Tag Archives: Photography

Daily Diversion #70: A Life of Lumpy Leisure

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When I’m not writing or reading, I’m taking snaps of the boys. Crosley and Duncan are truly my wet-nosed, slobbering, warm-eared Daily Diversions. Cros shows up on the blog more frequently because he spends most of his day sleeping on various lumpy things, his head on a pillow. It hasn’t been tested but I’m confident that Duncan has enough energy to power, at the very least, a four slice toaster. He doesn’t sit still for more than a few seconds. Today’s diversion features you-know-who, doing you-know-what. Imagine that.

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."-Groucho Marx

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”-Groucho Marx

I Think I Probably Miss Them More Than They Miss Me

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I am a bad, bad pet parent. First, I took their dignity and now I’m posting the evidence for all the world to see. Methinks they are happy I left on holiday yesterday morning.

Crosley is not amused.

Crosley is not amused.

Don't let this sweet pose fool you. He shook off the offending ears a second or two later.

Don’t let this sweet pose fool you. He shook off the offending cat ears a second or two later.

 

Halloween is My Favourite Holiday

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Halloween is not my favourite holiday because of its free pass to dress up in a ridiculous or obscure costume, drink wildly, and eat too much cheap drugstore candy (I’m looking at you, candy corn). No, Halloween is my favourite holiday because it marks the birthday of the smartest, funniest, sweetest, sexiest man I know. My husband. Lest he think that an alien has taken up residence in my brain, I will leave it at this: he is awesome, he is mine, and I love him. Oh, dear readers, how I love him!

Engagement Pic by David Ames, November 2010.

Engagement Pic by David Ames, November 2010. “At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”-Plato

Daily Diversion #63: River City, River Song

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The perks to living in a river city are largely ones of aesthetics and mood and philosophy. Ambiance, if you will. Attitude. State of mind. Peace of mind. The advantages aren’t material; they’re bigger than that. More vital. Rivers are wise, yet fierce. Their beauty is quiet and chaotic, changing pace quicker than a hummingbird’s tissue-thin wings. Rivers remind me of nineteenth century English literature, or of the early twentieth century’s John Cowper Powys. Romantic, desolate, abiding. Cosmic. Or, in the words of Herman Hesse: “The river is everywhere.”

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