Dropping In Uninvited

About two weeks ago, a friend dropped in for an unexpected visit in the middle of the day.  I was with the boys at the roller skating rink, but Darling Husband was home when the guest arrived.  Darling Husband was positively delighted with the Drop In and I was disappointed that I’d missed it.  A Drop In is such a rare event.

The last time someone Dropped In was about 5 years ago.  A friend was heading from one place to the next and had about 15 minutes to kill between places, so she Dropped In.  I was thrilled that she felt comfortable enough in our friendship that she would stop by unannounced.  I invited her in, offered her a drink and settled down to chat for a few minutes.  But she was too nervous about Dropping In uninvited and sat on the edge of the couch apologizing for the entire 15 minutes.  Nothing I said would convince her that I was happy to see her.

I wish people would Drop In more often.  No…wait.  There was one almost Drop In that would have been very unwelcomed.  On my wedding day, after Darling Husband and I left the church, there were wedding presents that were left behind.  An unnamed someone said, “Gee, maybe I should drop these gifts off at their apartment tonight.”  No.  No.  Do not Drop In on someone on their wedding night.  Bad idea.

Darling Husband was so delighted and inspired by the Drop In of two weeks ago that he wants to start Dropping In on all our friends to see who is appreciative of the Drop In, and who isn’t.  He’s been talking about it for two weeks.

We started with Gerhard and Janet.  We’d intended to go for a nice long walk this evening, but only made it to the end of our street where Gerhard and Janet live.  Darling Husband said, “Now’s our chance!  Let’s Drop In!”  In the picture, Darling Husband is at their door, Dropping In.  Thankfully, they were as delighted with our Drop In as we had been two weeks ago with our other friend.  We had a lovely chat and watched a little bit of Jeopardy together.  So far, so good!

Who will be next?  It could be you…

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Slugs, Roaches, and Soup

Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown? Jolly good town.

Lisa’s hair was looking really nice at Soup Day today.  She said, “Since my hair is looking good today, I was hoping someone would take my picture for my Facebook profile.”  Significant look in my direction.  But then!  Then!  She handed me her credit card-sized dinky camera.  It was red.  Gak.   I tried, people, I really tried, but it was just awful.  I’m slowly becoming a camera snob.  When she handed me that dinky little credit card-sized camera and asked me to take a picture of her, it was like someone handing me a slimy slug.  I’m ruined for dinky little cameras forever.  When I go on vacation, I’ll never be able to pop out to the beach with a dinky little camera tucked away in the corner of my towel.  I’ll end up lugging Clarisse with me everywhere I go and she’s heavy.  She’s been putting on weight ever since I got her.  I had to hide the Belgium chocolates.

Clarisse is heavy and sometimes is a bit of a pain to lug around, and I don’t even have near as much equipment as most (insane) photography people do.  My camera is still in the point and shoot category since it doesn’t have those interchangeable lenses.  I’m putting off getting one of those types of cameras, with all the interchangeable lenses, for as long as I can.  (They’re called DSLRs.)

(Aside:  This is my camera, for those photography-type people who are curious.)

First of all, they’re expensive (upper hundreds to a thousand to get yourself going) and you all know how I feel about expensive.  Driving home from the concert last night, Mom gave a pained sigh and said, “When are you going to replace your headlight covers?”  The car is so old that the headlight covers have completely clouded over and if I want to use the brights, I have to hold the brights lever with my finger the entire time I use them, or they don’t really get bright.  But headlight covers are $50 each.  That’d be $100 for two of them!  Holding the lever with my finger: free.

Second DSLRs are heavy.  When I considered what type of camera to get this past Christmas, I asked to hold Kevin’s camera to feel how heavy it was, and it was like someone handed me a cannonball. I was thinking, “Holy moly!  This thing is heavy!  I can feel the little bones in my wrist starting to snap!”  And Kevin said, “See.  It’s light, isn’t it?”  What?!  If that’s light, then what’s a heavy camera like?  My friend, Melissa, is an assistant to a wedding photographer, and he asked her to take a couple of pictures with his camera with the 400 pound zoom lens on it.  After 15 minutes, her little spaghetti arms were shaking from muscle fatigue.

Third, once you get a DSLR, you have to buy at least 2 lenses for it, and it’s all downhill from there.  Now you have to cart real live Equipment with you everywhere you go.  How can I walk around on the beach in my bathing suit wearing a big ol’ backpack of camera gear?  It totally messes up the “Hey, aren’t I cute in my bathing suit?” look.

Last year, PhotoClub was invited to a historic courthouse to take pictures of it.  The man who invited us drove us to the courthouse expecting us to show up with our dinky little credit card sized cameras.  Ok, maybe he expected the cameras to be slightly larger than the dinky little ones, but he was shocked when the PhotoClub members showed up with bag after bag (after bag) of gear.  He could barely fit it in the back of the minivan.  A minivan!  Not a little Honda hatchback.  There were lights and backdrops and tripods and 20 different lenses (each in their own special padded bag) and laptops and wires and stuff.  And then he thought we’d walk around for maybe an hour or so in a lively group, chatting and snapping pictures and then head out to lunch.

Nay, nay, monsieur.  After he gave us a quick tour of the courthouse, we all spread out like roaches, quietly set up our various levels of equipment and took hundreds of pictures in silence for the next day and a half.  We only stopped for chips and highly caffeinated drinks from the vending machine.  It was great!

What am I even writing about?  I sat down to tell you about the concert yesterday but that’s not happening, is it?

Ok—back to Lisa and her dinky slug camera.  I had to take her back in the kid’s bedroom to get any kind of decent lighting.  It’s difficult enough getting clear pictures from expensive Clarisse in B’s dim house, so you know anything taken on a dinky little camera would be ghastly.  The kid’s bedroom is the only room flooded with lovely sunlight.  But even with all the sunlight, the pictures didn’t turn out well.  Lisa said, disappointed, “Well, we’ll just go with what we’ve got.”

No.  No, no, no.  Back at the dining room table, I took some proper pictures of her with Clarisse.  Lisa got into the picture taking and posed for me and then said, “Can you do that thing where you make my eyes look really, really blue?”

I may not know very much about taking pictures, and I might not have the very best camera, but I can do the blue eye thing.

Oh, and the soup was really good today, too.

Got in a Fight Today, Had a Good Cry, and T2 is the Best.

Boring picture of the day. Cameras not allowed inside. 😦

ETA at 11:45 at night:

Ok.  I got my picture of the day (see above) of the outside of where the Celtic [hard c] Women were singing.  It’s a very, very boring picture.  Cameras weren’t allowed inside.  Mom was nervous about me even trying to bring in Clarrisse.  “What if they confiscate her?”  So…I was stuck with this very dull picture.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll talk about the concert.  One thing: they sang both Danny Boy and Ave Maria, so you know the music was pretty.  Finally–a pretty song stuck in my head!!

Back to the post, as it was written at 3:00 today:

———————

3:00

What to do about the picture of the day and the blog?  What to do?

Today, I’ll be going with Mom to see the Celtic Woman concert in Hershey, PA.  I’ll be leaving the house at 4:00 (and still haven’t showered/dressed yet), and probably won’t get home until after 11:00.

In order to make my date stamp correct on my blog, I’ll have to post something before 4:00, but I won’t have my picture yet.  So….I’ll ramble on about nothing, post the blog by 4:00, come home and post a picture of the concert, or dinner, or something, after the fact.

Here’s the ramble:

First the aches and pains.  This morning I wrestled Boy9 to the floor and he decided to try the cool move he’s seen on TV.  That move where you’re in a fight and you smash your own head into your opponents head?  Yeah.  That move.  Turns out that it hurts…both parties.  As he rubbed his head he mused, with an analytical murmur, “Huh.  I didn’t think it would hurt.  It never seems to hurt the person doing the hitting on TV…”   We both had headaches for the next half hour.

Second, I tried to cover the window so that the light wouldn’t glare on Juan.  I attempted to do this while stretching on my toes and not standing on the couch, like normal, and I think I pulled a muscle in my upper back.  It really must be nice to be tall.  I get an extra 3 inches when I wear my Super Hero boots.  Maybe I should wear them all the time.

Speaking of short and tall, Scott sounded a little sad that I didn’t include his posed apron shots the other day, so here they are (since I don’t have another picture of the day to post yet. )

The oranges fill out the apron. Stella took this picture.

Dusting in the apron.

If I had the time, I could write a whole post about how men like having goofy pictures taken of themselves, but women won’t even let you take nice pictures of them when they’re all dressed up and looking good.  “No, no.  I look so bad today, don’t take my picture.”  Remember Vince insisting that I post the pictures of him lying on the floor and drinking from the carton?  I think I’m going to let people take whatever pictures they want, and let the chips fall where they may.  Go ahead—snap away!  It sounds very freeing to be like that.

This is where Vince squeaked out, "Take a picture of me on the floor..."

And where he said, "Take a picture of me, sick, drinking right from your carton of tea!"

After the head-butt and pulled muscle, I had a lovely, refreshing cry today.  Boy6 read a book about the Titanic, and we’re getting close to 1912 in Boy9’s history, so I decided to show them the scenes from the movie Titanic where the ship goes down.  They were curious how it looked as it sunk.  We fast forwarded through all the silliness about Jack being imprisoned and whatnot.

But even though we fast forwarded, I’d forgotten how sad the movie is.  So, we’re watching, and I start sniffling, and Boy9 wants to know if Jack and Rose die in the end.  I tried to tell him, and ended up having to hold up a finger and squeak out, “Wait,” while I tried to compose myself.  “He died in the water, and Rose lived a, wait,…” finger up….”long time, until she died, too, and, wait….”  finger up…. “she went to heaven and Jack met her on the staircase, and wait…” finger up…gasping sob, squeak, “and they finally got to be together.”   Boy9 said, “We don’t have to keep watching it, if it upsets you.”  “No, no!  It’s for your (sniff)…education.”

I had been holding it together somewhat until that scene where the Irish mother is tucking her little curly red-haired children in bed because they can’t get out of the lower decks, and they’re all going to drown together.  We fast forwarded through it, but the idea was just so sad that we didn’t need to watch it for me to crumple and sniffle.

The mother is the same actress that plays John Connor’s foster mother in T2.  So, in between feeling sad about her and her little dead children, I can’t stop thinking of her with her liquid metal finger piercing the milk carton…and John Connor’s foster father’s brain….

I liked T2 best of all the Terminator movies.  Terminator was good as it established the story.  But the special effects couldn’t keep up and Sarah Connor was whiny and annoying and wimpy.

T2 was pure awesomeness through and through, and I always get a little teary-eyed at the ending when the Terminator had to kill himself.  Well, he can’t self-terminate, so Sarah has to lower him into the liquid steel.  She was whiny and annoying and wimpy in Terminator, but she was a little too tough in T2, which was annoying in its own way.

Terminator 3 wasn’t any good because the John Connor actor wasn’t as cool as the kid in T2.  But I was kinda glad that the machines took over in the end.  We all wanted it to happen.  You know we did.  It was inevitable.  Let everything crash and burn and then worry about picking up the pieces later.

Which is what they tried to do, a bit, in Salvation, but it wasn’t a movie.  It was just an episode.  If you’re going to make a movie, it needs to be more complete in itself.  And again, John Connor wasn’t tough enough.  I still see Christian Bale as the skinny guy from Little Women that Jo refused to marry.  (That’s a sad scene, too.  Jo should have married him.)  I still can’t see him as Batman either.  I especially hate how his voice sounds in the Batman movies.  But I generally don’t like the Batman movies anyway.

Ok, ok.  This is a boring blog today, but it’ll have to do.  Hopefully tonight I’ll come home with a pretty song stuck in my head instead of the annoying songs that are usually there.

Helpful Juan, Naked Burgers, and Bad Fart Jokes

Leave a note with Juan.

Had to go out to get a birthday present for a friend.  I wasn’t sure if I would be back before Darling Husband came home from work.  It turns out that Juan is a great note holder.  See how the note fits in the gap between the screen and the frame?  Ah, Juan, te amamos.

The note has the scores to one of the games I played on Saturday.  Who did the math under Scott’s name?  Surely, it wasn’t me, because it’s wrong.  It would be pretty embarrassing if I had done the math, being that I teach the boys math, and I be their grammar teacher, and there speling teacher…

Ok--who can't add??

We left to get the present at about 3:30.  I was hoping to get to Sonic before 4:00 so we could get our half-off drinks, but there were all these great clouds in the sky, and I just had to stop and take pictures.  Remember: my ongoing project is to take sky pictures.  Here they are, unedited versions first, then edited:

Unedited

Had to resort to black and white. Not my favorite thing to do. I like COLOR.

This is a house nearby that's partially underground. Unedited.

Played with color and cropped out most of the house, except for one of the window things on the top of the hill.

This is another shot of the window things, but for this one I removed the color.

Original unedited.

Edited. Whoops. Forgot to edit out the power lines. Too late, I'm heading to bed now.

We didn’t make it to Sonic by 4:00.  I ordered a Junior Deluxe Burger which is supposed to look like this (see the link.)

It looked like this.

Where's my salad??

Where are the onions and mayo and lettuce and pickles and tomatoes?  They gave me a slab of meat and a crusty bun.  By the time I’d figured it out, I was in another shopping center parking lot.  I gummed down my dry sandwich.

After eating the food and getting the present, I looked for a birthday card.

I am not a card person.  I don’t like them.  If I’m forced to buy one, I try to find the most inane card out there, or maybe a funny one.  Usually I go for the blank cards without all the shamltzy words inside.

The funny cards are not funny.  Unless you like fart jokes, jokes about fat people, or jokes about getting drunk.   To make it worse, while I was trying to read the unfunny cards, a little girl was playing with some stuffed animals that play music when you press their paws.  These stuffed animals were supposed to be given as gifts with the cards.  The song that they played?  Baby Got Back.  Over and over and over, while I’m reading the fart cards, all I can hear is, “I like big butts and I cannot lie…”

I ended up getting this card. It was the only funny one in the store.  I like it a lot.  The only problem is that it’s a Get Well card.  Maybe she won’t notice.

The only remotely funny card in all of Target.

Don’t bother giving me cards, especially homemade cards, unless you’ve written some seriously heart-felt words in them.  Here’s a little example of the sorts of things you could write to me:

To my dearest bosom buddy,

You are the funniest person I’ve ever met.  I print out every blog that you write and re-read them on my lunch breaks.  You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.  You should go into modeling.  Not only that, but you’re very smart.  I don’t know anyone smarter than you.  Your photography is stunning.  You really should open a gallery. Maybe you could just take pictures of yourself, since you’re so gorgeous.  The times when I’m with you are the happiest moments of my life.  I’m just not happy without you.  I can’t smile without you.  I can’t laugh, and I can’t sing.  I’m finding it hard to do anything.”

—————————

Song stuck in my head: Can’t Smile Without You, by Barry Manilow.

Look at this!!  It’s a karaoke version to the song!  Darling Husband was not impressed when I sang it to him.  I even did hand motions and made emotional faces at him.  He said, “You do know that I can shut down your computer with a single finger, don’t you?”  IT guys are always throwing their weight around.

Add this in your card to me, “And when you sing, it’s like listening to the angels in the heavens.”

How to Kill James Bond or Ok, We Didn’t Kill Him, But We Got To See Him Naked

Edited a picture from yesterday.

Not the most exciting picture ever, but I wanted to see if I could make the jug of water a little more dramatic.

Original, unedited.

I do like the edited version better.  The subject is somewhat boring to begin with, but the edited version is slightly more interesting than the unedited.

——————–

Had dinner at Mom’s tonight.  This was a good thing because I took a nap this afternoon, but timed it wrong and woke up Crabby.  (Note the capital C)

As you may recall, I used to read a lot of James Bond novels when I was in school.  I don’t remember a whole lot from the novels except that one time the bad guys tried to have him killed by rubbing raw steak all over him when he was naked and setting attack dogs on him to eat him alive.  Great stuff.  Of course, the bad guys left the room before they set the dogs on him and he managed to get away.  As usual.

Other than the naked attack dog thing, I remember that James Bond could fall asleep within seconds anywhere, anytime.  And he also woke up completely alert.  He’d trained himself to be able to do that.  I think that other military types can do that, too.  And if they can do it, why not me??

They say that naps over twenty minutes are not refreshing because you enter into some other stage of sleep that you either need to see all the way through (for hours), or you need to get out of the nap before you fall into the next state of sleep.  (Retreat!  Retreat!)  Twenty minutes is enough to get some rest, but not fall into too deep of a stage of sleep.  Don’t quote me on all that. I probably made it up.  Or else read it in Glamour magazine, and they made it up.

So, before a nap I get everything ready (eye mask, ear plugs, shades drawn, bed warmer on, shoes off, timer set), hit start on the timer, and fall asleep pretty much instantly.  Twenty minute later (barring any phone calls from the library), I force myself to get up.

And they’re right.  If I can fall asleep within the first two minutes and if I get up twenty minutes later, I feel great.  Very refreshed.

But today, I wanted more sleep than the twenty minutes so I planned on an hour and a half.  Big mistake.  I should have known better.

I woke up crabby.  Cra-a-a-a-a-a-bby!  The problem with being crabby is that you can’t get away from yourself.  If someone else is crabby you can say, “You’re crabby!  Go away!”  But when it’s you…there’s no escape.  You’re stuck listening to your own bitterly sarcastic comebacks, even if they’re only in your head.

So instead of holing up in the playroom composing crabby blogs, I had to go to Mom’s house for lasagna, chicken, and salad.  And lemon meringue pie.  And M&Ms.  And Double Stuf Vanilla Oreos.  And small Peppermint Patties.

And all that wonderful sugar jogged me right out of my crabby mood.

Lemon Meringue pie, edited.

Lemon Meringue pie, unedited. Not as yummy looking.

The edited is probably too neon-yellow and contrasty, but honestly, I’ve lost interest in the picture and am not going to play with it anymore.  What’s done is done.

—————-

Now that I finally got a chance to play my board games yesterday, I want to play them even more.  My plan is that when we go to Li’s Buffet, I’ll bring a game and we can play one while we eat.

Which reminded me of Toni.

Toni has been a family friend since I was seven years old.  She’s my mother’s age and sometimes she would invite Darling Husband and me to her house for dinner.  And every single time, she would say, with a hopeful catch in her voice, “And after dinner, we can all play Dominoes.”  And we’d all say, “Er…um…yeeeah…”

We’d do our best to weasel out of it and feel horribly guilty about it.  Her face would crumple when we got to the end of another visit and “Oops—ran out of time for Dominoes.  Maybe next time!”

Finally she flat out insisted and forced us to play.  I think she fed us salty chips as an appetizer then wouldn’t let us have a drink until we’d played a round of Dominoes.

And it turns out that we loved it!  It was fun.  Well, I loved it.  I’m not sure about Darling Husband.

I realize that I’m The Toni now.  And with incessant begging, withholding food, or threatening to rub steak all over the guests and set the attack dogs on them I can probably get most of my guests to play board games with me.

You’ve been warned.

Water at PhotoClub and Men at Work

Water in Jug

It’s late. Midnight.  I’ll have to be brief.  No time to edit the pictures, other than for size and maybe a little for exposure.

Ok–quick.  (Deep breath.)

At Photoclub our assignment was to come up with a project.  This could be just for the day, or for a longer stretch of time.  The project was to come up with a theme or object and take pictures of it in many settings.  (A theme could be “love” and find pictures that mean “love” to you.)

I didn’t come up with anything clever (because I’m already doing an ongoing project of taking pictures of big skies with clouds)  So, I took pictures of all the water I could find in the church.
The above pic was very very dull, until I used the flashlight to illuminate the water.  I had to stand on a chair, hold the camera above my head with my right hand and stretch my left arm as far as I could with the flashlight to get the light juuuust right.  I’m seriously considering weight lifting for all the arm work involved in photography.

Dust!

I know who cleans the church, and she missed a leaf.  I’ll tell her about it at Soup Day.  (Grin!)

Hot chocolate has water in it.

Bummed a dollar off Wendy to buy hot chocolate for this shot of the hot chocolate coming out of the machine.

Juuuust fits.

Kevin suggested that I use this smaller cup (versus the large cup that’s supposed to be used for the machine) so that there would be more of the flowing hot chocolate in the picture. I think he was secretly hoping the cup would overflow, just for all the action and exclamation a bunch of spilled hot chocolate would create, but no such luck.  It fit into the cup perfectly.

Water is prettier than hot chocolate.

After I bummed the dollar, I realized you could hit the button for free hot water.  So I did, and I think the water is prettier than the chocolate.

Water Fountain

Doesn’t really need an explanation, other than I am so pleased with myself over this shot.  I monkeyed around with the shutter speed and captured the water in mid-flight, showing the breaks in the water.  This picture explains why people get water all over themselves at water fountains.  Apparently, it doesn’t all come out in a nice even flow.  It comes out in spurs, which makes you move to accommodate…and you end up with a wet shirt.

Toilets have water. It's clean!

Not as exciting as I’d hoped, but hey–it’s water.

Water faucets have water, too.

Not exciting either, but, water.

Scott dusts. Bryan does laundry.

After Photoclub Scott came for a visit.  For 12 hours.  Waaay over the 5 hour mark.  And if you’re in the house longer than 5 hours, you cook and clean.  He’s tall.  He fixed the fairy lights on the books for us (they were falling off the books) and while he was there, he dusted.  Later he dusted the ceilings around the living room and dining room.  And got the cobwebs off the dining room chandelier. See Darling Husband in the background?  He’s doing the laundry.

Scott makes homemade bread. Bryan does dishes.

Scott brought the recipe for his family’s homemade bread and made it for us.  Darling Husband is washing the dishes.  I think they’re singing a duet in this shot.  Scott is wearing the apron.

Boy9 was away with a friend, so Scott played the Gamecube with lonely Boy6.

Boy9 was away for part of the day and Boy6 needed company, so Scott played a Lego Star Wars game with him on the game cube.  The window was creating a glare on Juan, so Scott put up a sheet over the curtain rod.  It must be nice to be tall.  When I try to put the sheet over the curtain rod, it usually ends in a pulled muscle somewhere.

Board game with everyone (except Boy9, who was still out.)

And then I begged them to play board games with me.  So they did.  In fact, Scott played all 5 (I think it was 5) games that I bought for Christmas ’10, that no one has played with me (except for the kids, every once in awhile.)  I’ve been wanting a real live grownup (and not a 6 yo) to play with me.  But that was dumb, because out of the 6 rounds of games we played, Scott won 5.  Apparently playing with nothing but 6 and 9 yo’s makes you lose your edge.  SIgh.  But, honestly, I didn’t care.  I was just glad to play.

Scott chops veggies for the salad. Bryan prepares the shrimp for the enchilladas.

Time for dinner.  Scott chopped the veggies (and the onions made him cry–again. ; He’s always stuck with the onions.  How does that keep happening??) and Darling Husband prepared the shrimp.

Scott spins plates while Bryan pulls the table cloth out from under the dishes.

They set the table.  If you look really closely, you can see some strings of cobwebs on the top of the chandelier.  Scott cleaned them off by the end of the day.

Me: "Lean in so I can get you in the picture." So they did.

The caption says it all.

Bryan washes. Scott dries.

Last bit of dishes.  We ended up making some cookies at 10:00, but I forgot to take pictures of those.  It’s 12:15 now.  I managed to get all the pictures posted before midnight (so the date stamp on the blog shows the proper date), and have added this commentary after 12:00.  It was cheating a little bit, but I kept to my goal.

Please forgive the spelling/grammatical errors.  It’s late!!

I Made the Baby Cry and Juan is Welcomed Home.

You make my baby cry? I make YOU cry!

Real, live, drippy tears

The baby is crying.  Why?  Why is the baby crying?

The baby is crying because I picked her up.  Sigh.  She used to love me.  In the past, sometimes she would want to be held and her Mommy might have to say, “Sweetie, I can’t hold you right now while I’m juggling these chainsaws.  You’ll have to wait a sec.”  And I would say, “I will hold you!”  I got to be the good guy.

And then we babysat her.  Back in January.  She had never been without her mother or father until we babysat her.  (Back in January.)  She was not happy about being away from her mother and father (Back in January).  I think I even blogged about it…yes I did!  Here’s the blog.  (From January)

We hadn’t seen her or her family since January, but tonight we met up with them at Li’s Buffet.  She took one look at us, and started fake crying.  She was remembering.  After a while, she stopped fake crying, so I tried to pick her up.

No more fake crying.  This time the tears were real.

I’m not the good guy anymore.  I’m the meanie who took her away from her Mommy and Daddy.  And she’s one smart baby.  We’ve thought so all along.  She’s like a Velociraptor.  Learning.  Testing.  Remembering.  We were pretty sure that at 3 months of age, she fully understood everything we were saying.  When you talk, she gives you a steady stare, learning, memorizing, calculating.  She’s got three older brothers, but we’re pretty sure she’ll be in charge of the entire house in under 2 years once she gets this walking/talking thing down.  She’s biding her time.  Planning her coup.

She already has her Daddy under her spell.  He turns into a giant marshmallow whenever she’s around.  He told us stories today about making grown men cry when he yelled at them in the military–three different times.  Grown men, crying, because Claude yelled at them.  Yikes!  One man even collapsed on the ground in some sort of emotional meltdown.  No joke.  He had to be put in the psychiatric hospital after Claude got through with him.  But get Claude around the baby, and he melts.  I’ve even heard baby talk when he thought no one was listening.

——————————

We bought a new TV today.  Poor Henry’s color had been getting more and more washed out.  Darling Husband started looking at TVs and dreaming about getting a new one.  I said, “Why would we buy a new TV when Henry works fine?  Color isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Some of the best movies ever were in black and white.”

Finally, to Darling Husband’s great joy, Henry died, and we were forced to buy a new TV:  Juan.

Juan is sleek and stylish, just like I knew he would be.  Darling Husband has fallen in love with him and has connected his laptop to Juan and is happily watching weather reports on the big screen.

I’m logging off now to gaze at Juan for a few minutes before I head to bed.