A little bit of this, a little bit of that...

I'm usually pretty sedate with the whole jewelry thing (which is pronounced "jew-el-ree," not "jew-ler-ee," by the way. I actually hear "professionally" done commercials pronounce it incorrectly). Since I'm short I have to keep things in proportion anyway, but I don't often go in for kitchsy stuff.

But in Harpers Ferry at the Mountain Heritage Arts and Crafts Festival, Dirtman found these for me.



An early birthday present.

They're from A Glass Act, who also makes, among other things this lovely piece which we bought for the Never-Ending-Construction House.

Perhaps, if I can grab the stuff before it get carted off to storage, I will post the other "gifts" we bought each other this weekend, since Father's Day and my birthday are sharing a date once again this year. (We will also take each other out to dinner on Sunday, if we know what's good for us.)

I held back from wearing the martini glasses to the abysmally long high school sports banquet last night (for which Spicey McDandruff owes us big time).

In other Linguini news, which isn't really our news, but more Mamma K's news, look what magically appeared in her livingroom last Thursday with absolutely no effort on anyone's part!
Mamma K just woke up and there they were, right Mamma K?*



That's Polly and her eight (OMG -- eight!) puppies.

Ms. Zsa Zsa is pea green with envy, what with all the attention she just knows her former nemesis is receiving from Mamma K, though she inisists she's too young to have puppies "like that cheap tart, Polly."

*In actuality, Polly's puppies have been a much-anticipated event, at least around here, and Mamma K was there helping Polly out from puppies one through eight, documenting every move in her little book. The next afternoon we weighed each puppy (which was also recorded in her little book) and the pictures look only slightly like she's making a puppy salad.



We've decided to do a re-shoot tomorrow.

I wish I'd known Mamma K when I whelped my puppies. I'll bet she wouldn't sit in the corner and read the Washington Post, peaking over every now and then to say, "Oh Yeah. Breath."