Weekend 3-Way: Which Doesn't Belong and Why?

Remember the old Imus In The Morning show? Imus was on the radio every morning with his lackeys Charles and Bernard. They made fun of everything and everyone, which eventually got them into trouble, but they had great guests and great causes, too. Imus turned me on to Alan Tennant's On The Wing, and Beryl Markham's West With The Night, a book that eventually found some controversy of its own.

Anyway, one of Charles or Bernand's little shticks was naming three seemingly wildly disparate items or scenarios -- possibly in the voice of John Cardinal O'Connor, possibly not -- and shouting "Which doesn't belong and why?"

It really was hysterical.

I bring this up today as I present my and my lovely co-bloggers' photos, shared for all to enjoy here on our weekly 3-way photo project.

Ellie: An old fire watchtower and Coast Guard station on Assateague Island . . .

Beth: An old barn, which also may or may not be Long Point Deli . . .

And Jacquie: Um, well, frankly, your guess is as good as mine . . .

Which doesn't belong and why???

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the tao of pixar

Toy Story 3 is being broadcast every five seconds, and I can’t stop watching it. The afternoon that I took my kids to see that in the theater is forever ingrained in my memory. It was one of those weird, drifting days after dad died, after everyone had gone home and mom was back at work and trying halfheartedly to throw me out. It was about 900 degrees out with 102% humidity, and we slipped into the cool theater for a little respite.

The movie was adorable, all the nuance of Pixar and nostalgia of toys gone by, and there was the bonus of daycare humor: “daycare is a sad, lonely place for washed up toys that have no homes” and the unexpected treat of college-bound Andy, so cute in an entirely inappropriate Mary Kay Letourneau sort of way.

That day at the movie theater, I wept and wept and wept and wept. It had been a rough few weeks, I had grown fairly adept at just carrying on while tears streamed down my cheeks, and I always had tissues. But at the end I was totally doing Oprah’s ugly cry.

It was the movie, the moment, the life.

And now when I watch this movie, I feel so……deeply. I just feel, these intense waves of emotion over whatever’s going on around me. I find it cathartic. Therapy by Pixar.

Anyway.

Have I mentioned that my kids have been out of school since April Fucking First? I love them. I looooooove them. But oh sweet little 8 pound 7 ounce baby Jesus, enough. Enough! We’re so fortunate that I have the kind of job where they can come to work with me and enjoy it, and we’ve thrown in enough days off and mini adventures to make the month special, but it’s just a lot. I can’t quite work and I can’t quite parent, I’m just stumbling around entertaining and/or yelling at and/or feeding and/or negotiating with my offspring and my employees. Enough. They go back on Monday!

We are in a horrible pet predicament. Taco the hamster is unwell. He’s suddenly got a huge tumor in his chest, right between his front paws. He’s kind of shaky and squinty and he is drinking tons of water, not running on his wheel. Every morning, I think he’s a goner, and every night, he rallies and ambles over to say hello with a little twinkle in his somehow cute albeit distinctly rodent eye. He’s eating, enjoying the treats we’re doling out in the hope fear that each meal will be his last. I am not ashamed to admit that I hope he dies. He’s sick, he’s a hamster, and if nature doesn’t take its course I’m going to have no choice but to employ one of the very helpful tips I received via facebook for how to make like Kevorkian and help the poor bastard cross the rainbow bridge. The kids are understandably upset, Taco is a nice guy, he’s never given us any trouble other than an occasionally chucked poo pellet when his cage cleaning has been neglected. My boy is more accepting of the inevitable, but he is way too optimistic about how long Taco might stick it out. My girl is inconsolable. Do NOT mention it, or she will weep, and seethe. I distract her with frequent viewings of Toy Story 3. 

Shit, now we’re both going to be basket cases whenever we see this movie.     

People are weird

Our neighbors directly to the south are part-time residents. They have a home in North Carolina in addition to the home right next to ours here in San Diego, and they divide their time between the two locations.

They're took off this morning for North Carolina and plan to be gone a few months. Joe knocked on the door this morning at 7:15 prior to their departure to hand me a bag of food they won't be using.

Nice of them, right?


Thanks, Joe!
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But in addition to this seemingly generous gift of everything dairy, there was this

(Yes, I know, I'm no Mistah when it comes to photos)

And this

And this

And let's not forgot about this

Perhaps this a better view?

When I opened the garlic to get a better photo for this here blog post, I literally gaged, and my children let out various yelps of disgust. It stunk of funk like you would not believe.

Closer inspection of the items in the first photo revealed two items to be past their expiration date and three more on the cusp.

Are they trying to kill us?

Hmm, the eggs don't have an expiration date...do you think we should try them?

200,000

Last week, on our way home from lovely Chincoteague, our Ol' Girl had a big day.

Westy -- our 1987 Volkswagen Vanagon, conversion to camper thanks to Westfalia (and truly, thank you very much, Westfalia) -- known to one and all as Westy -- hit a milestone.

199,993 . . .

199,993 miles! Whoo hoo!

199,997 . . .

We bought Westy in 2000, when she was a young girl of 13 and had -- get this -- 49,000 miles on her. She was, in those heady, glorious days, a Creampuff.

199,999 . . . 0

So we proceeded to live in her and drive her around the country eight times in the ensuing eight years, stopping for months at a time in some of the very coolest places the U.S. of A. has to offer.

199,999 . . . 1

Those were fabulous times. There were a couple not so fabulous times, too, but through no fault of Westy's.

199,999 . . . 7

She just kept chugging and chugging along, happily and serenely. Call us anthropomorphizers, but our Ol' Girl loved those years.

And then, all of a sudden . . .

200,000!

The Big 200,000 . . .

200,000 miles, baby.

. . . just like that.

The thing about hitting a milestone like this one is you can't necessarily predict or decide exactly where you'll be when the odometer busts her move.

We were driving by a CVS in Bethany Beach, Delaware.

And so we did the only thing that one can do, when one's beloved rig hits 200,000 well-earned miles driving along the Atlantic Coast.

We pulled right over and had ourselves a party.

Yay, Westy!

Whoo Hoot!

Nicely done, Ol' Girl!

(Maniacal Happy Westy Face)

We shared a Yuengling in Westy's honor -- we still had about 400 miles left to drive home, afterall -- and went along our merry way.

200,001 . . .

The thing about Westy? 200,000 is just another day for her. A fantastic day, a memorable day, a day for the ages, but she's a Yeoman, and she still has to drive us home.

200,002 . . .

Which is exactly what she did. We headed north, and took that 200,000 miles and added another 400.

And onward we go . . .

San E-lovely

We went to San Elijo for part of this eternal Spring Break.

It's no secret that we love San Elijo. We meaning my little fam-damily, but also we meaning me, you, and Ellie.  What's not to rave about?

It is one of the best places there is.

March, 2011

Commanding bluffs, cascading waves, sumptuous sand, comfortable camp....

convenient camp store full of junk food

Passersby to bark at (it took us a little while to realize that we'd tied the dog in such a manner that she could merrily and jauntily greet everyone who used the path to the ocean).

And when the sun goes down on your first partial day, you know it's just starting to get good.

Autumn and her kids came by for a visit that first night, I told her she only need to bring enough turkey burgers for her own peeps, so she brought 1.doritos  and 2. strawberries. And vodka.

we had a nice dinner visit

They didn't stay too late. Maybe they were hungry. We had a fairly typical first-night-of-camping sleep, working out the kinks. Getting used to those crashing wave lullabies.

Mornings in San Elijo mean many things to many people. Morning in San Elijo means donuts for many people*. But mornings in San Elijo mean only one thing for me:

stair sprints, baby

These drills serve the dual purpose of feeding my exercise jonze and giving me solid justification to start drinking tecate before noon. Con limon.

*Ellie and Bill, rest assured that the kids went to the donut shop, of course they did. With their dad. And my girl brought her camera. But you know how I feel about fetching cameras and finding cords at times like these. Maybe she'll guest blog for us.

The kids found their own creative ways to pass lazy hours at the beach

brrrrrrrr

On this night, we broke out the Lambrusco, all the way from Italy BevMo.

What on earth can a caption add? This photo is pure perfection.

You've seen plenty of tree porn here on MeYouEllie, but today I bring you gratuitous sunset blight

ACK, call the hair police. Also the sunscreen brigade.

Quick, more sunset

On our last full day, our peeps came up to join the fun!

Pellies marked their arrival

Soon my girl was surrounded by her young besties

And my boy had all of his....

Oh dear.

Awww, we got your boys right here!

And I got my girls.

And Car-Car was sporting Jidoo's old lid.

Birthday Boy!

Eventually, we moved the party upstairs to Westy Camp for a series of wonderfully strange and random photos:

Late that night, Autumn and I crashed among the piles of pillows and blankies and empty bottles and we laughed and we laughed and we laughed and we laughed.

Autumn thought this vision of high end lighting was the funniest thing she had ever seen.

What, pray tell, is so funny about a jumbled mess of birdie lights on a string?

You talkin to me?

The next morning, we headed home. And the skies cried their outrage. All over our stuff. That was really fun to unpack.

See you soon, San E!