One mountain range
The other mountain range
Me in the middle between two parallel powers
Hope you’re all having a wonderful Christmas!
Stories to tell, pippa. Stories to tell.
“seattle autumn night”
Gorgeous.
I made out with McMoony, my glue-faced boy, to this view. The view is burned into my brain more than the making out.
Courtesy of Kim, from the awesome Seattle Daily Photo.
the smiling casual graduate
Prepare yourselves to gorge on photos. Elder Nephew graduated high school this week and Tee Tee just got an email full ‘o’ pictures!
Killer smile, kid. I don’t think you should be allowed to inflict this on those helpless college girls. It’s unfair.
the graduate + two
My favorite. Can I still smush them?
the graduate + brother
Elder and Younger Nephew.
Sob.
Younger Nephew is required to show me his abs whenever I see him.
I wonder at what point that becomes creepy.
the graduate + one
Elder Nephew graduated from high school on Wednesday. Sniff sniff.
Top 20 student in a graduating class of over 700. Not bad, kid. You’re way too tall and grown up and your eyes are piercing blue and your heart is funny soft and I love the way you love your little sister and Tee Tee just can’t take it.
I’m proud of you.
Do more face smushing, please.
“love before breakfast”
Posted because I think Sheila will like this, based on her post today.
This is a photo by Walker Evans taken in Atlanta, GA 1936 for the Farm Security Administration, with, obviously, the Love Before Breakfast poster (and an Anne Shirley Chatterbox poster) clinging to the wooden fence in front.
I love the juxtaposition here. The glamor of the posters, the threadbare glory of the houses. The fantasy of the posters against the stark reality of life behind them.
It’s gorgeous to me.
more from “the happy day”
We previously discussed “The Happy Day” here, including photos of my mushroom cloud hair and the obvious — and now deeply embarrassing to me — Ren Faire overtones of the happy day.
But this photo ….. this one gets me.
This is dear dad standing poolside, watching as the professional photographer, aka Lugbutt, snaps pictures of me and my bridesmaids on the other side of the pool. (Pardon me, but it cannot be overstated: Hubba hubba, Dad.)
This photo was taken by our dear friend C who took all our black-and-white candids, which are the only photos of our wedding I actually like. Having someone who knows you and knows the players and knows what means something and what … uhm, doesn’t — hey, Lugbutt! A photo of me standing at the altar all twisted like a pretzel gazing over my shoulder at my seedy past? Guess what? Means NOTHING. I look like a tard — makes all the difference in the world in the quality and emotion of the photos. That look on dad’s face chokes me up. And the juxtaposition of dad with C’s son little baby B here sucking his thumb — IN HIS REN FAIRE CAP THAT MATCHES HIS SISTERS’ REN FAIRE CAPS, OH HELP ME BABY JESUS — is just too much. Baby B is watching the proceedings but impassively, objectively. “Yeah, whatevs. I see something is happening over here, but all my devotion and love is reserved for my yummy thumb, okay? Oh, and my bitchen’ cap.”
original banshee says ….
“Tee Tee, your hair has stripes in it.”
True dat.
And thank you for not mentioning the wrist stump, kid.
I mean, you tell your stylist to do what she wants and you end up with a wrist stump. No more creative license for her.
Sheesh.
cousins
From two summers ago, when the whole family went to Zion, Utah. Piper and Original Banshee, 6 and 3 years old, walking down a dusty road. Original Banshee idolizes her older cousin.
Uhm, this one chokes me up. One of my favorite photos ever.
