Sweet nothings?

Holidays are here

We had Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, just us two this year. It was strange not to be going anywhere, but it was less stressful too. Adding to the lack of stress also was the fact that I got most of dinner from Marie Callender's :) And, for the first time in years, we get to have leftovers!

However, we didn't get to do my favorite holiday tradition, making candy canes. It takes at least 4 adults, preferably 6 to make them. Ah well, I'm sure we'll find people to help us sometime this season.

Here's a picture of the table yesterday, me wearing my cute apron a friend gave me for my birthday, and of my office decorated for Christmas:

Happy Halloween!

I decided to dress up for work today, since I heard everyone else was going to. Well, everyone else ended up deciding NOT to, so I think I'm the only one here dressed up (our party was on Friday). Ah well, I look fabulous :)

Go Red Sox!

Old picture

So I ran across an old family photo from Christmas 1994 and realized it's one of the last pictures taken of me before my hair started on its crazy ride through the rainbow :) So, here's me 13 years ago. (I'm not putting the rest of them up here since this is a public page and I didn't ask permission. If there's anyone that can't live without seeing the rest of the family, shoot me an email)

This moment is now saved for posterity!




Otherwise, nothing all that interesting is going on. Craft weekend is this weekend, which I'm totally excited about.

The day after I get back we have the home visit from the Foster Licensing division. They'll probably tell us that our house is unfit for children without major renovations, and we'll be out of luck for the adoption process, despite all the classroom hours we've put in so far.

A poem I learned in middle school and have subsequently never forgotten is Flying Crooked by Robert Graves. I really like the poem because the visual imagery is so potent. If you've ever seen one of these cabbage white butterflies in nature, the poem immediately calls it to mind.

Flying Crooked

The butterfly, a cabbage-white,
(His honest idiocy of flight)
Will never now, it is too late,
Master the art of flying straight,
He has--who knows so well as I?--
A just sense of how not to fly:
He lurches here and here by guess
'Tween God and hope and hopelessness.
Even the aerobatic swift
Have not his flying-crooked gift.

-- Robert Graves