Love you, Mum

Jean Burns Fishburn (holding my Auntie Barb)
January 3, 1932 - December 27, 2006
Rest in peace.

Merry Christmas from the family

Some of the "Colorado Geretys" on December 25th, sledding at Edora Park - Dante snowboarded for the first time ever (he ROCKS):
Colin, Silver, September, Sebastian, Sarah, Dante, Corina

What was there, and how I saw it. . .

These angels, choir, Santas and snowmen were hanging out, with their hopeful light up hearts, down the street from my house one day, waiting for new homes to find them.

Through the eyes of a child

Bet you all think this will be a profoundly beautiful message, or even better, insight into the icy days still lingering after two weeks, here in Lake Wobegon. I mean, Northern Colorado. Not so, dear readers. Recently I was tagged by Kelly AND Shari. The tag: List 6 weird things about yourself. Well, I couldn't really think of anything particularly weird, so instead, enlisted the observations of an objective third-party. The results are as follows, in the order given:

1) I (apparently) always want everything "just right", even "perfect". ('Scuz me, have you looked at the kitchen floor recently? Or any other floor in my house? The yard? The closets? The skeletons?)

2) I NEVER (really, not even to go to the bathroom?) take a break from work (except for that 2 day War marathon, or to read all of a Series of Unfortunate Events, or to listen to someone shouting "Mathematics rule!!!" every time I answer another square root question. Which brings us to #3.)

3) I don't like abstract math. (Too true, alas. It's one of the great regrets of my shallow and empty life.)

4) I ALWAYS give hints about presents. ("Please, please, puhleeeezzzzz give me just one little hint. Please. . .")

5) I don't want a say in which restaurant we all go to. ( I suddenly seem to be ignoring my stance in #1. How progressive of me!)

and last but not least:

6) I don't "like" to cook. (What a crock (pot)! If I don't choose to slave over a hot stove (what am I crazy? - sheesh, I could probably get warmed up if I did -) only to be met with a bevy of shapes and sizes of turned up noses because "that bean soup is NOT DELICIOUS. ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US", but instead mix up lovely pitchersful of colorful and tasty beverages then all I can say is, Please God, let me be weird until the day I die. Amen.)

This post is dedicated to Dante, my darling (eeeewwww), thoughtful (I MEAN, he THINKS A LOT) not quite 9 year old grandson.
Thanks, kiddo. Luv ya more than tongue can tell.