Tuesday, July 8, 2008

The thunder of happy hour and a nose.

Mr. Husband and I are off to New Hampster tomorrow morning for a family reunion for the Stewart-Sibley-Stevenson clan. All of the families come from Mr. Husband's grandmother Anne Butler's family (She married into the Stewarts). Siblings and such. A bunch of folks we've never met. A bunch of folks who sent us awesome wedding gifts despite our never having met them. Tomorrow, we get to shake their hands, share a canoe, and lounge with them on the lawn at Loch Lyme that is dotted with lawn chairs. I've been going nuts about the dotted lawn since reading the description earlier today. Mr. Husband completely supports my fervor, nutty as it is. We're going to respect the spots and add to the dots. We'll fill in space on the lawn on our New England getaway. Dot away!

Before climbing aboard the northern express, we hightailed it down to Florida to visit my family for the Fourth. Mr. Husband drove the whole way. We don't have one of those fancy smancy GPS devices with color pictures, human lady voices, or clear directions, but we have a hand-held that will tell us our Latitude and Longitude for our place on earth when we get lost in the woods. It does not have a bear monitoring device. Good thing, though, Mr. Husband is still wearing his beard. We didn't see one bear while in Florida. We can all silently thank the beard.

Here, you can see him in Florida on July Fourth as we tried to caravan down to the Sumter town square in the Villages. See how the bear-wrestling-beard brought on the storm? My Mr. Husband's ability to conjure lightning and thunder saved our rained out July Fourth by bringing on the natural display of God's anger ... that we all witnessed from the warmth of a glass of wine by staying dry at Arnold Palmer’s happy hour. It’s always happy hour in The Villages. Again, no bears in sight.

Later that evening, we took some spectacular photos with my dear twin brother, Harold. Many people do not know I have two brothers—I tend to speak about Harold a lot since from the womb he’s been my idol. He taught me to speak gibberish and how to build a space ship out of a tree in the backyard. Lloyd is our older brother. He complained the whole time about my taking photos and his having to see photos of himself on the blog. You’d think he would have been more careful. Here you can see how he closes his eyes so that no one can see him in this photo. Harold is in the background, trying not to sleep.

Harold definitely should have been more careful. Later in the evening of July Fourth, dear Harold, who is hypoglycemic and prone to sleeping like the dead when he sleeps, got a surprise in his nose as we joked around like little kids with the camera. Hey, at least we didn’t write with a Sharpie on his forehead, “My name is Poo.” He should be thanking us for these photos. They are harmless. We had a great time, too.

Harold sleeps.

Mom is egged on by Mrs. Wife to add a finger to his nose.

Mr. Husband is also egged on. (Lots of egging going on.)

Mrs. Wife gives it a solid two fingers. We have a winner!

For now, this week, Harold cannot see the internet. I am safe. And we are off on another family trip. This one, we hope, will have much less thunder and no strange fingers in noses. We will dott the lawn with our laughter. It's good to be young, in love, and on vacation.


facingthetrend said...

So ragingly jealous of your New England jaunt. You must supply those of us stuck here all summer with pictures and descriptions of this far-off land.


harold said...