlike Black Walnut, but that's another story.  The one black mark, long forgiven, on my relationship with my favorite restaurant.