For your viewing pleasure.

Does posting pictures in my Live Journal somehow defile the idea that I write in this journal for myself to document important parts of my life and to ponder, in writing, ways to make my life better?




When I was a kid, my dad told us that this tree's name was George. The tree by the corner was named Maxwell. A tree that had been next to the driveway when he and my mother first bought the house was named Alice. (Alice, sadly, perished in a hurricane. Frederick, perhaps.)

The trees, he told us, revealed their names to him, and that's how he knew what they were. And George liked to be hugged. We always had to go out and hug George. My mother always staunchly refused.

Here, Becca and I hug George one last time:


I have a question for anyone with any knowledge about trees. What does it mean that the rings are different colors? The darker colors look kind of sick or dead, but is it possible that a tree can be sick or dead inside and alive and vibrant for years and years after that with nicely colored rings on the outside? Do the discolorations come from damage? One of the darkly-colored rings goes back only a few years, and I wondered if that marked damage from the hurricanes Erin and Opal in 1995. Also, I noticed that lots of the downed trees in town had discolored rings in about the same place. It would make sense that lots of trees in Pensacola sustained damage in the same storm. And then gave up the ghost with this one. Anyway, information is appreciated. Even if the information is, "You dolt. That whole thing about the rings indicating the age of the tree is myth." Because I wouldn't be entirely surprised to learn that.

Here's my dad and the funny-colored rings.


At the Peanut Festival, I agonize over which airbrushed logo to get on a T-shirt. In the end, the choice was so hard that I ended up choosing nothing:


Peanut Fest gospel singers. This will be me and my band next year. Which reminds me, I need to call that guy...


Projects!
Here, I model the earwarmer and gloves I made from my mother-in-law's knitting pattern book from the 60's or 70's.


Here, Jennifer models my capelet. It's crocheted.


Here, I model my fox. It's not a very good picture, sadly, but that's what it looks like from a crummy angle when I'm wearing it.


Here, Tate shows your the fox's face and cute, cute little legs. Isn't my fox the cutest? People ask me what its name is. The name of the blend of yarns that the online shop sold was "nutty fox," and I think that's a great name. Nutty Fox. kittee thinks I should name it "Kittee's Fox." Hmm.



So that's what I got.