These were taken by far-flung friend and frequent Muse-reader Mamagotcha:
Makes you want to eat a cupcake, doesn’t it? Thanks, MamaG.
Lots to tell but we are tired: been picking up hundreds of foil corners from the chocolates, a load of garbage fills the back of the Man’s truck, the sad lawn begged for water, the lizard made a daring escape and was only recaptured by the brains of two adult humans (and we thought we were further UP the food chain than the cold-blooded reptile), I sent e-mail with grievous typos in it (peak instead of peek, gadzooks), and our sliding glass door is boarded up after a post-wedding-reception incident involving multiple family members, an innocent passage through the doorway and perhaps one sip too much of the good stuff. Methinks the rental co. might just leave it thataway. In the meantime, we are using the French door off the dining room, which has no step, so we merrily walk out the door, only to shriek on our way downward, ker-thunk, to ground level. It’s a 2-foot drop, and if you forget, it’s a bit of a jar, that last step. Ker-pow.
The raccoons have enjoyed eating through the leftovers and tearing up the garden while I’ve been away, and we think they might have actually sabotaged the back window, so they could get in and use the remote control and play XBox.
SO far I’ve been called Mrs Tracey about 1,000 times and love it.
Oh frabjuous day….every day should be a wedding day. Except, like multiple Christmases, that might get old.