Thanksgiving

Wednesday we drove down to my parents' and luxuriated in idleness for a while. Ben was sick and napped on the couch. Poor guy; it seems like anytime he gets a long weekend off he gets sick. But instead of staying at home and sleeping all day he decided to be a good sport and do that at Mom and Dad's. While he slept and Henry played I made a pumpkin cheesecake, my contribution to the Thanksgiving feast. Then Dad and Beth made a huge vat of fudge (literally there was thirty-something pounds of it) and once it was poured out into cookie sheets to set, all the kids got a spoon and went to town on the ginormous pot. I also got to hang out and chat with Mom and Maggie. And I managed to read Little House in the Big Woods.

I was going to read Little House on the Prairie the next day, but Ben and I ended up going shooting in the woods instead. There next to a fallen tree two pumpkins were summarily dispatched, as well as several cans formerly containing ingredients to various pies made that morning. As we were walking back to the house through the woods we came out by the pond and saw Dad yanking a beaver lodge out with his tractor and this rusty old hinged claw-thingy on a rope. So we decided to lend a hand and manned the big kayak and helped insofar as we were able. Mostly we splashed stinky cold water all over ourselves trying to tow branches away from the island the beaver invaded to the shore where Dad was making a huge pile of sticks he'd already dislodged. Had the beavers not chewed down just about every tree around the pond and wrecked the island I'd probably have felt a little sorry for them. Dad suggested a beaver hunt for that night, and as tempted as I was to camp out at night in a kayak waiting for beavers to sneak out of the broken lodge, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to shoot one. Killing pumpkins is one thing, beavers are too dang cute. I'd feel way too guilty. I think it'd be fun to stalk them, though. Before our little beaver lodge demolition was over Ben had smacked me in the head with his paddle and my shirt was covered in stinky pond scum and mud (and probably beaver poo). So I had just enough time to wash up change back into my clothes from Wednesday and then help Mom make mashed potatoes. Henry, the little gourmand, refused to eat anything but the rolls Beth made. He did try a little bit of pumpkin pie and surprise, surprise, he didn't like it. Weirdo.

All in all, a good Thanksgiving.

Me Being Slightly Creative

My sister took some art classes in college and when she was done she gave me all her art supplies, plus the all the paintings she'd done with express permission, or rather a mandate, that I paint over them. I finally got around to feeling artsy sometime this summer and picked out the big canvas with the old naked long-haired bearded man sitting on a stool and decided my first attempt at painting since high school should be for Henry. Henry wanted a space ship in outer space, so that's what I did. The result, after months of stop and go, is now hanging in Henry's room.



And now, having accomplished this I can finally put the paints back in the attic until I start feeling ambitious again.

Autumn And Stuff

It's fall hereabouts. I suck at taking pictures, but I thought the neighbor's yard looked cool. My yard's not as interesting, since we mostly have nothing but ugly brown oak trees. So many acorns fell this year that you can just about roller skate on them. Actual closeup shot of my yard:



Well, that's about it. Unless you wanted to see the backyard. In that case, here it is:



Oh, and Henry bids you adieu:

Halloween

Awesome title, I know. Yes, Halloween came and went. Henry wanted to be Anakin Skywalker. He couldn't find his blue lightsaber, so he had to use his red one and go as the "bad Anakin." Wouldn't you know it, I try to take a couple photos of Henry in his Halloween garb and the camera's battery craps out before I can get a decent shot. Here are the two best, if you can believe it:



And:



One would think he'd be slightly more enthusiastic since he was preparing for a night of unbridled sugar consumption. But then again, he did have a slight cold. The last one gives me a vague impression of a Picasso, what with the goofy lopsided fake smile and the slightly cockeyed look. Also, his hair reminds me of Ralph Wiggam from the Simpsons.

Saturday we got to visit Grandpa and Grandma Tilley. It was a beautiful day and Ben and I found ourselves napping on the porch while Henry ran amok with the grandparents. A nice, nice visit. Plus we were treated to a barbecue lunch at one of the baptist churches in the area. Henry was a weasel and didn't want to try anything but a few hush puppies and dessert. I decided to try a piece of pumpkin pie- at least I thought that's what it was. It was the orangest pie I've ever seen. There weren't any spices in it and it didn't even taste like pumpkin, just thick, pasty sugar. That made me so sad. I want a real pumpkin pie. Henry wants me to make a pie out of the pumpkin adorning the front porch, but I told him I only make pumpkin pie from a can; I am the Queen of Laziness, after all. Our pumpkin is slated for a grisly death next weekend. Yes, I'm going to shoot it to pieces. And as a token of respect for the gourd that must be blown up by assault rifles, I will save some seeds from its carcass and give them to Mom and Dad to plant for next year. It's the circle of life, you know...