The Freaky Greeks, Part 2

Millie is not sure about the Freaky Greeks...

o hai! nize to meet you - i am beepsie. dey call me Millheim Belle when i iz bad.

somethink wrong with dis friend, i think.

anybody know how to spell stalker? i iz freaking out with dis creep staring at me

mom!! iz he followin us? his hooman is HOOGE!

September 11th

Meghan drew this in church this morning. She was born on September 17th of that same year. She has never known a world without September 11th.

posted from Bloggeroid

The Statuary Necropolis or The Freaky Greeks, Part 1

We live in a small town that used to be a stop on the Pennsylvania canal. When I first moved here, I wondered why there was such a concentration of antique shops; it's not particularly picturesque, but there are are at least 5 plus an antiques mall/flea market on our 10 block long main drag. At some point, and I have no APA citations to support this, I read that our town was a stop for unloading all the canal boats before the goods headed up the mountains by rail. Hence, the remnants of this confluence are the little shops that remain. At one of our three stoplights, there is a antiques business that specializes in all kinds of statuary. While they usually have a good assortment of eagles, lions, and bare butts*, it is their newest acquisition that stunned us when it showed up.

He is HUGE. Part of me is awed every time we drive by, and the other part of me giggles. Who the heck is going to put this in their yard? Seriously. I hope some museum buys it or some small town for their historical society yard. For now, we are enjoying him. I had to take a picture before someone buys him, which pretty much guarantees he'll be looking in our bathroom window from a block away for the foreseeable future.

While I was there, I found some other interesting characters:

Who doesn't want Aslan living in their 'hood?

I don't know why I'm cuddling a fish.

Don't look behind you, but that idiot is still throwing fish at us.

No, it's MY turtle!

Herp de derp!

Have a drink, dear. Oh, you're falling down the hill? My bad.

Sister, would you care to dance?

Why, yes, Sister, I would love to!

Humph. Dancing is fine for some people.

Tee hee, we can't dance! We are weird cat/sphinx/Victorian lady people!!

Foie gras, anyone?

Hmmmm....no comment!

Why, yes, they ARE adorable....wait, what are they again?

Don't ask me again! Didn't you hear me? Nevermore!

Okay, so that last one was pretty pathetic, but I'm overwhelmed by the awesomeness of these statues. As Ethan said, "Those Greeks, Mom, they were pretty freaky."

*Gratuitous butt shot:

A Photogenic Fly Fishing Saga

Behold The Fisherman.

He is a Fly Fisherman.

Behold The Fisherwoman.

She is not a Fly Fisherwoman.

Matt and I have fished together since we started dating. It is quiet, relaxing, and soothing to both of us. It is not so soothing when you add a dog who is obsessed with swimming until she drowns and two kids that won't bait hooks and can't unhook a fish, but I AM NOT GOING TO COMPLAIN. SEE ME, NOT COMPLAINING!? Sigh.

USUALLY THERE IS A LOT OF BITCHING COMMENTS BECAUSE THE FISH AREN'T BITING MOM, WHY AREN'T THEY BITING? I CAN'T CAST. I STILL CAN'T CAST. MOM. MOM. MOOOOOOM. HE STOLE MY FISHING SPOT. I'M SNAGGED, MOM.

Luckily, on this day, they had success along with the rest of their usual fishing experiences.

why can't i go swim? i wanna swim. i wanna swim. i wanna swim.

pleeeeease. i wanna swim.

And where is their father?

Why, he is calm, soothed, and relaxing

50 yards upstream.

Of. Course.

Part of the fun of going fishing is trying to capture the perfect fly fishing picture of Matt.**

This is not at easy as it might seem.

For a variety of reasons.

He wasn't even close to hooking her, but there was a lot of *GASP!!* "DADDY!!!".

if you're not gonna let me swim, mom, can we please go home?

It's really easy to miss that moment when the line hangs in the air in a perfect arc.

I'm usually a few seconds late. Almost got it here.

Missed it again.

15 pictures later...

Perfect!

Perfection.

** I don't know why, because he certainly doesn't bother to try and get a good picture of me fishing. That picture above? Is the Only Picture of Me Fishing in existence. I am not even kidding.

Not Laboring on Labor Day

Random Thoughts:

-In the midst of looking for swag to fill up the geocaching kit in the car, I discovered there were 10, that's TEN random tops of popsicles/shirt tags/corners off fruit snacks/etc. that someone has kindly left in with the junk in the junk drawer. Really. How hard is it to walk 2.3 feet to the garbage can with the scissors and snip the tops off over there? Apparently, this ranks up there with putting clothes in the hamper and bringing dishes down stairs.

-In reading Telling Dad's blog this morning, I discovered that we are not the only household in which it is perfectly fine to eat all manner of meals in the bed. See the comment section, please.

-In four years at our small, Brethren, liberal arts college, my husband did not attend classes once on Labor Day. And after I met him, I didn't either.

-Last time we stopped at the cemetery on our way home from visiting my parents, we found these:

Why were they unknown? Where did they come from? How did they end up in this cemetery? And when? Most of the graves around these two date to the 1800's. The kids had lots of questions (well, Meghan did, Ethan had lots of theories to share) and I had no answers.

-Currently wondering why I am sleeping in excess of 9 hours each night, plus a two hour nap if I can catch it, with no illness or newborn children to blame. Reconciling myself with the thought that I am perhaps lazy.

-Today I am glad on Labor Day that I am a somewhat complacent member of my union, instead of my great-great-grandmother Stiles, who was married to a union organizer, and had something like 10 children at home, while he was out sending her postcards from all the towns where he was rallying and organizing the workers into unionizing.

Happy Labor Day.