Happy Birthday Olivia!

You're one year old today.
There is a wonderful posting over at momma's blog.
Birthday Girl

I love it when she talks salty

We're unloading a couple of yards of topsoil from the Black Beast (aka the pick-up truck). In the final stages she is sweeping down the bed to get the last vestages of the soil off the truck. I ask her to start from the top and work down to the tailgate. "Do you want me to do the gunwales?" - I pause and think, did I hear that right? Then I flush with pride. "YES!" I say. . . I love it when she talks salty. Besides, it wasn't that much of a stretch. I have boat cleats on the side of my truck. They must be gunwales.


Happy Birthday Brian!

Sunday, November 11, 2007 (1)Sunday, November 11, 2007 (2)
Sunday, November 11, 2007 (3)
Sunday, November 11, 2007 (5)Sunday, November 11, 2007 (4)


Who's This?

Ginger Cat

We call it (gender unknown) Ginger Cat. Ginger Cat is a well taken care of cat belonging to neighbors we don't even know. They are not very close but Ginger Cat's territory obviously extends to our house. Just ask our summer neighbor cat Cutie. Ginger Cat chased her up a tree one day when Cutie was spotted on our patio. When the mood strikes, Ginger Cat comes to visit us. When a cat comes to visit this household it gets the royal treatment, patting, snuggles, belly rubs, you name it. Sometimes we let them into the house to say hi to whomever is in the house. It is usually a nice surprise. WE NEVER FEED THESE BEASTS! (bad idea = friend for life) But If you are a cat that attends the John LeJeune School of Cat Love, even for a brief time, you will want more. My sister and brother in law from Indiana are here and they went to the same cat love graduate school I went to. So Ginger Cat decided to visit Friday evening and got some major snuggles. After a while, I was a bit concerned and I did not want Ginger Cat to get too comfortable. We were also very tired so I showed Ginger Cat the door. I remember this distinctly.

Saturday morning comes around and we are saying our good mornings when my sister asks if we'd left the front door open last night. I said "no, why would we do that, it was thirty two degrees outside last night." She said the door was open so she closed it. I apologized profusely remembering that my wife had brought in a big ficus tree Friday because of impending frost. She must not have shut it tightly. Then my brother in law asked what time we let Ginger Cat back in last night. I said "Huh. We have a new couch. I don't want overnight pets any more." He said that the cat was walking around the house most of the night and they finally let it out. I then checked the screen for the front door and it was un-latched. This is too weird.

A while later we are all out side stacking firewood and along comes GC, who walks up to the screen door, opens it with a flick of its paw and tries to give the front door a big push. (I had bolted it.) Ah ha! We found our cat burglar! and then Ginger Cat was all "you ain't lettin me in?. . . then I'm outta here" walking away showing us nothing but its tail.

Yes, her brain was replaced with a horseshoe

I just read my niece's latest blog post in anticipation of a certain football game taking place this Sunday in the land of corn. I am very sorry to say that the former New Englander was most likely the victim of an act more gruesome than the results of Dr. Frankenstein's experiments. Instead of bolts protruding from her neck there is a horseshoe swelling from her frontal lobe. Obviously the folks out there need to take some lessons from the doctors that produced those pretty ladies from Stepford. Thankfully my grand niece Olivia is staying true to her New England roots. Her traitorous brother however, has obviously been under the influence of his father while his mother was under the knife.

Proper Attire for New England Stock