View of NH Route 9 somewhere between Hillsboro and Keene. I saw my only moose on this same stretch of road about 7 or 8 years, on Memorial Day. It was a small one.
On the Sledding Hill at Living Memorial Park in Brattleboro. There was a gaggle of alternative-looking families right beside us, shaggy beards and flannel on the guys, shawls and braids for the women, old innertubes and slabs of cardboard for the kids' sleds, but they still all had their cellphones out and were talking to their brokers and tax preparers.
I attend a wedding as one of the minor (probably 4th tier) guests. Since I don't think anyone really reads the site anymore--even my one follower has abandoned me, as I predicted would happen--there is no reason to hide my physical, as well as intellectual, decline from the world any longer.
The Making of Valentines. If you are a certain kind of family, you have to be at least modestly creative in your Valentine making nowadays to demonstrate that your children will be prodded to make some effort in life to not be a drain on the productive portion of society in order to retain a reasonable level of respectability in the demi-monde of schools and parenting (These painted hearts will be made into necklaces, incidentally).
Late Christmas!
The Sledding Hill at camp, Brattleboro (actually Dummerston) VT 
No comments:
Post a Comment