Learning about erosion

After I threw a little sulk about how I have become invisible in our family pictures since Z. became independently mobile and left my arms (hard to take a picture of the baby without her mother when her mother's carrying her), A. has started taking more pictures of me.



In the local woods, looking at the erosion-containment efforts of the park commission. I'm the one with the grey taking over her hair, almost halfway to her weight goal.

Missed opportunity

Tossed over the phone line that stretches across the last block I drive before I park for therapy: womens' knee-high, white, vinyl, platform, lace-up boots.

Gone now.

What was up in NJ yesterday?

Driving home on the turnpike last night, a little more tired than was wise, with the music up loud to keep my senses going. At about exit 10 fireworks appeared above the tree strip off to the right, sparks tumbling in every sloppy direction, untidy but festive. Hunh, I thought. Somebody's having a fair, maybe.

Four or five songs later--let's say 20 miles--another rocket lifted into the sky far ahead of me, fizzling, a dud, but by the time I reached that spot on the highway, another went off, proud, high, a red sphere inside a yellow circle, and then I was past, aiming for exit 6 and the bridge across the Delaware, sleepy and puzzled, no one to ask.

Just passing through.

Hiking: snacktime

True queerspawn: I bought her the necklace at Lambda Rising.

Through the eyes of the young

Four comments! That's four more than I deserved, after neglecting this blog so long. I'm so glad you're all still reading...I've turned into a serious lurker out there in Greater Metropolitan Blogland, but I am still reading along.

This was the scene Sunday night: A. and I were in DC, driving home not too late after going out to eat for our anniversary. We were at a light on a street well known for being home to lobbyists, windows partway down because it was a pleasant night for a change.

A car full of college students--well, young men, but they struck me as college students--pulled up in the lane next to us, loud music rolling out of every open window like every stereotype you have of black men in their twenties, except somehow more scholarly. I'm not that good on car types, but I guess it was the kind of car that made me think, "studious kids." Still, I turned my eyes back into my car when theirs came to a stop, but eye contact happened first. Briefly, but it was enough.

The young man in the passenger seat proceeded to make a big bid for my attention. I kept my eyes on the light.

Finally he resorted to hollering this out into the K Street night:

"Slightly overweight white woman! I know you aren't going to look at me! But I'm smart, and I'm Nigerian, and I am very drunk!"

This blog ain't dead yet

...though I admit it's in a lingering state of suspended animation.



We went on vacation to a rural place a good deal farther south than we live, and far, far more tied to the military in its culture.

Best fireworks I've ever seen in my life, and I grew up in Washington, DC, a mile from the Capitol.