A touch of self indulgence...

Possibly my favorite photo of our kid to date:

Ahhh, Spring

Final Florida

This is traditionally quite a prolific posting time for me: a glance through the archives shows multiple December posts all the way back to 2004. I have to admit to being a little slow out of the gate this year, but I will make amends (not least with the traditional holiday gift guide that will follow this week at some point).

I do however have an appointment with a dozen chestnuts, some buerre blanc sauce, yorkshire puddings, and half a pound of brussel sprouts this afternoon (I have been quite an ambitious cook this weekend with- so far- homemade naan bread, lemon cornmeal shortbread, black bean soup, clam & panko stuffed portabella, nori bites, pomegranate iced tea, seaweed salad, and egg glazed sesame seed bagels under my belt). Therefore more expansive posts will have to wait another day and instead I will finish up with a last few pics from our hols.

I call this little series "Fear of a Clown Planet":

Back Home

Back in Maine a few days and already facing the prospect of 8 to 14 inches of snow after a wicked cold weekend.

Secretly I quite like it, but don't let anyone know.

As you can imagine things are hectic and so this post is perforce short. But I thought I would at least share a few photos from Florida as an interim measure.

Idiot boy tries to teach daughter to swim

Roast turkey on the beach

Alligator!

The Fruitville Chronicles, Day 7

Much like George Lucas I figured I would start my story cycle half way through. It made him millions, after all, and what's good enough for the bearded killer of movie dialogue is good enough for me. Let us begin.

Tuesday November the whatever finds your correspondent in Florida, a week in to his two week sojourn in the sunshine state. Thanks to the generosity of mother-in-law, her consort, and said consort's extended native Floridian family the Weasel Unit has been luxuriating in a borrowed bungalow taking in the sites as well as a modest amount of beer (not Scout- she has been sticking to milk).

The house comes with a beautiful tile swimming pool which is equipped with a woefully underpowered heating unit. Of course, being residents of Maine the general expectations of the Florida relatives have been that we will jump in the pool even if we have to chip ice off the surface. So with an air temperature of 80 degrees and a water temperature of 68 degrees we have been taking turns amazing the locals with our polar bear impressions. "Its no colder than Loonlips Lake in August" we say through gritted teeth with exaggerated New England cadences as we shiver through a few lengths of the pool. What the relatives miss are the early morning screams as the Yankee drive to puritan self-mortification hits chilly chlorinated water for a few chest constricting lengths of unvarnished agony.

We have a grapefruit tree (on its last legs) and an orange tree with fruit that is just coming ripe. Scout has been helping consort Les pick the oranges, extending his reach by 26 inches and employing her surprisingly strong grip to good effect. Cousin Gary brought by a sack of avocados from his daughter's house and we are eagerly awaiting their ripening. We have made many trips to the so-called "Third World" Publix (we aren't exploring the racial implications of that nickname in the interest of preserving the family dynamic).

We have split our time between cultural pursuits, getting sand between our toes, and eating fried seafood in a variety of guises (please don't batter anything that swims for me for a while, please, please). I imagine I will provide details in future dispatches.

I could write much more but I hear relatives filing in to the lanai and beer bottles clinking in the fridge door. Tonight we are grilling: a little chicken, a little salmon, and baked potatoes. I'd better go grab my plate and get in line for the buffet.

Toodle pip,
Weasel

Off Away On Our Hols

The Family Weasel are departing for warmer climes for a couple of weeks for our first short-sleeve shirt Thanksgiving. Might post from the road- depends on the perfect intersection of subject matter, wireless signal, and energy (mine).

Have a lovely,
Weasel

Things That Could Kill You at The Bug Party

There now follows a photographic selection of potential hazards to health or shipping, as encountered at the Rockland Lobster Festival:

Deep fried haddock

Blackbeard the Pirate (aka Brian the toboggan racer)

Country & Eastern music

Carnies

Seemingly home made rides...

...rides that might have seen better days...

...and large rides that fold up into a truck, like a low-rent Transformer. Optimus Sub-Prime, if you will.

And finally, monkfish. Ugly, tasty buggers.

I swore blind I wasn't going to attend this year and still found myself on the festival grounds 3 out of 5 days this year- one day volunteering to talk about seaweed in the Marine Industries Tent (a subject about which I know very little). Such is life, I suppose.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

This past weekend Country Mouse and I travelled up the coast to Moose Point State Park for a lovely Mother's Day picnic with the collective known as the Vallesio Casino. A lovely time was had by all in the Maine spring sunshine.

On the drive home we stopped in the city of Belfast for some ice cream, whereupon I took the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures of two signs that have been making me giggle for quite a while now.

First up we have a sin against punctuation:


Yum! I think I'll stop for some thice cream! What is this place, a snack bar for lisping orphans?

Secondly, across Route 1 sits this joint:


The word "steakhouse" is a new addition. When this place opened last year I was convinced (quite reasonably) that it was a strip club. Who wouldn't be? If your establishment is down a driveway and the parking lot always has a few cars in it mid-afternoon, wouldn't the next logical step upon seeing a fox silhouetted against the moon and the word "Foxy's" picked out in boudoir-pink cursive be to think, "Ayup, that's a place where ladies wobble about in the all together"? I eventually figured out that it was indeed a restaurant and that those mid-afternoon sedan drivers where after the blue plate special rather than the red light one. It cracks me up however to think that so many people made the same mistake as me that the owners had to call out the sign writers. I have this image of some seedy bloke in a mac furtively asking the dining room staff for a lap dance, only to have a lobster bib dangled around his neck and a foil wrapped baked potato plonked down in front of him.

Priceless.

Spring Hits Maine...

You can't beat a little bit of spring sunshine. Mondale toddled off to Little Rhody, while Listmaker has buggered off completely. Country Mouse and I (along with Med School Mama and her family) took the The Honorable MEP approach and went in search of maple syrup in the Kennebec Valley:

Me and the Mouse at the Pownalborough Courthouse, Maine's oldest. CM's grandparents' used to have a summer place next door. I dare say someone in her family built the original- they have been in Maine longer than granite.

Said courthouse.

MSM and her brood.

Down the road, at the farm's sugar shack.

Farm mud is universal.

Who knew maple syrup was so complicated.

More machinery, all in the pursuit of 3 gallons an hour.

The end result.

Mama and mama-to-be under a fantastic tree.

Shutterbug Jr snaps away, while Mr. Ployes contemplates his own syrup operation.

I can't read, and I can't write, but that don't really matter; cause I'm a Norwich City fan and I love a good tractor.

Final England

One of the major reasons we planned our holiday trip and embarked on such a punishing schedule around the houses was that my brother and his wife's second child was due on December 15. We put little bruv at the end of the trip to allow a cushion for the new baby to arrive and for them to get settled back in at home, but as the days went by the little 'un stubbonly refused to come. I was begining to kick around contingency plans for the remainder of our stay when finally the call came at 8am on Christmas Eve: four hours earlier the 8lb 15oz Grace Ella had arrived- mother and daughter both doing well. Now my brother has the other brackett for his Boxing Day birthday, and I have a new niece:






And when a little sister gets too boring, there is always hairdressing...

And so the trip draws to a close. The next time we go it will be to show off a kid of our own- weirdly cool....

England, Part 7

As the trip progressed towards the meat of Christmas our explorations dropped off and family time came to dominate. In the interests of completeness however I'm going to slap up a couple of posts, if only for my own pleasure and a vague future anthropologist's edification. Press on, before Christmas becomes yet another distant memory:

Consulting with Granddad (as this photo shows, he doesn't move much year to year).

Portrait studio time.
Off to Leicestershire, and the little brother:

Countryside: the real Britain in my estimation

Scenes like this always make me think of the short poem A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Houseman

Auntie Country Mouse and her number one fan

The hardscrabble yet prosperous town of Loughborough

Loughborough was once the heart of England's hosiery industry...

..and may well have the only piece of municipal statuary complete with an engraved tattoo.

Would you really want candy from a store so named?

Next up, part the last: greeting the new niece...

England Update 6

On the road again.... off to my Dad's

The view from my mother's apartment: she apparently lives on the set of "A Christmas Carol".

From mum's Christmas tree...

...to dad's.

Sisters...


...now available in a two pack.

Father re-engineers the dishwasher.