A few weeks ago I went to Mexico City to see our youngest, Edmund, in his new habitat. As of two or perhaps three days before my arrival he had just been confirmed as a fully tenured member of the Mexico City Philharmonic. I had timed my visit so that I was able to hear a performance. (We also visited Taxco, and I'm awfully glad that we visited it a few weeks ago and not this past week. It was a nice quiet place when we visited, which I rather prefer to gun battles between the police and the drug lords...)
Penblwydd hapus i chi,
Penblwydd hapus i chi,
Penblwydd hapus i David,
Penblwydd hapus i chi.
That, in case you are wondering, is what the "happy birthday song" looks like in Welsh. I hear, in related news, that Wales has been negotiating with the Wheel of Fortune people to buy a few more vowels...
I got pretty busy over the weekend, what with one thing and another, and didn't get this posted, but I didn't want to let the opportunity slip completely out of my grasp.
About a week ago, I walked into my dining room, and my world collapsed. Well, more accurately, the residents of the Gingerbread Double Wide's world collapsed. Or at least their roof did. If you are not familiar with the Gingerbread Double Wide, check out the post "Corbaille Blanc Cuisine." Ironically, the roof collapsed the day before Sara returned briefly to Pittsburgh to collect her remaining belongings.
Last night many members of The Pittsburgh Camerata convened at my house for a year-end party. As everyone was standing around the kitchen, as guests invariably do, Paul and Yvonne commented on my whisk jar, shown at left. Their comments were along two lines - a) some of the items in the jar are not actually whisks (such as the folder and the egg separator) and b) some of the ones that are actually whisks are rather odd.
Well, I'm back for the nonce from my various perambulations, visiting children and grandchildren, and I thought I would celebrate by putting up a blog post. Inspiration struck when I was looking for a photo and found this instead. Cato, our emergency backup Birman, is fond of playing the harp. It was a sporadic thing - he would go for months without touching the instrument, and suddenly we would have a flurry of sightings.
Here's the latest grandbaby - another boy. So far my grandchildren are making the law of averages look pretty silly - 6 boys and one lone girl! But we like boys, too, so we've given his parents permission to keep him. (Something tells me they would have done that in any case.)
... a new creation, invented by none other than my non-cooking husband Tony. It is one of those things that came about due to sort of a perfect storm of circumstances. Which were...
I once read an article discussing airport bookstore fiction that divided it into two categories, the Intro-novel and the Info-novel.
This post is a bit different than usual. But first of all, tis the season for discussing the NFL draft prospects. And I'm certainly not going to do another "gosh there's a lot of snow around here" post.