Life of Wry

I have not a thing to write about, nor any remarkable photo to upload on the day. Even though it was a moody, foggy morning around the creek, and even though we had some substantial work done in our front yard, and even though I cooked and baked for a couple hours this afternoon, and even though I took a lovely walk through the Old North neighborhood on my way to Upper Crust Bakery to pick up monkey bread that wasn’t ready for pick up. See? All kinda things that might have produced a good blog post (well… ) — I have pictures of all of the above (a daily blogger’s job is to take pictures of every damn thing that happens in a day, you know) — but nothing that inspires me to write.

So.. reaching back into the Christmas archives, I found this gem.. one of my favorites. I know it’s Christmas because it’s the only day of the year I pull out that Christmas light necklace (I still have, and love, that sweater). I love this picture for the obvious moment Peter and I are having — whatever the story he is telling, it looks like it could be a secret. It’s sure cracking him up.

I also love that we’re sitting on the hearth at mom’s house. How I miss that house.. that room.. that fireplace. If I were there right now, I’d be lying on my back on the floor, with my legs up on the hearth, burning the bottom of my feet on the heat from the fire. Heaven.