People everywhere carry dates heavy inside them, private numerals dense with meaning and worn smooth by attention. We all walk around with a string of them waiting for their yearly turn. Some days are jubilant in announcing their arrival, but others quiet the tongue.
Oh, Dad, we miss you.
And we wait, still, with hope.
*But it does have a lingering kick at the end...
For any newcomers around these parts, here's the explanation for a recurring indulgence in vanity.
It's been a blue moon or two since the last installment of Frugal Fancy-pants. I've intended to take pictures before now, but whenever I was fancy enough, I just didn't care enough. The stars must align, and all that. What's funny is that I haven't felt fancy in a while, and today's featured fancy-pants outfit is rather dull. Forgive me.
Without further ado, here's
Wear this outfit when dour November lets a smile break through, and the weather warms enough to plant fall garlic.
-A fancy, little boy making Indian calls: free
-Twenty pounds of chub gained since summer's end: nearly free
-One and one half ounces of beautiful womb-baby, growing strong: gift from God; free
November must owe spring a favor because how else can you explain one week of balmy, southern breezes slipping in the back door? We played hooky for three days straight, which is our privilege when sunshine beckons, worked hard to finish the last of the outdoor tasks flapping about, and rewarded ourselves with back-to-back picnics in the Big Woods.
Millie skipped out on the first picnic in favor of saddling up Cherry while the other urchins and I ventured forth.
(Many of the following snapshots were taken by Susannah and Annika. I only deleted a couple of dozen.)
(This made me laugh. The Cheeky Girl Who Shall Not Be Named misspelled "Honeyduke's" and "Aidan," but she knows how to spell "fatso!") *Update: And I just accidentally misspelled "misspelled!" At least she comes by it honestly.
Mildred Elise joined us for Picnic in the Big Woods, Day 2, primarily because that day's picnic included thick apple cider she'd made in the juicer that morning and cake pops hand-delivered by the neighbors a few hours before. Cake pops will lure the most ardent horse-lovers into the woods.
Even with bare branches as our only canopy, and the leaves turned to rust and crunch underfoot, a warm fall day has no rival.