Okay Celene, I just done bought myself a healthy heapin’ of agave nectar. Now please share your margarita recipe. Stat.
(And because I’m not stingy I’ll ask you to share it here so others too can experience it’s nirvanic glory.)
Category Archives: C&T
Lemons to Lemonade
The last couple of weeks have brought us face to face with 2 deaths, a cancer diagnosis and the bittersweet activities of helping friends from our closest inner circle prepare to move to the other side of the country. And, if it weren’t for the fact that people regularly get fired for writing about workplace shenanigans, I’d be able to tell you about things. Things that may finally allow me to check job stress off my list. What I am trying to say here is that if it weren’t for the constant distraction of keeping Stella from trying to stuff her brother in the dryer, I don’t think I’d successfully be able to pull myself out of bed in the morning. Distraction therapy – as opposed to my usual vodka-tonic therapy.
Over the weekend we traveled to the Bay Area so that we could leave the kids with my sister while attending Monday’s funeral. Due to some warm springtime weather, it ended up turning into a mini-vacation for the kids, who got to swim, go to the SF Zoo and play at the neighborhood park which, incidentally, makes even our nicest park look like a weed infested dirt lot with a rusty swingset. I guess when you live in the epi-center of upscale San Francisco suburbia a park isn’t considered a park unless it comes complete with an elaborate water play area and condo-sized play structure.
Click here to witness the reason why Stella routinely asks me why we don’t live closer to our families.
Well Wishes
I know it has been a virtual millennium since I posted last. And although I have been laboring through a post for about a week now – recounting the illness that swept through our household, the trip that followed and all the details therein, I’m realizing that I’d rather just throw up a link to the photos and let you make up your own version of what happened. Overall, it was fun, but mostly uneventful, save for a cat lost for three days in the snow and the fact that my parent’s house looks like they have recently become hillbilly dirt farmers. Oh, and Thad lost his job…then got another one. You know, the usual.
So instead of sifting through paragraphs of boring details about what I did on my winter vacation, I’d like you to instead take some time to conjure as much positive energy as you can muster and pass it along to Dore and her family. Her brother will be going in for brain surgery first thing Monday morning. After realizing that the remaining pieces of tumor (from first diagnosis and surgergy 5 years ago) had increased in size, they opted to go in for another round of removal.
Hang in there, Dore. You’ll be in all of our thoughts.
Happy 30th Birthday, Celene
Well Sis, you know we would really have loved to help you celebrate your big three-oh, alas, all you’ll be getting from us this year is a giant bucket of disappointment, served up with a healthy helping of Biblical-scale storms. We are thinking of you, and hoping that you have a fun and memorable 30th birthday, followed up by one, big, kick-ass honeymoon in Australia. We promise to have something wonderful waiting for you upon your triumphant return from the land of kangaroos and giant cans of beer.
As for today, we’ll be sure and have a round in your honor, and reminisce fondly of the 30 years I have spent emotionally and physically torturing you. Congratulations on 30 years of survival. That’s my birthday message to you.
And here, you have Stella singing you her own special version of Feliz Cumpleanos, along with Porter’s typically uncooperative accompaniment. At least you get an “I love you” out of him at the end. I hope you understand the relevance here, as he won’t do that for just anyone. HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY, CELENE!
Oh, and as for Steve’s special birthday commentary: Rock and Rolllllll! (sung in falsetto)
Happy 30th, girl. Make it memorable.
Lovin’ Life, Lovin’ You
For the remaining three of you out there who may not have heard, my little sister got married last weekend. The only possible reason I can come up with for NOT knowing about it is because you were in another country, trapped under something heavy, or too engrossed in the minute-by-minute Britney updates to realize that the wedding of the century was nigh. And, if you think this was one of those meringue dressed, love-and-obey affairs with seating charts and chicken dances you would be oh so sadly mistaken. If I’m not mistaken, I think the DJ was actually given explicit instruction to chloroform anyone who even mentioned the letters Y, M, C or A.
No, this was the type of affair where the wrong outfit was going to send you packing. These people don’t mess around. I was even given a not so gentle, “I hope you brought something else” when I pulled out my jeans to wear for the “getting ready” part of the day. Set foot in Blackhawk wearing jeans, and the snipers will see to it that you never make that mistake again.
And yet for all the prim and properness of the venue, the event was exactly the kind of affair you would expect from the couple who actually had Vince Neil on their guest list. The ceremony was fun and lively, and although the whole thing was punctuated with the obligatory “you may now kiss your bride”, it was seemingly irrelevant considering they had been smooching on each other the whole time. Beyond that, it had all the makings of a memorable ceremony: Thad forgot his lines, Stella forgot to throw her flowers, we, the two bridesmaids, cried the entire time and everyone cheered as the bride and groom danced their way down the aisle to Dean Martin crooning That’s Amore!
As you will see from the following photo sets, they were taking a pretty big gamble allowing the lot of us into this place. We all started out respectable enough at the rehearsal dinner, however things started getting pretty crazy at the after-party at the hotel. (For those who may be wondering, the hawaiian-shirted man in this series is my uncle Chris who refuses to ever take a serious photo, and spent the better part of the evening trying to convince those who did not know otherwise that he was a meteorologist with webbed, flat feet.) Then, of course there were the series of photos from the day that would not be forgotten. And it never will.
Congratulations, Sis!