…was a good book, but that's not what I'm talking about.

Right now, 574 photos are transferring from my Nikon D80 to my Macintosh HD.

I have almost caught up on the episodes of “18 Kids and Counting” that were missed whilst away in California.

Three weeks ago, I fulfilled a promise made 20 years earlier and returned the picture of Jon Ascher (misspelled on purpose for privacy reasons) as a 9-year-old Boy Scout to his mother, who entrusted the image to me as part of my Baccalaureate slide-show duties. She received it the day she returned from witnessing John's New York City Hall wedding. Congratulations, Jon. Glad I could kind of be a part of it.

Today, I received a thank-you 19 years in the making. Thanks, B. Glad I could help.

My 574 photos just finished downloading. Can't decide whether to look at the camping on Cape Cod, the 20-year high-school reunion, the lunch with the Darneels (sp again), or the taking-the-boys-to Russian River ones. Guess you'll find out soon enough! In any case, there's a lot going on and Babykins JUST went to bed, so I'm much too busy for actual housekeeping over here.

Back from bliss, redux

After nearly two blissful, awesome, remarkable weeks in California, we got back into Boston last night at 8:00 and it was 88 degrees outside. Had a total know-it-all sitting in front of me: “If you held him, he might stop crying.” “Miss, it's inappropriate to do that here, you have to go to the head.” Would have been a lot more inappropriate to walk to the back of the plane with bright-orange baby feces running down my arm. Anyway, except for him, the trip home was uneventful, and we were able to wrangle the kids and the baggage with little difficulty, thanks mostly to the kindness of strangers and the mental and physical endurance of Team Monstro-Motormouth. I have 540+ photos to download so I better get to it.


There's something poignant about John Hughes dying on the eve of my 20-year high-school reunion. As someone who has seen “Sixteen Candles” probably about a hundred times (and the ending itself about 150), I mourn his passing.