Monday, July 27, 2020


Life has become so complicated and difficult for so many people these last few months . . . 

. . . but around here . . . 

. . . Life has become Simple.

It's the most spectacular summer ever. The weather is outrageous.

The flowers love the heat and the sun and the rain . . .

. . . and we love the flowers.

. . . and the snacks.

Life has become Small around these parts . . .

. . . and and we're grateful for the Simplicity.

Monday, July 20, 2020


Ten years ago on Thursday -- ten years! -- we lost Dad. To commemorate his lovely self, I'm looking back to then . . .

We miss you Dad, you gorgeous man.


Even on Mondays

I love the New York Times Crossword puzzle.

So did my Dad.

I do it every day. Well, except for Mondays and Tuesdays: those are chump days. My Dad, though, he didn't care. He did it every day. Every day for 50 years.

Dad at 35 in 1968. Looks pretty relaxed for just having had his sixth daughter with mom, doesn't he?
Anyway. I've got a story to tell, and I've got non-related photos to share. Bear with me, won't you? 
Every day during his years and years working at Norwalk Hospital, he and another doc would share the NYTimes crossword puzzle: whoever got to the docs' lounge first would photocopy the puzzle, put the copy in the other doc's pigeonhole, and take the original for himself.

He did that every day for about 40 years.
Then when he retired . . . he still photocopied the puzzle every day, for his beautiful bride. He took the copy, mom took the original. Naturally. Mom would have it no other way.

Easter 1966. I'm the wee one. The wee happy one.

I love this photo because Mom is about to have Julie -- she's 9 months pregnant. But mostly I love it because . . .

. . . I'm rocking my Dad's "Hello my name is Joe" sticker. 
Anyway. Oh dear, these photos are distracting, aren't they?

Anyway, Mom and Dad came to Fort Davis, Texas to visit Bill and me in 2007 and my dad was absolutely chagrined to discover we couldn't get our hands on a NYTimes out there, and I couldn't do the puzzle every day.

There was only one thing to do at a time like this.

Dad photocopied me the puzzle every day for months then sent me the stack in the mail. Of course he did.

The thing about Dad? In addition to being a great husband . . .

. . . and a great Dad . . .

. . . and a wonderful grandfather . . .

. . . and -- as Mary Beth eulogized -- "Joyful. Appreciative. Kind. Gentle. Funny. Silly. Capable. Warm. Skilled. And fully alive" . . .

. . . the thing about Dad was, in addition to all that, he was smart. He loved Jeopardy. He could quote Hamlet's To Be or Not To Be soliloquy from memory. He knew all the bones in the human body. And he did the New York Times crossword puzzle every day.

Even on Mondays.

Monday, July 13, 2020

The Vineyard

For the last few years, I've been working to isolate and cultivate a wild patch of grapevines on the edge of the Field.

For obvious reasons.

Grape Leaves.

I'm very proud of my work, and very excited to make Wada some day although I refuse to do so without my Mom and sisters.

In the meantime, though, something happened this year that has never happened before.

We got grapes.

Lots of grapes.

Many loads of grapes.

Grapes! From grapevines! Imagine that.

And in the other meantime, Mistah and I were doing our daily circuit around The Field and he said, "Look!"

I looked.

Another patch of wild grapevines has grown up the weed tree, across the inside of its canopy of leaves, and down the other side . . .

(I love this photo)

 . . . and now hangs down from the tree into the air above the Field like nobody's business.

It's kind of the best thing in the world and reminds me about how deeply and intensely we're not in charge of anything out there.

So we applauded the intrepid grapes and sat down in our Field . . .

. . . and enjoyed the rest of the show.

Monday, July 6, 2020


July is a lot of things.

July is full-on Summer.

July is full-on Summer-but-not-yet-at-the-beach.

 July is hydrangeas . . .

 July is new stairs . . .

 July is visiting Mumsie and Bill Sr during an oil change . . .

July is Yuccy. Yuccy! Look at you go.

By the way, do notice a trend here? These are photos from my phone that I took which means they stank. Because I stank at photographism.

But Mistah is on a mini-vaca so I decided not to make him work for me.

And speaking of Mistah . . .

 July is seafood lobster salad . . .

And July is growth. So much growth. Metaphor? Possibly. But sun and heat and rain can do that to a being . . .

 . . . HabaƱeros are Exhibit A . . .

 . . . and Tomatoes are Exhibit B . . .

But those are for next month.

It's July . . .

. . . in all its glory.