Friday, October 17, 2014

The big 7-o

So yesterday was the day. The day my mother became a septuagenarian. (Omg, was that spelling hard to get right! Maybe I'll be smart enough not to have to look it up when I become one.)

Like all birthdays after the age of 42, apprently (a blog post for another time), they are bittersweet. A combination of, yay! I've made it another year, and oh no, another year has come and gone, and they all seem to be going faster and faster and faster. And, well, they aren't unlimited like are returns to the all-you-can-eat buffet in Las Vegas, nor are they without their sometimes unwanted physical changes.

But this is not that kind-of post. No! This is all about properly celebrating my mom at an intimate little family gathering.

After a quick stop at the cupcake bakery and grocery store for, well, cupcakes and Shirly Temple makings on the way home from the busstop, we were ready.

The Champage was chilled, the minimal apps prepped, the ballons tied up, and presents wrapped.







And all the most important people were there. My mom (duh!), and her bestie, Ariel, who is in visiting from Florida to help celebrate properly all week long, as well as me (duh!) and my girls.



Happy 70th, mom!


Let's do it again for your 80th! xoxo

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Leaving The Hill

You've got to leave, ultimately. They always make you leave.

The Bastids.

We were planning to stay on The Hill for another day or so but the Hill People shut themselves down -- boy did they shut themselves down -- for their 3-day Columbus-Fest, and we had to check out, so we said good-bye to the still-empy DePasquale Plaza . . .

Still-empty but now also rain-soaked

. . . we packed up our loot . . .

 . . . as discussed . . . 

. . . and made a couple of trips down to the car, once we got it out of hock . . .

Federal Hill coolers-of-love and boxes-of-love

While I was packing up said magical market loot, I couldn't help but notice that one of the containers was still warm . . .

. . . this one, in front: gorgonzola pasta, rich and creamy and to die for, and still warm . . .

And I also couldn't help but notice there was an open bottle of wine in that wine box . . .

What's a girl to do when left alone to pack the loot? I'll tell you what a girl is to do. A girl is to have a snack and a glass of wine to help her pack, and to help her to prepare for re-entry into a frightful world without warm gorgonzola pasta and wine before noon.

A frightful world without warm gorgonzola pasta and wine before noon, where it is pouring out, and one has no rain-gear . . .

Warm gorgonzola pasta and wine before noon? Inspiring.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

what's the problem?

We finished the back yard hardscaping project quite a while ago, and we have a problem.

Remember this project?


before
The work wasn't a problem


It was challenging and satisfying work


There were no problems with the preparing of ground

There were no problems with the distribution of rock material

There was no problem finding cheap labor

Or gettin' er done
It wasn't even a problem that we had surplus decomposed granite. We simply carried it around to both the side and front yards.


The problem was not placement of stepping stones.

Although....

The problem is not the assembly of the new swingy swing thing


We knocked that sucker out in no time.


No problem


The problem is not in the liking of this yard.


We love it!


The problem isn't these gorgeous cacti that we inherited from the next door neighbor


Although we suspect that the cacti have been a problem for certain big dumb dogs who don't learn the first time, and whose eyes are currently swollen nearly shut....

No.

The problem is that I fit perfectly on the bench.

It is exactly Jacquie sized
My feet rest right up against the support bar, so with almost no effort whatsoever I can swing.

I can go back and forth or to and fro

So I do

And therein lies the problem

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I keep falling asleep and losing my place in the book.