Archive | April, 2012

Sometimes pretend just doesn’t cut it.

30 Apr

It’s settled.  I want some real mercury glass. . .

And, a view of the quilt in the guest room. . . this is the one that I repaired some time back. . .



25 Apr

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  So, he was a little late in coming, but Jesus finally made it to the party.  Actually, I’m acting all cool about it, but I have been freaking a bit since I lost my plastic baby Jesus this past December.  I was unbelievably relieved to find him yesterday.  This little guy has been with me for about as long as I’ve been alive.  Good thing my siblings don’t read this blog, otherwise they’d realize that I have this Nativity set. . . and try to claim their turns.  Funny how it works out. . . I also happen to have the Advent calendar.  Ha ha ha ha. . .

And, for your viewing entertainment, a cow photo. . . I’m calling this one:  Beef.  It’s what’s for dinner.

And, finally, just playing around. . . excited that I now have a real rocking chair in my house. . . just like a real cajun. . .

Dad and the boys

20 Apr

Do you know who Jim Shore is?

19 Apr

So, I went into an antique store yesterday, in the hopes of finding some way to utilize a gift card from the lovely guys and gals at the D’ville branch.  I figured that it wouldn’t be too hard, and I did see some things that I loved, but I decided that I REALLY did not need more Texas Ware mixing bowls.  Although, now, I’m thinking, of course I need more Texas Ware mixing bowls. . . but that’s beside the point.  And then I came across this Santa figurine.

I’ve always loved Jim Shore’s work, probably because it reminds me of the Santas that my parrain carved for everyone when I was a kid. . . which my mom keeps close track of.  Most things that I want like this, I can make conveniently disappear and reappear at my house, but not this Santa. . .

So, I had my figurine in hand, but was continuing to walk through the store to see if there was actually an antique that I wanted to get from the store, instead of something that I could buy anywhere.  As I was walking around, the saleslady walked up to me and said, “Oh!  You’ve found something.”  I replied, that I had, but I was still considering it and wanted to keep looking around.  (Which is how I try to politely say go away while I’m shopping.)  Then she says, “Oh!  But this is a JIM SHORE!  Do you KNOW who Jim Shore is???!!!”  Poor thing.  I must have taken the wind out her sails when I said yes and skirted around her.  The point of the story is that I did buy my Santa and baby Jesus.  So, now I own a JIM SHORE!  (And I have decided that you have to say his name that way every time that I talk about it. . . after all, it’s a JIM SHORE!!!)  And I feel that much more connected to ladies who sit at home shopping on QVC. . . and I wonder where exactly is the dividing line between aging hipster and middle aged suburban yuppie?  I did actually continue on home (after spending some time with my Crochet Club) and proceeded to plant roses in my yard. . . And, I didn’t even know that Andrew Bird was going to have a concert in New Orleans, and I missed it completely. . . but I do know who Andrew Bird is, and I care that I missed the concert. . . so maybe I’m in some magical in between time?


16 Apr

The best part about NOT being a professional photographer is that you get to get away without editing photos at all.  You only have to edit the ones that you WANT to do – which, today, was none of them.  The second best thing about being the wedding photographer when everyone knows that you don’t know what you’re doing is that you’ve probably been asked to do it by someone who isn’t too particular. . . someone who might happen to be your sister. . . someone who might happen to make faces like this when you persist in taking photos after you’ve already taken like two or three of them.

It’s funny. . . that same someone can also happen to forget all of her grouching and ask you to e-mail her photos the very next time that you talk on the phone with her. . .