|
|
|
September 24th, 2007
02:59 pm - Up and running again...
-------------------------------------
Start an I.V., I need 750ml of meritage, stat!
In which case, the I.V. stands for Inspector Vino. He's at it again, over here...
|
August 29th, 2007
01:36 pm - Rendevous with Luna
----------------------------------
It's 2:00 a.m. and I'm walking home after my shift. Ten hours encased in that vest and the night air slips through my wrinkle-pressed T-shirt in cool sips.
As the city coasts to a stop, sounds of the surf just a few blocks away begin to re-emerge from the general hum. The moon paces me, step for step, floating easily above the palm trees that mark my way. My Night Watch palor glows white in the light while the sidewalk under my feet glitters a silvery blue.
One glance, then a second. Something's not right. Darkness carves a scoop from Luna's backside. Common enough, but it's the shape of the curve that bothers me. And it occurs to me. The moon was full just an hour ago. That's no horizon in profile. It's a shadow!
I'd been working all night and hadn't caught the news. For some reason discovering the eclipse for my self, alone on my ghostly trek through urbania in repose, lent to the event's mysticality.
At home, I bounced up to the roof and set up my camera. For most of the next hour, I witnessed Luna succumb to shade. I sat there quietly slicing select moments from the stream. The first shot was spot-metered to show details on the bright side. Thereafter, exposure was biased toward the growing dark.
Going, going, gone...
|
August 16th, 2007
August 6th, 2007
12:02 pm - More o' the shire
--------------------------------
After the old bushes were cleared off the hill, some cosmetic basics appeared in order. I found some concrete paint to make the back wall presentable and some curvy stone planter liners that I pressed into service as tiered retaining walls.
--[BEFORE]--
--[AFTER]--
Barely visible around the outside perimeter of the hill plot is the black tubing of my new and upcoming sprinkler system, yet to be buried as the final stage. Off the three quarter inch main, microtubing and mini sprinklers sprout. I even retrofitted the village downtown with a ring of microtubing, branching it off the main line thusly.
Now mini sprinklers sprout as surreptiously as gnomes throughout.
In between all these chores, I've been working on technical details of a more subtle nature, as well.
The delicate stone paths I laid with tweezers just won't stay put. Birds and cats tromp through, earthworms and weeds push up from below, and watering washes them away. Even though I would replace them what seemed like constantly, my diminutive pavers still managed to always have a somewhat jumbled look. Well, I fixed that.
I found some flexible, waterproof glue and plastic netting. Cut a strip the shape of your path, then get a sore neck bent over a craft table meticulously tacking down pebbles for hours. Voila!
--[BEFORE]--
--[AFTER]--
I think I'm finally ready to start planting the hill!
Wee.
|
August 2nd, 2007
04:53 pm - Diminishire - update
---------------------------------
The stream is bridged. At last, ale in the pub without wet bottoms for the cottage-dwellers across the divide.
Some village visitors, however, come specifically for the wet bottoms. For those tweeting tourists, a bath.
There's a new gnome, too. A bit reclusive, true, but if you sit under his tree quietly for long enough, he may just venture out to nibble a bit off your biscuit before blowing bubbles in your tea.
And with all the summer sun, the Irish Moss has begun to flower.
I've been hard at work on technical details, too. Those to follow...
|
July 16th, 2007
02:15 pm - My Dad
--------------------
My dad invented the Mars Rovers.
Granted, a lot of people worked on the rover missions and he didn't work on the science part of the mission. He designed the rovers themselves. In his group, the scientific instruments that went on the rovers were referred to simply as "payload".
And he wasn't just the group supervisor of Mobility at JPL's main campus, either. The rocker-bogie he invented holds multiple patents and garnered him a collection of certificates of design recognition from NASA. Wheels, steering, motors, chassis, suspension and body? Yup, that's him.
The first robotic roving vehicle ever to cruise the Martian surface was Sojourner. It exceeded all performance expectations many times over, making the mission a resounding success. For it, Dad was presented NASA's most prestigious engineering award of all, the Exceptional Engineering Achievement Medal.
And I mean medal with ceremony, ribbon over the head, NASA headquarters and their highest officials presiding. Essentially, they knighted him.
The next two rovers, Spirit and Opportunity, were also his. Such a success, they're still roving the surface sending back data, years after their specificed service window. Recently, Dad was recognized again. For not just his rover work but the achievements of his entire career (he also holds patents on inventions as diverse as the propane carburetor and a solar simulator), the American Society for Mechanical Engineers bestowed upon him their highest honor. They made him a Fellow.
For some people, that might have been enough. But at 73 years old, he's hard at work on the 3rd generation of rover, an upscaled version that will dwarf the previous editions. Still in the research and design phase, you won't find much about it yet in the press. So here's your exclusive insider look at an engineering test model for the next mechanical beast to go six-wheelin' on the planet Mars...courtesy of my dad (he's the one in the middle, the little rover shows the size of the past missions).
|
June 20th, 2007
12:36 pm - The Doctor is In
----------------------------
As previously mentioned, Sandy was the negotiator who successfully negotiated the safe release of all hostages and peaceful surrender of the suspect in one of the largest critical incidents ever to occur on the west side. In the years since then, she has literally traveled the country by invitation, presenting her debrief of that incident to interested state negotiator's conferences from here to Arizona, Louisiana, Tennessee, Michigan, Illinois and back. There was even an invitation to present in China.
An article she wrote was published in the FBI's Law Enforcement Bulletin on page 1. The Bulletin is the premier such journal in the country and it is read internationally. Sandy's appearance there has garnered her written recognition from as far away as police chiefs in Connecticut to District Shift Commander's in New Zealand.
And now, she's officially a quotable reference. The authors of Crisis Negotiations, known widely by law enforcement as the negotiator's bible, cited her work in their latest edition. She's even in the index...four times.
She's already received word from a senior sergeant abroad that her dynamics have been incorporated into the training scenarios of his department's crisis negotiations team.
And for all the research time she spent in school referencing the work of others, recent correspondence reveals that Dr. Sandy is now the cited source in the next generation of university student's papers.
That's my sweetpea...
|
June 4th, 2007
01:29 pm - Happy Birthday!
-----------------------------
The twins' are three. Their party was delightful. It was great to see everybody.
After we were all generously burger'd and cake'd, the unwrapping began. I'll leave it up to their parents to document the details of that day. So of all the pictures we snapped, I give you just my favorite.
The munchkins are absolutely adorable, you guys. Thanks so much for having us.
|
May 31st, 2007
04:08 pm - Springtime in Diminishire
--------------------------------------
With the return of the weather comes the refurbishment and expansion of Diminishire.
The path makes it all the way to the pub, which finally gets it own patio, garden and yard.
Now the diminutive denizens can down a dram of dark drink at the pub and then stroll out past the fence to contemplate the gravity of things beneath an apple tree.
The riverbed's in. I'm working on a bridge. I've already got plans to redo the pub's patio into half an herb garden with (hopefully) custom-made potting bench and tools. Plus, furniture is on its way.
The west end got some replanting to add color and replace casualties of the weird summer and winter spells we alternated through.
And then I tackle the hill above the village. Countryside cometh...
|
April 13th, 2007
07:37 pm - Z!
---------------
After 14 years of faithful service, Sandy's 300Z was put out to pasture. Suddenly, the garage seemed so...half empty. Twice over the past week I caught the Jeep quietly whimpering in the middle of the night. It's lonely.
So today we went out to the breeder and brought home a brand new baby Z. A thoroughbred 350Z, mind you, but for the duration of the manufacturer's recommended break-in period just a puppy nonetheless.
Under the hood hides 306 hp with a 7,500 rpm redline, dual throttle bodies and continuously variable valve timing.
Elsewhere lurks Vehicle Dynamic Control, electronic traction control and a viscous limited-slip differential.
Inside there's DVD navigation with GPS, 6-disc in-dash CD with MP3, Bluetooth hands-free phone system, digital Bose audio with speed-sensitive volume, tire pressure monitoring system, heated power seats and more...
I can't wait to go for a...Hey! I thought it was my turn to drive.
Awww, c'mon.
|
January 18th, 2007
07:05 pm - Notes from a Wine Detective
------------------------------------------
Pssst!
Inspector Vino is now appearing semi-weekly at tableauvivante.
|
December 31st, 2006
12:12 pm - The gift of books
-----------------------------
Somewhere north of here an elf drops a gift card in the mail, cleverly using my mother-in-law's return address so that I, as a skeptical adult, might not guess it is really from Santa.
So I'm in Barnes & Noble browsing for ways to convert a plastic card into neatly bound bundles of the written word. In the wine section I spy The Accidental Connoisseur, but Santa delivered that one personally, placing it right under the tree on Christmas morning. Then next to Reference an alliterative arrangement catches my eye:
Robert's Rules of Writing
101 unconventional lessons every writer needs to know
by Robert Masello
I've got several writing books already, some of the Grammar Nazi sort, some of the anyone-can-be-a-writer-love-yourself sort. Reading books on writing is a much safer way to pretend you're associated with the writing life than actually doing any writing. Suppose there was a writing book that pointed that out? I was sold right from the first page. Allow me to tempt the aspiring among you to pick up a copy of your own.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rule 1. Burn Your Journal
Just about every writing book I know says writing is a muscle you have to regularly exercise and keep in use, and that if you don't know what to write, you shouldn't let that stop you. You should just start keeping a journal and writing down, at random, all your thoughts and ideas.
In my book - this one to be exact - that's an immense waste of time and paper. The only muscle you'll exercise by keeping a journal is your hand, and for that you'd be better off jumping rope.
If you feel like keeping a journal - that neither you nor anyone else on earth will ever want to read - be my guest. But if you want to write something that may eventually see the light of day, that a magazine might buy or a publisher publish, then you'll have to knock off the journaling and do the grunt work that real writing requires.
Nine out of ten struggling writers get stuck right there. Instead of confronting all the very real problems that any book, article, or short story poses, they retreat to their journals, on the theory that they're working out their literary muscles, loosening up their artistic tendons, free-associating their way to fresh ideas.
All they're really doing is keeping the manufacturers of those fancy blank books, the ones that uselessly clutter up the shelves at your local bookstores, in business.
Writing in a journal is just a stall, a waiting game, a way to tell yourself that you're working when you're not, that you're doing something of value when you're just using up paper, that you're a writer when in fact you're just going through the motions of one. Look at me! I have a blank paper in front of me - and now I'm filling it, with words!
Anyone can do that. Anytime.
The hard part of writing isn't scribbling words on a page. The hard part is scribbling words that mean something, that make sense, that build a narrative or lay out an argument, that construct a scene or articulate a position. It's not about how many pages you can cover with ink in a day. In some cases, a good day's work might be a couple of paragraphs. But if those two paragraphs are right, then they're a lot more valuable than ten or twenty pages of idle burbling.
Writing takes deliberation and thought, craft and commitment.
If you're serious about writing, burn the journal and get to work.
[excerpted in its entirety]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't worry, he proves he's not too hard-hearted with Rule 2.
I'm up to Rule 18 so far and they just keeping getting better...
|
December 20th, 2006
12:16 pm - The Eye
--------------------
The Eye has been with us now for...days? Weeks? It's hard to tell. Since it has appeared, the searing white gaze never leaves the sky. There is no more night. The Eye is restless, and it searches. From our rooftops we can watch it probing, a blinding beam out on the water that burns through the undulating mists gathered to shroud its source.
The search never quite reaches the coast, for which we are grateful. There is an acrid tinge carried in by the breeze when the beam swings past. That gaze is raw intent. We feel it. It prickles through the air like a static charge and where it strikes the ocean is left smelling of fear-sweat.
Sleep comes fitfully, if at all, now without the dark. Our initial wonder when the Eye first opened soon became fear. That wilted into fatigue until finally there is only resignation. We think it has been even longer than we are permitted to remember.
Something watches. What? We don't know. To what consequence its seemingly inevitable discovery? We cannot guess. But it wears us, this constant consideration without clue. We begin to worry.
What if this is the real way of things? What if everything that we knew of before was in truth but a momentary respite from an actual state of being, all having transpired in a single blink of this baleful eye? Realization sets in like icy fingers tracing up the nape to grip the scalp. Our future begins to look very, very much longer than our past.
And the Eye searches on...
|
December 13th, 2006
12:12 pm - Tour de Napa
--------------------------
For the last day, the ladies were off to an afternoon of massaging, soaking and pampering at the spa while we men started our circuit with a tour of Silver Oak. The harvest had only just been officially completed a week before. Our guide walked us out into the vines where some fruit still clung to the vine. She picked, we ate. Deep purple berries, almost black, small and thick skinned for those marvelous tannins, and surprisingly sweet. Cabernet a la naturale. Another? Why thank, you. I believe I will.
We also got to see the winery at work. Fermentation had just finished and they were draining the tanks while we watched, right down to the last drop and that includes a guy with a squeegee on a pole scraping the bottom into a bin. At that stage, the stuff is completely unfiltered. It looked like grape-flavored milk. Their tour started with a tasting, a generous pour that we carried with us, sipping as we saw.
From there we attended the idyllic grounds of Rombauer, nestled amongst the changing trees and iron sculptures. This place is home to some of the best chardonnay and zinfandel in the valley. I picked up a pair of zins you can't get anywhere but there, a single vineyard bottling and a Proprietor's Select.
Having just sampled their wares at the Napa Rose in Disneyland, I had to visit Plumpjack. They have a cozy estate off the highway, very organic farm-like. I nabbed a cab for my collection of 2002 vintages. Duckhorn treated us to crackers, cheese and a trio of tastes on a porch overlooking the vineyard.
Once again, dinner was an event. Having only visited last time, I wanted to try the Wine Spectator's Greystone Castle restaurant at the Culinary Institute of America. It did not disappoint. The chef's selection appetizer plate was like a porcelain canvas of modern art. You're looking at a butternut squash bisque, a seafood dumpling with basil aioli, a shrimp pâté with jellied crust, foie gras on crostini and a mini duck tostada. My main course was a filet of sole stuffed with crab morsels and wrapped in pancetta all on a bed of white bean ragout. It stuffed my soul, I'll tell you.
Sandy got the chocolate soufflé despite our server's warning that it fed three to four people. She's a champ, that one is. I barely got to "help" at all. S'ok cuz I ordered the ginger cake. It came moist and dense like a gingersnap cookie in cake form on top a stack of stewed apple slaw and cinnamon ice cream à la mode.
In restrospect, it probably wasn't the best trip to take just days before my annual blood test. But damn, we ate like heads of state and had a helluva good time. The souvenirs didn't suck, either.
I already want to go back.
|
December 9th, 2006
01:37 pm - Fine dining
-----------------------
After the wine tour we met friends, shopped, and when night fell headed back to Copia for the much anticipated dinner par excellence. We both ordered off the Local's Menu.
Sandy started with a Copia Green Salad: garden radish, cucumber tempura, Copia padron peppers, citrus vinaigrette. I got the Ham Hock Risotto: wild mushrooms, garden mustard greens, Parmesan Reggiano, port reduction. Served on a bigger plate, it could have been a meal all by itself.
My buddy brought a '95 Groth cabernet for the event, but our chef's VIP treatment began right away with complimentary sparkling wine. Between each course, she had arranged for us a delightful amuse bouche to clear or tempt the palate for what was next. There were bite-size crostinis topped with a soft cheese, a drizzle of balsamic and a sprig of fresh herb. There were crunchy, baked cheese crusts. And before dessert, we got frosted shot glasses of house-made Orange Julius.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. The main course lived up to its title. Sandy got the Oven Roasted Don Watson Lamb Shoulder: marjoram spaetzle, sauteed squash and peppers, violet mustard jus. There is such an artisanal approach to everything up there, that even the way ranchers raise their livestock garners them name recognition on a menu. I had the Pan Roasted Fulton Valley Farms Chicken Breast: Phipps gigande beans, grilled garden onions, Copia braising greens.
Dinner may have been the main course, but dessert was definitely the main event. The chef-liness of confection attained a level I don't think I have experienced anywhere else. My Pan Fried Bread Pudding arrived atop an apple confit and sat sidesaddle with a generous dollop of cinnamon cream. It was a layered evolution of tastes and textures. Soft, tart apple gave way to dense bread pudding fried with just the right crispy edges, all of which eventually melted down your throat on a slick of cinnamon cream. It was as though each spoonful had been loaded, Jack-in-the-box-like with flavor, so that bite after bite sprang open in your mouth, each one no less a surprise than the last.
Sandy fared no worse. She was allowed to poach her selection from the Chef's Tasting Menu, a Peanut Butter-Milk Chocolate Gianduja: peanut-honeycomb parfait, milk chocolate sorbet. At this point I'll just have to defer to the time-worn cliche that a picture is worth a thousand words: [Click] Unparalleled sums it up in a word. If you ever get the chance to experience the art of Chef Nicole Plue...take it.
[the last day to come]
|
December 2nd, 2006
03:10 pm - "One of the greatest upsets in the history of this sport"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
'Nuff said.
[we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming]
|
02:10 pm - Day Two
------------------
Day Two began with a visit to Copia, The American Center for Wine Food & The Arts. We strolled their Edible Gardens where they grow their own fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices for the onsite restaurant. We saw more kinds of rosemary than I knew existed. Inside there's an art museum, cooking demonstration rooms, and a Wine Spectator tasting bar. I was pretty sure I'd be able to find something to do.
Sandy found the gift shop with its wall of cookbooks, narrowing in like a hawk on one in particular. My sweetpea, the choco-hawk.
But the real reason we were there was for the restaurant, Julia's Kitchen. And yes, that's for the late Ms. Childs. Of course I'd be interested in the restaurant at a place where they fuse wine, food, and art into one garden fresh philosophy. We, however, had an angle. You see, the pastry chef just happens to be the sister of one of Sandy's oldest and dearest friends from work. She has worked in San Francisco and New York and for Martha Stewart. She has been written about. And while she wouldn't be there at night for our reservations, after our visit the camera-shy chef gave a wry smile almost the twin of her sibling's and promised that there would be a star by our name in the book. Oh boy! The only reason Sandy eats dinner at all is to be polite until dessert. We couldn't wait.
In the meantime, it was off to the business of some vino. Our first stop was Rubicon Estates, Francis Coppola's recently renamed, upscaled facility where we immediately got the red carpet treatment. Ok, everybody gets the carpet but still, it was turning into a pretty good day.
The valet gave us passports and invited us to walk the grounds where moss-covered oaks have stood watch for well over a century. We went inside and got our passports stamped for both tour and tasting. The tour was first.
We saw the fermentation tanks, learned about the process and the history of the place, which has been around since the mid-1800's. The hands down best part was the walk through the wine caves where they store all of the casks at a constant 60 degrees in high humidity.
We walked in past double rows of barrels stacked above our heads. Tunnels split off in every direction, filled with barrels both stacked and racked. The place was a catacomb of casks stretching around corners to who knows how far.
I will never forget the smell.
Immediately upon crossing the threshold, you are enveloped in the cavern-like atmosphere. Sounds fall dead off the cement-reinforced walls, and for eighteen months the cool and humid air has been infused with the lumberyard scent of new-sawn oak soaked in the wine of its filling. Your lungs draw heavy on breaths thick with the musk of wood mingled intimately with a heady perfume of rich, black berries. It was the ageless aroma of an aging process nearly as old as civilization itself. The organic methods have changed remarkably little in all the millennia of man.
I'll admit, it's a cunning and effective way to lead you back to their ornate, wood-paneled tasting room for a sip or two. I tried the lot, but what to get? A bottle of Rubicon, the premier estate blend? A Captain's Reserve cabernet available only at the winery? Or the reserve sauvignon blanc with a remarkable nose of buttered oak and a palate of honeyed pear?
I had to sit on this one for a while, but I ended up with all three.
[the saga continues...]
|
December 1st, 2006
01:06 pm - Naughty Appetite Pleasers Abound
------------------------------------------------
This year I didn't just get a birthday, I got a whole birthday season!
It started with the day itself. My parents took us out to dinner. Every year Wine Spectator does its annual restaurant review issue. One of their Best of Award of Excellence restaurants just happens to be in one of my favorite places, the Napa Rose at Disneyland's Grand Californian Hotel. The decor is Arts & Crafts, the cuisine is Californian, and the cellar is a VIP tour of Napa. I was handed the wine list and told to have at it. So I did.
We started with a Plumpjack cabernet. From the first swallow, rich black fruits filled your mouth. The finish turned to berries and cream and hung on until just the suggestion of vanilla lingered on the palate. I wasn't sure I could top that choice until the bottle of Caymus we opened next. It was almost syrupy with fruit, a literally tooth-staining wine concentrate that coated you from the inside. Each sip varnished your mouth with black currants and boysenberry and the finish seemed to persist indefinitely. You couldn't wait for it to end before taking another sip.
I don't even remember what I ate, but it was fantastic.
------------------------------------------------
That evening was the perfect warm up for the following weekend. Sandy took me back to Napa, four days and three nights of touring, tasting and gastronomic decadence. All of our reservations had been made months in advance.
We decided to drive up the coast so that was most of the first day. We arrived in time to check into our c. 1860 B&B and then head off to Dinner #1 at P.J. Steak. This was our only repeat restaurant from last time, but I knew even back then that it was going to have to happen again. It's an American steakhouse with a French touch.
To start, butternut squash and pear soup with crème fraîche. Then the grilled rare filet topped with melting truffled butter pat. Add a side of roasted brussell sprouts and butternut squash sprinkled with pancetta bits and shavings of pecorino cheese. People, that's what I am talking about!
Sandy got the creamed spinach. She always gets that so she's become something of an expert on steakhouse-side creamed spinaches. This one takes the prize. We asked the waiter what makes it so flavorful. To our surprise he began to describe in vivid detail exactly how the stuff is made. Most places prepare a runny cream sauce separately and then add boiled and drained spinach afterward. But pouring off the drainage dumps much of the spinachy goodness. Chef P.J. (that's Philip Jeanty of Bistro Jeanty, to you) does it this way. He starts with a creamy french sauce too thick for traditional creamed spinach. Rather than dilute it first and just add boiled spinach, he adds raw spinach directly. Then under heat the spinach weeps moisture to the sauce, loosening it to the proper consistency with nothing lost to runoff. Awrighty then.
For dessert I had the gooiest slab of pecan pie this side of...I dunno, Pecanland. It was ala mode a chef's-own-recipe cinnamon gelato. Please don't tell my doctor.
I meant to get pictures this time, but I was in such culinary ecstasy that I didn't regain conscious control of my faculties until this.
[to be continued...]
|
November 27th, 2006
01:21 pm - Happy Hallow-versary
-----------------------------------
Anniveen? Either way, our anniversary and Halloween are right around the corner from each other. The anniversary comes first.
The annual Disneyland anniversary trip was a given. I approached the day with my usual, orderly enthusiasm. But a holiday that celebrates candy? We didn't even get inside California Adventure before Sandy had bit off more than even she could chew.
We hit all our favorite rides including the new Pirates with Jack Sparrow. Afterward it was off to dinner in the Disneyland Hotel at Granville's Steakhouse where neither one of us could resist the American Kobe steak. Awright, awright. I'm not gonna wax poetic, but damn was that good.
Top it off with some souvenirs and you've got yourself a day. But not everything shopped for is purchased. Tradition must be observed. Ladies and gentlemen, once again I give you Self Portraits in Hats We Don't Buy: [she] [he]
-----------------------------------
For Halloween we tried Universal Studios. They ran a special event sort of like Knott's with the usual assortment of chainsaw-wielding pigboys springing out of darkened corners to periodically delight guests. Well and good, but we were there for the backlot tour.
Shortly, there were issues with the tram. They sent us out on foot. Luckily, we weren't too far from civilization. The lights up ahead looked like a place to rest. Uh oh.
Now Sandy's favorite director has always been Hitchcock. Her favorite movie is Psycho. I don't dwell on this. It just is. Normally, the tram whisks you by the set with nary the chance to snap nought but a blurry shot in passing. We got to walk the place...unguided.
We weren't exactly alone, either. Mother was there, entertaining motel guests as is her fancy. Parking: $5. Admission: $40. Standing on the steps outside the office of the most famous motel in history? Priceless.
And it didn't stop there. Our path led up the hill so walk we did. They let us go right up to the house. The resident even happened to be home, greeting us from the porch. I know Sandy felt lucky to be there.
How cool is that?
|
November 13th, 2006
10:58 am - Brittany turns two
-------------------------------
This year the theme was ladybugs. There were ladybug balloons, ladybug presents and ladybug cake. Much to Brittany's fascination, Susie even showed up with ladybug toes.
But the real show stopper came from my parents. Mom and Pop sat at home in a two-person production line for quite some time that morning. The result? Ladybug snacks. The bugs go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah.
We feasted. I supplied the vino. And after, grandpa took some time out to share a plate of fruit with the birthday girl. For my part, I rued the lesson of too much bouncy house after cake.
The activities wound down with the daylight. How does one conclude such a joyous festival of the bug? Why, gratuitous pesticide, of course.
With her batting arm all warmed up, the crowd decided to tempt little Brittany with more and better targets. "Look, honey. Uncle Steve is a ladybug, too. Go get him!" Me?!? Hey, wha? No! Pixie! These aren't ladybug antennae. I'm a pix-aiieeeeeeee...
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
evolved_skeptic's journal
