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This was yesterday’s library/church outfit – thrift store skirt (it’s got a Greek key pattern), white t-shirt, Old Navy sweater borrowed from Kate’s closet. Q greatly enjoyed zipping & unzipping the sweater and trying to put the hood up. Posted by Picasa


And this is what I’m wearing right now – Nikki McClure shirt, Gap jeans. And? It’s warm enough to not need a sweater. Hallelujah. Posted by Picasa

As I was leaving my cousins’ on Sunday, Di said, “I hope this makes the blog!” Are you kidding? Serve me heaven in a grape leaf and not make the blog? Impossible. For the record, there were 99 of those little guys to start with, and shockingly there were leftovers.

Adults chatted and drank wine in the kitchen, while legos were constructed in the dining room and Mr. I-Just-Turned-Seven good-naturedly beat up anyone who walked through.

We feasted (no pictures because I was too busy breaking the fast a week early). After the table had been cleared of lamb, dolmades, Greek salad, rolls, potatoes, and vegetables baked in a heavenly broth, Diane asked, “how soon do we want dessert? Because I need to know when to take the ice cream cake out to thaw.” We decided to take it out in ten minutes, then it would take a while longer to thaw, then we’d be ready for dessert. But, Di went ahead and got out the baklava and the macaroons. You can imagine what happened next.

A side story about the ice cream cake (correct me if I mess this up, Di): the East Coast Cousins were in town a week or two ago on a business trip. It was Tony’s birthday, so Di wanted to celebrate. “Chocolate cake is his favorite,” said Chris. So Di whips up a chocolate cake and presents it to Tony on the big day. “I made your favorite!” Tony’s face falls. “Actually, ice cream cake is my favorite.” Now, I wasn’t there for this part, but I can just see the expression on Chris’ face as he says gleefully, “No, it’s MY favorite!” So, of course, as soon as Tony’s gone, what do we have? Ice cream cake. Coincidence?

I am the ONLY result on a yahoo search for “a mean introvert.” Oh yeah.


joe and harrison: from this… Posted by Picasa


to this… Posted by Picasa


to this. 2006: just turned seven and almost eighteen. Posted by Picasa

I go in fits and starts with music. I can go ages without really listening to anything, and then I’ll become obsessed with a certain album or song for a while, and then drop it all again. The Animal Years came in the mail this week and I don’t want to stop listening to it. While standing in line at the coffee shop (wretch that I am) I want the line to move more quickly so I can get home and turn it on. I turn it on while I do the dishes and make macaroons (for the Other Easter Dinner at Di’s) and read. Have you listened to Girl in the War yet? Why not? Go.

Last night I was walking home from the Four Seasons when I heard one of my favorite sounds – bells ringing. Church bells. I adore the sound. I sometimes hear the bells on Sunday mornings, from the Catholic church around the corner. But it took me a second to remember last night that, aha, it’s the Other Easter. They rang for a good long time, which is always pleasing, but it got me thinking about how early they hold “midnight” mass. It was, oh, eight-thirty. I’m used to Easter bells at a more respectable time – the dead of night.

Instead of Easter bells today, we had the rustle of palms being spread on the floor during the Great Entry. And hot cross buns.

But back to those Easter bells – and the dead of night. Our church is on a good bit of property, but those bells carry. Especially at midnight.

One year, when the church calendar dictated that Orthodox Easter (Pascha) fall on a different day than Other Easter, we were new converts with strong arms and an enthusiasm for bell ringing, and the neighbors hadn’t gotten used to our ways. One neighbor became, apparently, alarmed by the noise. What would you do if bells started ringing at midnight? This neighbor called the police. Who sent an officer over to investigate. Who found a packed church with sleeping children on the floor and enough candles to constitute a fire hazard. Now, the neighbors are used to us, I suppose.

I can’t wait to sing myself slightly hoarse.

And, I don’t know if you’ve truly lived until you’ve directed a roomful of 1st & 2nd graders in re-enacting Lazarus being raised from the dead. And? Their ability to sit down and seriously discuss resurrection and the dual nature of Jesus (“It’s hard to understand,” says one) and the significance of riding on the foal of donkey constantly amazes me. And helps balance out the shrieking and running and so forth.


Junk drawer – a day late and a dollar short. But I just paid my taxes, so I’ve got a good excuse. The closest thing I have to a junk drawer is in this dresser/bedside table. All are junky drawers, here is the junkiest… Posted by Picasa


Ibuprofin, cough drops, flashlight, suede protector, packing tape, pens, earring boxes, German crayons from Waldorfy school, Theraflu on the top layer. Underneath are colored pencils, stationary (although most is kept elsewhere in a box), and craft scissors. You know, the kinds with the squiggly edges. Posted by Picasa

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