Sleepy Saturday

You know it's a grey day when your camera flash goes off outside.

My friend, Barb, and I walked on slightly icy streets this morning.

It made for an exciting hour.

The most excitement I've had so far today.

Although, I hold out high hopes for the evening.

We have had a rare dinner invitation. 

I went out to get the mail and look for some colour.

Hello, Mr. Pukeko.

I love you all year long.

Hello Harvey.

Nice to see you're still on the job....

...keeping that eagle eye out for any interlopers.

Little Tibetan prayer rock, or some such mumbo-jumbo.

The concept is a bit new-agey for me, but it's a bright spot.

Grey, grey, grey.

But I love my little bench.

This huechera is a sweet spot of brilliance in every season.

Hello Mr. Gnome, hangin' out with the huechera.

Ah, there it is.
My super-duper mailbox, foiling the mailbox thieves.

The perennial bed at the street.
I will post pics of this next summer and you will be amazed.

Back home again, past the brave wee flag, yet proclaiming freedom to all who pass.
And yes, the sky did get bluer as time went by.
Bluer?
More blue?

And the shiny blue bird bath, which still has a modicum of surface ice if you look very carefully.

Now, I think I will have a little nap.

All this excitement plumb wore me out.

Just because

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I think that one of the most insidious concepts being pushed upon us, by the world at large, is that our value as a human being is defined by our physical beauty. Thus, we spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about and attending to the shape of our body, the symmetry of our face, the colour of our hair, the shine on our nails, and on and on it goes.

My greatest heroes, the real, live, breathing ones, are mostly beautiful of soul and very imperfect (by the world's standards) in their appearance. And while I often bemoan my wrinkles, my extra pounds, and my aching body, I cannot let that be the focus of my life, because there are so many other things that are important to me. 

That little rant being over, I cannot help myself with this baby. 

She is physical perfection.

I shall have to spend a disproportionate amount of time, as this baby girl matures, reminding her that "it's better to be nice than pretty".

So, bear with me, the doting Nana, while I share the joy.

I think her personality, which is very sweet, shines through.

Too much?

Tiers of joy

The most dangerous food is wedding cake. James Thurber.

By the end of this post, you will be forced to concede that this title is a clever one.

Yes, you will.

So, what exactly does it take to make a four-layer wedding cake, twelve hundred miles from home?

1. Five pounds of butter

2. Four dozen eggs.

3. A can of cherry pie filling.

4. Three chocolate cake mixes.

5. Half a gallon of heavy whipping cream.

6. Five pounds of flour.

7. A large amount of cocoa powder, baking chocolate, and chocolate chips.

8. Buttermilk.

9. Four pounds of sugar.

10. The well-stocked kitchen of a new friend.

12. Ten pounds of powdered sugar.

13. Some Dove Promises, lovingly shaved and applied to the bride and groom's layer. By the bride.

14. Ten hours.

15. Two more friends to shave and apply chocolate to the 12" layer. (Thank you to Shauna and Pam from my poor, cramping hands.)

16. A rag-curled princess to watch over the proceedings.

17. And a cousin of the bride to apply flowers to the assembled cake.

As the bride walked past the cake, she waved her royal hand and pronounced that it needed a big flower on top.

The task was duly accomplished, in a surprising way, which will have to be published later as I missed the photo.

The suspense is killing you, I know.


EDIT: I cropped this out of one of the official wedding photos, so it's not very good resolution. The flower on top is an ornamental kale, with a couple of roses.
Probably the only wedding cake to ever be topped with kale.

Sam's purple was gorgeous.

And one of the less unflattering photos of moi and spouse.

Connections

This post is not funny.

I am too tired to be funny.

Our baby is married.

The marriage took place at the Newport Beach LDS temple yesterday, with a small group of family and friends. A civil ceremony and reception will be held on Saturday.

Happy and pretty.

Bethany and her new sister.

Charlie said, How come my face is so big?

Sam and her mom, Doreen.

More sisterly love.

We took everyone out to Mimi's Cafe for lunch afterwards. Mimi's is my favourite Southern California restaurant.
And, y'know, some of it had to be about me! 

Jon and Kenz. They kind of look related, don't they?

Charlie's friend, Mo, and Daniel.

Sam's sister, Janelle, and our baby.

The gratis dessert for the lovely couple tasted suspiciously liquorish, in retrospect. 

Baby Elsie pictures, just because I can.

Uncle Jon thinks he's the favourite uncle. Charlie says that's okay, because he's the favourite of the rest of the nieces and nephews. I think they are both right.

The story of Carrot

May I introduce you to Carrot?
Lovely readers, this is Carrot.
Carrot, lovely readers.

Many years ago, before Carrot even had a name, he was an Easter gift to a youngish wife from her slightly romantic husband, Jeff.
On good days, he sat atop their nicely made bed.
On bad days, which was mostly, he languished on the floor, where he had been thoughtlessly tossed as the youngish wife crawled into bed after long days of refereeing four children.

Then, after several years of increasing prosperity, Rabbit's owners added a very tasteful storage bench to their bedroom accoutrements. It was placed at the bottom of their four-poster bed and the wife thought to herself, Self, that silly rabbit would look very nice sitting on this tasteful bench. So she retrieved him from his ignominious heap of rabbitdom on the floor and sat him in the corner of the bench.

But then she noticed, oh horror, that Rabbit was a tad crusty. On closer inspection, wife indentified it as dried milk. How dried milk had been spilt on Rabbit could hardly be imagined, unless it happened during those surreptitious forays into the under-the-bed chocolate stash. Which were always accompanied by a glass of cold milk. So wife cleaned up the old rabbit till he was as good as new and placed him lovingly on the bench.

And there he sat.
Unless he was on the floor, having been dumped, yet again, as not-so-young wife hunted for treasures in the storage bench.

Then one day, not too long ago, definitely-not-young wife decided that, sentiment aside, it was time for Rabbit to meet the Goodwill bag. So she girded her loins (wherever she could find them) and hurriedly stuffed him into the bag.

But wait, all is not lost for Rabbit!

Dum-de-dummmm!

A few days later, he was discovered by four intrepid grandchildren and gloriously named Carrot.
They played with him, fought over him, and called him by his name, over and over again.
Carrot, Carrot, Carrot!
They took him home for sleepovers.
But they always brought him back to Nana's house.
Who does not dare to ever throw him out again.

Which is kind of a happy ending for Carrot, don't you think?