Flash Player Upgrade Required

Happy Fourth of July!!! Really, what is more American than desperately clinging to scarring childhood events? Maybe Doritos. But. When I was wee, each year, we would go see the fireworks at the country club. The people who actually BELONGED to the Country Club got to sit at the club deck  on fancy reclining  lawn chairs and watch – the rest of us, we snuck onto the golf course and watched (also, how very American.) It was always the most exciting thing in the world, to go. One year, we were apparently being bad, though I posit that It was the fault of Dan, Tim or Pete – and certainly not mine – I think we were loaded up in the car about to leave for the fireworks, and I guess there was fighting, and my Dad said: no fireworks. Everybody out of the car. We of course thought he was kidding, but he definitely wasn’t. There were no fireworks that year.  This deep trauma is probably  accountable for any vices or behavioral problems I currently have. Lesson learned: when in doubt, blame your parents.  I WILL see fireworks this year, Dad, and there is not a THING you can do to stop me!

 Egg hunting, that is. Also: Jocey’s parents’ home is BEAUTIFUL.

I am no longer a child, and I do not HAVE children, so I am stuck in this unbetween place where I can enjoy child-like things, but it must be loaded with, you know, irony. Jocey is hosting an easter-egg hunt at her parent’s house in Westchester today. No kids allowed, of course. And so, I thought I’d make and bring the Bunny cake of my youth, Chuck, which my Mom taught me how to make. Please note how the second cake, when cut into a bow-tie, leaves two perfect ears. Genius.

No matter how old I get, she always sends me an easter basket, or box, with a good reminder of the Reason for the Season, as she’d put it. Please note the Willy Wonka joke and chocolate cross, and YES, those eggs are filled with jelly beans. I LOVE HER. That is all.

Oh, New Years! or: Ladies, lend me your Sequins! I currently have 2 sides of myself. One wants to don a little sequined dress and ridiculous heels and flit about to parties, dancing, laughing, memory-making, spilling champagne on myself, embracing some secret part of myself that likes to do such things (but sadly, rarely does.)  And Another part of me wants sit on the couch and watch the Other Sister and eat an entire chicken pot pie. To compromise, maybe I will find sequined pajama pants?  

Little did you know that Steve and I are Artistes. Steve went to Art School and I, in my youth, drew obscene amounts of pictures of girls in various dresses. Thanks to the beginners  acryllic paint kit I got Steve for Christmas, we were able to explore this side of ourselves. I, with a- uh – post-modern Mrs. Clause?

Please note that Mrs. Claus has no hands, thus, Mr. Claus is giving her Hands for Christmas. And Steve, with a worried Santa:

Perhaps he is worried that Mrs. Claus will not like his present? We will never know.

Once upon a time, each year, the city takes a huge tree from an old lady’s yard which she and her husband planted years ago when they first bought the house, before the kids were born, and her husband’s just passed away and it was his dream that this tree be taken by the city so surely they should take it, and so they do. A star the size of santa clause is somehow hoisted to the top; lights are strung about it. Children ice skate around it; Asian tourists pose in front of it. And some non-Asians, as well. Even some people from Germany, and Texas. And some Canadians too. And maybe a few people from Long Island.

And then also once upon a time, I, oblivious, totally forgot that this magical tree happened each year, and so close to my office. So last night I walked up to see it, and sort of stood there and paused, and felt Christmasy and happy, and then I lived happily ever after, and a person got shot in times square.

The end?

Be afraid! Be verrrryyy afraid! She birthdays around her in new Hunter rain boots, being cute and happy, squeezing cats!

OPENING PRESENTS!!!!

Innocent victims, wrapping her presents – BEWARE!

Apparently last night’s fancy party was SO fancy, I forgot to take any decent pictures. But, I must say, it was pretty fancy. Guests stayed on until 3 am reminiscing, danging on my sausage balls and pumpkin bread, making friends, consuming wine, doing individual and group dances, stealing my tape measure bracelet off my dresser (seriously, whoever you are: die) and  being merry, generally!

Fancy Sisters:

Fancy lil tree:

Fancy Santa:

And finally, speaking of fancy, checking out the gas station by my house:

…..Fancy.

WE FOUND HIM! AND CUT HIM DOWN!

Bert was born and raised in Long Island. He enjoys water, sunlight, being poked by kids, being sawed, having lights strung upon him, and carols sung around him. He also enjoys tapas and  looking at pictures of France. Please join me in welcoming him to the family. Well, at least through the holiday season. At which point, when he is brittle and dead, and we will take him to the curb, and he will be turned into mulch.