Long-Winded Is Better Than The Face
A great writer on my Flist talked about the evolution of internet connection from LJ to The Face and Twitter. True enough, in the last six years, things have definitely calmed down and shorted out in the LJ world a bit as other people leave for the "How many birthday parties has your kid had lately?" neverland of knowing what everyone is doing even if no one cares at all what anyone is doing. (Overheard at a recent party, "I know -- I read that he had three pieces of birthday cake!")
It's all well and good but man I miss the storytelling.
I'm at the cabin currently and the world is bright and blue and green and weedy and filled with dogs, some of whom will do 15-minute butt sniffing dances and some of whom are male poodles and really pissed off about it.
Our garden is absolutely 1000% overflowing with vegetables to the point where I believe we have the most fertile earth in Minnesota. Cucumbers and tomatoes and potatoes and an entire massive pot of green beans and my vegetable-loving self is perfectly enamored with growing my own damn food.
We're also skipping work tomorrow. Hard to beat that with a shovel.
Earlier, Carrie and I were floating in the lake and looking at the clouds, doing the childhood project of God's Rorshach (too lazy to look it up and never spell it right) test.
At one point, she goes, "Ooo look! There's a neck pillow!" as she points to a horseshoe shaped cloud.
Then she waited a bit.
"I have quite the imagination to see pillows in the clouds, don't I? Look -- there's a body pillow. And there's a queen sized pillow. And there's a throw over there! And ooooo---that one looks like the STUFFING of a pillow!"
We also decided during our floatation that unlike our sister-in-law who inexplicably calls our nephew "Mr. Bear" (which drives my father-in-law completely bonkers) that when we have children, we will instead choose nicknames like "Ms. Lizard" or "Hey, Earthworm."
We have made some important decisions here at the lake today.
Anyway, the chicken is on the BBQ and yesterday, Eunie and the boys spontaneously came over for a visit which led to Isaac shooting grape pop out his nose and the consumption of altogether too many s'mores which, though they do not grow in our garden, might as well.
A marshmallow garden. There's a children story somewhere in there, right?
Off I go....
It's all well and good but man I miss the storytelling.
I'm at the cabin currently and the world is bright and blue and green and weedy and filled with dogs, some of whom will do 15-minute butt sniffing dances and some of whom are male poodles and really pissed off about it.
Our garden is absolutely 1000% overflowing with vegetables to the point where I believe we have the most fertile earth in Minnesota. Cucumbers and tomatoes and potatoes and an entire massive pot of green beans and my vegetable-loving self is perfectly enamored with growing my own damn food.
We're also skipping work tomorrow. Hard to beat that with a shovel.
Earlier, Carrie and I were floating in the lake and looking at the clouds, doing the childhood project of God's Rorshach (too lazy to look it up and never spell it right) test.
At one point, she goes, "Ooo look! There's a neck pillow!" as she points to a horseshoe shaped cloud.
Then she waited a bit.
"I have quite the imagination to see pillows in the clouds, don't I? Look -- there's a body pillow. And there's a queen sized pillow. And there's a throw over there! And ooooo---that one looks like the STUFFING of a pillow!"
We also decided during our floatation that unlike our sister-in-law who inexplicably calls our nephew "Mr. Bear" (which drives my father-in-law completely bonkers) that when we have children, we will instead choose nicknames like "Ms. Lizard" or "Hey, Earthworm."
We have made some important decisions here at the lake today.
Anyway, the chicken is on the BBQ and yesterday, Eunie and the boys spontaneously came over for a visit which led to Isaac shooting grape pop out his nose and the consumption of altogether too many s'mores which, though they do not grow in our garden, might as well.
A marshmallow garden. There's a children story somewhere in there, right?
Off I go....