Motley? Oh, It's Motley

I have lost all sense of time and space while immersed in the world of bad guys and secret police and intrepid reporters and badass tattooed heroines in Sweden.

That's right. I just read the third Dragon Tattoo book -- The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. And I didn't look up for 3 days.

Plus Monday night was our neighborhood field trip to the Polish Club in Montville, then Tuesday night we had an impromptu party on our deck which turned into a late night, then I had a long day yesterday -- I was busy! I had a meeting! -- and well, I just never had a chance to think up a good blog idea for today.

But has that ever stopped me before? Of course not. Not when I have a laptop full of motley photos from hither and yon, with the motliest photos collected in a folder called, you guessed it, me and you and ellie. For use on such occasions as these, when one is immersed in a novel about Lisbeth Salander and has no time for anything else, or on a rainy day, or both.

Let's see what we find in that Pandora's Box Folder, shall we?

Aw, my little quarter-Lebanese niece making stuffed grape leaves with her Lebanese Jidoo. Dad looks a lot more than four times as Lebanese as our girl.

This one is labeled "Drunken Ellie". For obvious reasons.

I got caught up in something -- probably a book -- and had to return library books I hadn't yet read so took a photo of them on my shelf. This is not an impressive collection of books. Except for the Bridge to Terabithia which I had never -- believe it or not -- read before. Do not read that Lionel Shriver, although her previous one was good. This one was awful.

When Jacquie and I went to the Grand Canyon in 1988, during our 3-month cross-country trip, we had to stay an extra day because we could not actually see the Grand Canyon, right behind us, on the first day.

The Oscars! Still doing yeoman's work after all these years. How I love those Oscars.

The praying mantis is Connecticut's state insect and it is illegal to kill one. Or perhaps that's just an old wives' tale. The female eats the male's head off after mating. That is not an old wives' tale.

Mom and I occasionally go to St. John and drink bloody marys overlooking the bay. Or sometimes we just drink bloody marys in front of the Caribbean triptych in our living room instead.

"Contented." For obvious reasons.

I must ask Mistah Schleckah where he took this. I don't remember but I cannot be expected to track him down either upstairs or downstairs and ID it for me. Who has that kind of time?

Our Westy bed is actually much more enticing and inviting and comfy than this photo indicates.

As my sister MB would say, "Yeah, aren't we all?" (Just kidding, Mom.)

Ah, Fort Davis. I miss Fort Davis. And all of a sudden I'm terribly thirsty.

The red-hot New York Metropolitanos have won 6 in a row, are 11-2 in June, and all of a sudden are ½ game out of first place. Let's Go Mets!

Young Rosie was just a wee rose bush way back when. Two years ago, I think. She's out of control now. Just the way I like it.

Speaking of Texas . . .

. . . who has a cooler state flag than Texas? Nobody, that's who. Can you imagine the Connecticut state flag painted as a mural on the side of a building? Yawn. Actually, South Carolina's flag is really cool too. And would make a perfectly fine mural. But only Texans actually do that sort of thing.

And finally, this punk. This hula-hooping (at his sister's 6th birthday party in 2007), gooberific, weirdly creative, totally-11-year-old nephew of mine who, this week, threw down the walker, kicked over his wheelchair, and walked. Wobble Boy walks!

As Jacquie says, we're going to have to find the kid a new nickname.