So Much Love

When we were celebrating Young James' life in San Diego in January, our cousins planned a mass and luncheon to celebrate Jimmy on the East Coast -- they all wanted deeply to commiserate, and empathize, and connect, but were so far away. We were so touched and moved by that idea -- this family of ours, man, it's good.

It was January in Boston, though. Therefore: one ton of snow. And postponement . . .

. . . until yesterday.

photo courtesy of Monica G.

It's difficult to articulate the dynamic of this family, and its deep loyalty, and the fathoms of its love. Yesterday Mistah and I shared a table with my Mom's sibs Uncle Brian (#11) and Auntie Ginny (#13 of 13) -- and Mom too -- #7! -- and the effervescent Patti (cousin #5 -- we had to fight to get her) and MB (#11) (I'm #19, of course, of 66), then caught up with my cousins, and my cousins' spouses, and my cousins' kids, and even my cousin's grandkid -- we had infants and 80-somethings there yesterday, and everyone is just all so deeply in love.

And we were all there for Jimmy. And Jacquie. And Clara.

The pain was right there with the love, and we talked and hugged and talked and cried and talked and laughed and talked. And hugged.

I wish I could figure out a way to make everything better. I wish I could figure out a way to make everything different. I can't. But I can hug these people fiercely, be thankful for the love they give, and look forward to getting together the next time. For a much longer amount of time. Because as my brilliant and beautiful cousin Betty (#6) put it, we desperately need some "in depth cousining".

Here's to James. Here's to his forever being #64 of 139 -- soon to be 141 -- in the third generation in this incredible family of ours.

We love you, kiddo. All these beautiful people do.
And we miss you like crazy.

Back At It

We found ourselves right back in the fray, right back in the thick of things, right back at another parade.

photo by Jane

It's wonderful and delightful and lovely to be out and about with all the peeps . . . again . . . but me myself personally, I for one, I'm ready to move on.

But! It was another lovely parade.

I mean, well, look.

Blumey! And Nolan.

And this treasure, which was followed by . . .

. . . our very own Mr. Dibble . . .

. . . and our very own New London contingent.

They were the best ones in the parade . . .

. . . especially our neighbor John.

She was pretty great, though . . .

. . . as was the Westerly High School band . . .

. . . and those twirlers . . .

. . . everybody is so cute . . .

. . . and Stonington has a place in my heart because . . . Go Bears.

. . . and trumpets.

The Falcons were pretty impressive too. Hey, where was New London High?

It was a day full of celebrities . . .

. . . like Donna . . .

. . . and this guy . . .

. . . and especially this guy . . .

. . . and me . . .

. . . and these guys!

Oh look, there's doggie.

Hey doggies! Over here!

Good doggies.

About a half a million people go to the Mystic Irish parade every year, and everybody is so nice and so kind and so cute. Well, until you claw your way into the bars . . .

It was a lovely day and the official end of Winter and now we're ready for the rainbows and bluebirds and unicorns.

Happy Spring.

Irish Eyes

The New London St. Patrick's Day Parade was, as always, a delightful dose of joy and love and friends and kindness and adorableness.

New London rocked it.

And the musicians?

Off the charts.

I mean . . .

. . . these kids were phenomenal. Who carries a tuba on their shoulder? This kid, that's who.

The Whalers Marching Band . . . man, are they good. And delightful. And lovely.

And the crowd was pretty great, too.

See? Me. And so many of my wee friends.

We cheered madly for our little city and all the adorable participants.

Wait, not him. He's fake.

This guy.

And this girl.

And the guy on the far far left . . . And the kid above the "P" . . .

And our former Grand March-el . . .

. . . and our own Mr. Dibble . . .

. . . and us.

And the Poole Girls.

And the guy who has the Best Job in America.

And us.

Thank you, New London . . .

. . . for a St. Patrick's Day for the Ages.

Stylized Scenes of Winter

Nevermind what I said last week.

Winter is never going to end.

We had a gorgeous day of desk-basking on Saturday, followed by a Sunday of driving rain. It's not even the first day of Spring yet, when the weather typically begins to become truly horrible, so I don't know why I'm surprised, but I'm ready for this particular Winter to be over, and for the bluebirds and the butterflies and the rainbows and the unicorns to make their fluttery, ethereal appearance.

They're not here yet.

So in the meantime. I give you Stylized Scenes of Winter, Mistah-style.

In the interest of full disclosure, these photos are from last winter. Way back in early 2018. When we still had our innocence.

I could impart my usual blahdey-blah, but I think these nuggests speak for themselves . . .

. . . let's hope they do . . .

. . . because me myself personally?

I'm burying my head in the snow . . .

. . . until I can bury it in the sand.