Since I’m clearly incapable of linear thought these days- not to mention linear zip codes- here’s a smattering of photos that I quite dig from the past week:
Aren’t they adorable? P.J. found this portrait from my Dad’s studio session with his band. My Dad rocks the headphones/pensive look. P.J. rocks the “is this a mirror image of what your Dad’s doing?” look. (We all have our strengths.)
I found this gem among my Mom’s letters. Please note the birthday sentiment to my mother- in my Dad’s handwriting- from November of 1980. Now go ahead and note how my father- MY OWN FATHER- wrote the name “Keely.” THERE ARE TOO MANY Es IN THERE. When I questioned my Dad about misspelling my name- a name that he himself had chosen- he told me that they were still getting used to me. IN NOVEMBER OF 1980 I WAS ALMOST SIX MONTHS OLD, DAD.
Upon my return home, the gals were stoked at the new addition to the family; a baby doll that had been my mother’s, a teensy bitty Kate and I always referred to as a Debbie Doll. (For we were exceptionally creative youths.) Since her arrival, Debbie Doll has been fed through twisty straws, and has napped on the place of honor in Susannah’s bed, the cloud pillow (from Ikea). Some chicks just know how to winter in Chicago.
This jokester has taken to picking up inanimate objects and responding with a “hi hi” against his ear whenever I say “hello” to him. Yes, it’s very funny, Jasper. Mother is on the phone a lot. HA HA HA.
Happy Thursday, friends. (It is Thursday, right?)
TGISociallyAcceptableToQuestionTheseThingsOutLoud.
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