Apparently we look like the Three Mice, but we're really the Three Bears. As you can tell by Tabby's cute stubby tail and my protruding 'bear belly'. Also a first cookie for Anya, and first time seeing a puppy!
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Tabitha insisted that there was a methodical way of correctly aiming and did really well, but Erik just went with the flow of it and creamed the snot out of her (actually he won by one point). She, however, was kind enough to remind him that once she figures it out he will be dead meat. Subsequent rematch will ensue.
We found, in the Screwtape Letters which we came up to the falls to begin reading, a conspicuous theme-that something is there which loves for us to be distracted. Hot caramel apple cider in hand and surrounded by unmistakable color, we vowed to appreciate more each moment and live intentionally, even if we can't get out of the house as much as we want and even when beauty is not so manifest.
It has helped me lately to enjoy little victories, like Anya's learning both how to blow and how to wave (by sticking her hand out with a big smile while rotating her wrist, copying mommy). Life has a way of showing us that there are moments too beautiful for us not to seek them out. Our second anniversary was ideal. It was planned by a Tabitha who sees the good in everything, a Tabitha who ignites everything she touches into shooting light. It was a lesson of the purpose in surprise, the peace in serendipity, and the perfection of an unexpected plan. It was staring at poor old ladies with fat cigarettes, dripping coins down bottomless slot machines; jovial Indian immigrants for whom Anya was pleased to encore; gorging on Ghiradelli and reveling bright bags of Jellybellies; busting out the 2nd anniversary piano solo; zooming up and down hills alongside windmill fields flashing red in night’s dark; battling through supposed and real emotional failings; swaggering up and down the piers, dining at fine seafood restaurants and jumping back from the professional bushman, enjoying the cool bay breeze, laughing at a platform of portly seals, reenacting scene after scene of Monk, cracking open vistas of artistic feeling at local galleries, and getting jipped by the should-have-been expected pier shoeshine con; letting hair whip back at the helm of a cruise into the fog; happening upon the new emptiness of parting with a little angel named Anya for a day and the depression that followed; embarking once again on lengthy gospel discussions in traffic jams overlooking the city; scampering like a mouse in a collapsing cheese castle would—terrified and elated—through the crowded city’s ups and downs; swaying with the flowers in the chill till we all turned purple, about to explode from a day without the potty; the dancing bridge lights at night; plunging straw casings into water cups and sizing up a pizza salad; strolling hand in hand like a newlywed couple lost in the city and blithe to all noise; counting the prii; traversing the majestic bridge over froggy waters; naming Spencer’s wife Sauselito; babbling arcane art perspectives with the museum management grad; snickering with our ice-cream baby and her voracity; smelling garlic in the air on country roads, swishing past burnt ridges; waking up and cashing in late, and worried at every moment in between; trekking through jungles and diving past sharks to discover some of nature’s most hidden mysteries, flying like butterflies and floating with stingrays; jumping over bushes, posing for pictures; playing supernintendo religiously until all Mario’s stars were saved; beating the guts out of the old hamper (which mom bought me when she made over my room) with Alicia’s vengeful basketball throwing; lifting weights in the sauna-garage with a shirtless Mike and Jon (my idea, no less); attesting the cool, smooth Elder Wells farewell; camping just as an excuse to eat banana boats, hobo dinners, talk more scrabble, and get the chance to revive coals and conversation; homecoming rainstorms and rainbows; cranberry splurges (for who can forget jellyfishing ;-); and being with the ones you love. It was anything, it was everything. It was unexpected, which for me is hard. But it was of Tabitha, and therefore, a dream. |
Wells Family
Est. 08-11 Archives
June 2016
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