*Note* I can't figure out how to rotate photos, and I know my shots are overexposed and full of aggressive flash, so you'll just have to DEAL WITH IT because Blogger is being a very cranky beeyotch and I'd just like to get this post up and out of my drafts folder. Okay?
Ahem. Back to the matter at hand. I was fortunate enough to celebrate Thanksgiving with my mother's side of the family this year - up in central Wisconsin, where things are cold, covered in roadway salt, and sound like they're from Minnesota.
We gave thanks for many thing - like silly putty and Badger chairs.
We also gave thanks for sausage and cheese platters, as well as Carlo Rossi's White Zinfandel. The kind that isn't white at all, and comes in those enormous, glass jugs. Because we're klassy like that.
My aunt's house is a treasure trove of antiques and tchotchkes - she's a retired social worker who runs an antique store. So everytime I visit, I do each of the following things: (1) have an allergic reaction to the dust, (2) trip over the edge of one of her ancient oriental rugs, and (3) get creeped out by the dolls and figures she has lying around as accessories. Just check out the evil eye that I'm getting from the doll on the far right:
Gah! I hate it!
We like to spend some time together, chatting and reminiscing about nothing and everything. We also enjoy riding one of the many retired carousel animals that lives in the family stables.
There are some things about our annual trek north that frighten the kiddies, and it's NOT the sight of me in zero makeup. It's usually this guy, who graces the foyer with a welcoming charm that I like to call "you scare the hell out of me! where is the white zinfandel?!"
Mostly, I'm just grateful that my very old grandmother is still alive to celebrate the holidays with us - she is definitely the matriarch of the family, and we would be so sad without her around. She keeps telling me she's holding out so that she'll be alive to attend my wedding...but at a very spunky 94 years old, none of us can predict her future.
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday weekend, and that it served as reminder of what really matters.
Ahem. Back to the matter at hand. I was fortunate enough to celebrate Thanksgiving with my mother's side of the family this year - up in central Wisconsin, where things are cold, covered in roadway salt, and sound like they're from Minnesota.
We gave thanks for many thing - like silly putty and Badger chairs.
We also gave thanks for sausage and cheese platters, as well as Carlo Rossi's White Zinfandel. The kind that isn't white at all, and comes in those enormous, glass jugs. Because we're klassy like that.
My aunt's house is a treasure trove of antiques and tchotchkes - she's a retired social worker who runs an antique store. So everytime I visit, I do each of the following things: (1) have an allergic reaction to the dust, (2) trip over the edge of one of her ancient oriental rugs, and (3) get creeped out by the dolls and figures she has lying around as accessories. Just check out the evil eye that I'm getting from the doll on the far right:
Gah! I hate it!
We like to spend some time together, chatting and reminiscing about nothing and everything. We also enjoy riding one of the many retired carousel animals that lives in the family stables.
There are some things about our annual trek north that frighten the kiddies, and it's NOT the sight of me in zero makeup. It's usually this guy, who graces the foyer with a welcoming charm that I like to call "you scare the hell out of me! where is the white zinfandel?!"
Mostly, I'm just grateful that my very old grandmother is still alive to celebrate the holidays with us - she is definitely the matriarch of the family, and we would be so sad without her around. She keeps telling me she's holding out so that she'll be alive to attend my wedding...but at a very spunky 94 years old, none of us can predict her future.
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday weekend, and that it served as reminder of what really matters.
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