Ah, the sounds of France. The sea crashing onto the beaches at Normandy mixed with the respectful hushed voices at the World War II cemetery, the rapid fire native French speakers I strained to understand, the clank of the manual metal elevator doors in the charming small hotels, and the beat of the techno music…
I’m kidding about the title. I’m trying to catch up on my “Bachelorette” watching and since they are in the exotic travel portion of the show, I’m so sick of hearing them say “X and such is the perfect place to fall in love” I could spit. This weekend, Dave and I went to Ohio…
Dave decided we shouldn’t go to his family reunion empty handed. I have no clue about the etiquette for this shit, but I tried to talk him out of it. We don’t have time in the evenings during the week, especially the week before we take vacation days. Whatever we bring also has to travel…
I don’t celebrate Father’s Day. I have to remind Dave about dates, so he’s always late sending his Dad a card, because I never know when Father’s Day is until it’s here. I’ve written about Dad a little bit here. Some people shocked me in comments by pointing out the obvious affection in these posts….
Today I read this post by Derek Powazek (via Schmutzie’s Five Star Friday). Derek’s disappointment about his negative Twitter interaction with a “personal hero” really resonated with me, although I did find it ironic that part of the post was about his hero’s aversion to online commenting and after scrolling up and down and back…
Our dog Chuck is made almost entirely of fluff. The summer months here are horribly uncomfortable even for those of us in the family not coated in fur, so we get Chuck a summer cut each year. Every single year I am heartbroken by the result, as the fluffier Chuck gets, the happier I am….
Before I got married, my work colleagues threw me a party. One of the gifts was an insulated picnic backpack, which we never used until years later, after we adopted Chuck. Our first Memorial Day with Chuck, Dave suggested we have a picnic by the Potomac. The first picnic consisted of a very long walk…
“Hankie, keys. Comb, wallet-ey…” God, seriously? “Dad, I’m going to be late for school.” But my complaint doesn’t have the desired effect of stopping my Dad. He is compelled to start his ritual over again. Depending on how late we were and whether my brother was around to join in with me in interrupting him…
I’ve never tried Mama Kat’s writing prompts before, but I’ve long been intrigued and intimidated by the six-word memoir, so this week I felt compelled to give it a whirl. Like some of the other entries I’ve seen, I came up with more than one, but my favorite is: Turning over a new leaf daily….
Please to be enjoying the beauty of Chuck posing at the local rose garden in full bloom.