We managed to keep it a surprise, just barely! The shower was a big hit today, the baby is sussed for clothing and more practical goodies (bath supplies, carrier, bibs and onesies, blankets, etc) for at least the first year. There were a few confusing moments: Ruby thought the Sophie giraffe squeak toy (a French childhood classic) might be for her, Peg thought the hat I crocheted might be for herself (see third photo—what a peanut of a head!), and just how does that baby carrier go on? (Maria, seasoned baby-pro, did the honors). The card from the Door County gang (and the phone calls!) were tear-makers, well done! Mom's knitted receiving blanket, the first completed knitting project in who knows how long, turned out gorgeous. With three blankets, a number of sweaters and countless knit underthings, the kid should survive London's winters in blessed comfort. And come spring time, that fancy-schmancy, frilly French number Aunt Peg picked out will be darling. Little Peg's only question, frequently repeated: "Will it be this big when it's born? Or this big? It won't be THIS big will it?"
I never knew how scary size 12-month clothing can be to the uninitiated.
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The sun is shining. I have a fresh baguette in hand. All is well with the world. A woman, graceful and long-limbed, sun shining through her hair, is walking towards me in a gorgeous dress; the kind of dress you used to see in the movies: perfectly cut, white and fresh, a small pleated piece of old-school glamour. She looks stunning. I love the dress, it's just the kind of thing I'd cherish to wear. I'm nearly a bit enamored of this distracted, lovely woman. I stop not more than a foot from her, turn to say "What a lovely dress, Madame", because it's just one of those share the feel-good feeling days. As I open my mouth…
She reaches down and scratches herself. There's no mistaking this: a good, full, obviously satisfying scratch.
I kept walking. -
The heat is back. Though, it is less oppressive than last year, with fewer plants (or elderly frenchies) suffering the consequences. Or at least that's what we like to think, that it's the heat that kills them, not us. Only had to put one out of its misery this week.
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Humorous print:The Portland Mercury, a celebration of the pint:Oregon Brewers Festival, living on the cheap:PDX DirtCheap, living to eat: The Bite of Portland, where to drink:Bar Fly, where to get vegan doughnuts:Voodoo Doughnuts, a little jazz:Mt. Hood Jazz Festival, some big sausages:Otto's Sausage Kitchen, something to watch:Cinema 21, another something to read:Willamette Week and lots more, some better, some Best of Portland.
Thanks H. -
Another archway, acrylic and sepia on paper -
Tourists are thick on the ground these days, with more to come in the sweltering weeks of August. In search of new digs for Mom, we're escaping, or so we hope, by train to La Spezia and Cinque Terre in the Liguria region of the Italian Riviera. Uncle Natale and I are convinced that Mom is not only looking for cheaper harbors for Tishie Mae, a relaxed atmosphere and friendlier locals but perhaps a little "amore" Italian-style as well….I can hear it now: "Ah, Patreetzia we maka beauteeeful museeca together…."
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After last years endless heat and searing clear sky, it's such a pleasant relief to see clouds, whipped up by cooling winds, like these. -
contrary to popular belief, i am not deeply troubled…. -
…this isn't the first plant to get the best of me…
