Weekend Wrap Up: A Week Behind

True to form, I am a week behind on Memorial Day Weekend News.  My valid excuse: blogger would not accept my pictures.  It was one heckuva weekend.

And it started Friday with me, artist of the month, hanging out at the store where I sell my jewelry, meeting all of my three fans.

By "meet" I actually mean hanging out in the back of the store with the finger foods because I get super embarrassed by compliments.

And because I like to snack often. 

Highlights of the night:

• Food.
• Cupcake truck parked outside.
• I may have accidently served wine to minors.
• Met really fun people.

Up next: long hike up the highway to Corey's hometown for some fun in the sun out at camp!

And by "fun" I really mean wading through water to get to camp and standing on the deck saying, "ooooooh my gosh I can't believe all this water!"  We instead spent the rest of our time at his parents' house, on the porch, chattering on about all the goings on.

That is, until his mother, Bonnie, and I left to get our toes done.

A girl simply can't not get her toes done at least once in her life.  This time was actually my second, so I know from previous experience that my foot is not actually supposed to be rubbed raw, but boy do my nails look purdy.

Next I took a ride with the in-laws to one of the most fun houses I have ever been inside.  The most fun being Susan Feliciano's house on the corner of Olive and South in my old LBC neighborhood.  It may be because I was young the last time I was there, but that place had more nooks and crannies than an English Muffin.

Bad joke.  My apologies.

So off we go to the house of Bonnie's old friend, Olga, who unfortunately passed away earlier this year.  She was in her 90s.  Olga did not have children and only a few family members to pass treasures on to, so the rest of her belongings were scheduled for the dumpster.

I think this is tragic.  And I may have said so a few dozen times as we looked through old photo albums of relatives no one will ever know.  I would have l-o-v-e-d to have sat down with my grandmothers, looking through pictures of relatives long passed, and then taking those pictures to my children, all seven of them, and telling their stories, but I'll never have that chance.  So instead I settled on taking pictures of Olga's mother and father, their pictures were labeled and in places where they would be looked upon often, sparing them from a dirty, stinky fate.

She had a room full of sewing equipment, closet upon closest full of clothes, and a drawer of medical supplies from her husband's dental practice some 70 years ago.  To say I enjoyed learning about this woman through the stuff she collected is totally understated.  I wanted to go through every hat box, drawer, closet, but it would have taken hours and our lungs just weren't up to the dust.

So off we went, with a few treasures and a slight cough.

Even though we were having a good time, I was still there to get some work done on my jewelry (big craft fair coming up this weekend.)

My big helper stepped in.

Out of 1627 felt balls I needed for the show he rolled six perfect balls.  I was so proud!  And then I forced 13 more on him.  I believe he is now regretting this move from business manager to assembly worker.

Too late for that, Cor.

Oliver had a great time.  Although he wasn't able to get his annual romp in Lake Champlain he did avoid a horrible rash on his undercarriage from floating duck poo and cutting open his paws on zebra mussels.  And he had a cat to stalk.

This cat.

He is as friendly as he looks.  As in, not at all.

I may or may not have used an unrolled sleeping bag as a buffer when trying to pass him in the hall to avoid being mauled.

Oliver is much braver.  They stood face to face.  His ears were perked with an invitation to run and play and eat out of each other's bowls.  Kitty just stared and growled.

Funny how animals understand each other's signals, even if they're part of a different species.

Can't fault a brother for trying.  But I wouldn't mention that to the cat.

Corey and I were a little bummed at not being able to barbeque at camp, wake up to water lapping on the shore, and consuming flaming marshmallows covered in chocolate and graham cracker.  But the weekend redeemed itself, and we were pleased as punch to spend time with family.

...

In the next Weekend Wrap Up: why four half glasses of wine may cause you to do something embarrassing in church the next day.

A canine complaint

Dear God,

My folks tell me you’re responsible for all the squirrels and cats running around outside. I have a few concerns I’d like to share with you.


First, the squirrels are jerks. They get me to chase them, and then they run up trees. This is not fair; I am not equipped to run up trees. Also, the one that I almost caught tasted like dirt. The dead one I play with at home tastes like polyester fiber fill. You might want to check your recipe.

Second, the cats are mean. And they have sharp feet. I’d like to say I enjoy our staring contests, but really they creep me out. I still haven’t recovered from the time that neighbor cat swatted at me and I screamed like a Pomeranian. It was scary, and the squirrels still laugh at me. Like I said, they’re jerks. Do the cats know I’m a dog and can eat them?

What I’d like are squirrels that are slow and dumb like my cousin Maggie and taste like bacon, and cats that I can snuggle with.

Thank you,
 
Oliver

Cats fondly referred to as "The Boys"

Actually, yes. I will comment about the cats. Two cats. Two completely opposite cats in terms of personality and likeability...and fur length, color and texture. To clarify, these cats are like night and day. Yet, both hate me equally.

Brief: Kippling is a white Himalayan with a sweet, good natured disposition (however, he is always annoyed with my cuddling attempts and pretends to be sleeping when i am around). I have no idea what Tullemore is besides the cat version of a 'roid raging, post-adolescent who's just waiting for a reason to be mad (i am very afraid. we don't make eye-contact).

Many a night in the North Country have been spent watching the cats. Throwing balled up pieces of paper at them taking, squeeling with delight when they start to clean themselves, or taking pictures while they roll around on the floor. And by "they" I really mean Kippy. Tulley spends this time perched on a ledge somewhere watching and planning his attack.

This is what I woke up to Sunday morning. Pret-ty scary...

(settle down guy i stole this picture from, i will let everyone know it's not actually my picture. and for the attitude i am not going to be giving you any credit. so nyah.)