I'm pretending I'm not working

A friend from high school (because she's going to Morocco with her family) wrote to say she liked the blog -- so sweet. In my day-to-day of school and school and school I give feedback and comments and grades, scribble this-s and thats in margins all the live-long day, but so rarely hear anything back -- I, of course, want someone to scribble compliments in my margins. It was nice. (Thank you, Melissa!) Also, it reminded me I have done pretty much zilch when it comes to my own shit. You know? How do we keep going if we don't feed ourselves?

You know what's new? Paul ruptured his Achilles. January 20. Good grief. And, I suppose, in a way it has been good -- in the sense of the glorious and sparkly silver lining: Grammy for Hazel, workman's comp for our bank account, endless help from my mom in the daily grind of the household. Then Grampy arrived! I wasn't there for the reunion, but apparently Hazel gave him a hug that brought the roof down. Grateful.

Here are a couple shots from when Paul was still upright and crutchless, before he heard that crazy booming-loud (internal) snap and simultaneously felt the gunshot, fell to the ground, wondering who it was on his frosh-soph prep school basketball team that brought a gun to practice. For real.

One of the first big snows that blew in from the south -- they've all been from down yonder, not up north.
Beautiful craze of ice-crusted sparkle.

And watch out, Shirley Temple! Our girl likes to do her dances sans undies!

And a footnote: here Hazel sees her first fireworks, Boston Common, New Year's Eve 2010: