Pink Prickly Pear

ciao

Coast to coast roadtrip commences on Sunday!

you can't take it with you...

My gloves almost made it.  My thumb poked through on Monday afternoon, and the threadbare fingertips render them pretty much useless now. 

I have some sort of mitten magnetism.  These gloves have served me well for at least 8 winters.  An ordinary woman would have lost them 7 years ago, or perhaps pretended she lost them so she could buy a pretty new pair that weren't brown with mother effin' reindeers on them! So Wisconsin.  So on sale on a bitterly cold day.  So these will tide me over until I buy some I like.

I'm moving to vacationland.  I need no gloves.

I do, however, need some jelly jars for my mojitos and sweet tea and lemonade and rum and gingers and such.  But it does seem a trifle ridiculous to move free jelly jars obtained from the overconsumption of  Trader Joe's brand strawberry jelly (must have a full set!) all the way across the country just so I can strike some faux salt of the earth pose with with my ice cubes clinking in a jelly jar.

To the recycling with you.  We will consume just as much jelly in vacationland.  Maybe even more if I let Mr. Pear talk me into a toaster.

If I could do a backhandspring...

I would.

Our orphan visa arrived today.  We can move.  We can send our dossier to China.  We can begin waiting for baby in earnest.  I don't know what it means for the rest of the family, but for me it means taking my Mandarin lessons (Rosetta Stone and Chinese Pod) seriously, knitting cute baby sweaters and making a snuggly quilt for my baby.

Mini-pear is spending the night with Mr. Pear's mother.  I have a list as long as my arm.  It includes scanning the contents of these boxes and magazine folders.  Mini-pear is an artist.  I don't mean this is her aspiration for her life as a grown up, I mean that she tells anyone who will listen about how she is an artist right now.  She generates a lot of paper.  Stacks and stacks and stacks of drawings. 

Here's one from this morning:

It's a horse in the Grand Canyon (obviously!!  the cactus and the animal skull!).  Those little rocks are not falling down by accident.  There is a bad stallion on top of the mesa kicking them down in a bad mood.

All in a day's work for our resident artiste.

It's Saturday.  I leave you with another photo.  I think it really captures daily life here at chez pear.  A team of very fine plastic horses, talking to dad on the phone, a comatose dog in the sun.  That's what it's all about.

semantics

Singing class and the director asks if anyone knows the definition of harmony.  I'm sitting next to mini-pear and am a little surprised when her hand immediately shoots in the air. 

"Peace."
This is said with the considerable conviction of a girl who knows what she's talking about.

The director shakes her head, "That's not the musical definition."

Mini-pear is perplexed, "Love?"  She's less certain now and the suppressed giggles are not helping.

Once again, it's not the answer the director is looking for.  Mini-pear slumps in her seat, more than a little dejected. 

Another mother saves the day with a musical definition of harmony that includes the idea that two distinctly different lines of music that sound better together are like two people who don't agree but come to a peace about it.

Thank you, other mother.