NFC Brass is invited to play at Chapters Books at least twice a year, so I won’t pretend to think you’d be interested in yet another picture of these exceptional players.

So this is merely an excuse to post a picture of this precious profile. Sage knows the sign for “music” and waves it whenever she hears her Gum making some.

My happy, dimpled girl.

Oh, dear. Life is hard.

And then, more in the family-news department. Taylor sent notice that he and Beth have safely arrived in Kuwait on their way back to Iraq. Time to get back to the task at hand. But also today, Erin posted pictures on the Photo Macy blog. Can’t wait to share them with you. Here’s a teaser:

My photos don’t adequately represent the wall. It also has an alcove to display the more masterful pieces, fitting for, say, Rembrandt or Picasso.

Today I helped serve a memorial reception in the social hall and got to observe people reading my fishbowl jokes. That would have been a more-fun picture to share, but it didn’t seem a very appropriate time to be snapping flash pictures. I guess I’ll just have to remember.

My jokes go back as far as the 1970s! That’s how long I’ve had the warped sense of humor required to find these jokes funny. Maybe your humor is warped too. If you want to read my hilarious collection, here it is.

This is one of the few pictures I took of the process. It was 12 years ago. You remember film, right? I didn’t take as many pictures back then, especially pictures without people in them. Dan Ritter was our friend, neighbor, and contractor for the project. Because of a narrow stairway, the only entrance for a large shower and jacuzzi tub (and, it turned out, anything larger than a double bed) was through a window.

Here’s the entrance to what was up until then one of the kids’ bedrooms. Even after all these years we don’t have a knob on the bathroom door. Makes you really want to visit us, doesn’t it?

Way back when the Macys lived in Haviland, Kansas, they lacked not only a knob but also a door on their bathroom. Margaret-Rose painted this sign for everyone’s benefit.

Since this was a transformed bedroom, I tried to make the most of what was already there. The plumbing for the toilet could fit in what was the closet and the built-in drawers could just stay put.

Dan wondered why I would want a chair rail in a bathroom, but he quietly complied. I also rebelled against textured walls, and, at least in this case, got my way.This was long before Pinterest, so I had to come up with my own decorating ideas. This one replaced wallpaper and was as simple as cutting a square sponge and eyeballing the checkered pattern. That was either very brave or very stupid. If you were me, which would you choose?

I managed to make it all the way around without too much angst. At least that’s how I remember it 12 years later.

I love color and enjoyed pulling together pieces from our combined histories to add a touch of theme. The painted wooden potty belonged to someone on my dad’s side; the shaving mug was Mauri’s (yes, he shaves); the metal curlers belonged to my first mother-in-law.

We built shelves where once a door led from the bedroom to what was the bathroom. When you have towels as part of the decor, they need to be folded in such a way that no edges show. You knew that, right?

I’m not sure everyone in this house agrees either. Let’s just not ask, OK?

This is what you do when you can’t manage to choose between color and theme.

Except for what looks like a broken mirror (it isn’t), this is my favorite of all the shots. I’m leaning way back against the window, so that must be a bit of me I see there.

Speaking of the window, this is what our guests see when they’re brave enough to leave the curtains open. I guess they figure with no doorknob, at least they can have some privacy from the outside.

Do you think that’s a real plant? Ha!

This ends the tour of our upstairs bathroom. If you saw spider webs or box elder bug carcasses, it’s not my fault!

Oh, yes, this post is titled “after and before.” The reverse order is the norm. But in this case I have only one picture of this room as a bedroom, taken when it was occupied by one of the younger three Macys. Mauri sent it to me as a way to prepare me for what I was about to get myself into as I transitioned from my Carlson years to my Macy years. In other words, his kids were in their teen years when neatness wasn’t a priority.

For the record, I had messy teenagers too.

And even though they’ve all improved in this department, I still feel the need to protect the privacy of one Macy in particular and will refrain from posting the “before” picture. And I don’t need a doorknob or curtains or a sign to know that is the right choice.

Dirt covers various topics, all relating to Lisa and Mark’s life as CSA farmers. Turns out, even at my advanced age I could still learn a lot about relationship, chickens, dirt, honey bees, and much more. They are a team in every way imaginable, which becomes clear in the first few pages. Both have impressive academic professions apart from farming, but there’s nothing high brow about their writing. It simply comes down to dirt and the beauty they draw from it.

I gladly recommend this book but won’t try to write a review. Why would I reinvent the wheel when my friend Cherice has provided this? Thanks, Cherice!

Click here to access the same “advantage” I had in reading this book—meet Mark and Lisa and hear them tell a little about their “Good Life” and what’s in the book. Choose the 5-minute version or the 15-minute version. The flipbook is really cool too because you can see in living color all the photos included with each essay. Dirt and the Good Life: Stories from Fern Creek can be purchased on Amazon in either Kindle or soft cover.

2005

2012

How’d I do?

This is what I found when I went to wake up Addison at 6:45 this morning. I believe she would make her bed regardless of her parents’ value of orderliness.

Marissa

Cassidy

Paul

Bailey

None of the kids need to be nagged or reminded; they just do what’s expected of them. Even when their Gus is in charge.

The same was true of Sunday afternoon chores. Each one knows the ropes. All I had to do was admire.

Duffy heads up the decorating team. He decorates the backyard with small mountains and the inside with a continuous all-surface coating of white puffs—and of course his very huge presence. Just like the children in this household, he never needs to be nagged or reminded about his responsibilities.

To be fair, I needed to include a picture of my bed. Mauri and I make our bed every day, so I didn’t just do this to fit in here. But you’ll notice I didn’t bother moving the extra pillows over. Who’s gonna see it anyway, huh? (Shhhh, don’t tell the kids I said that.) Boundaries prevent me from posting a picture of the parents’ bed, but you can be sure it would pass army standards.

——-

Just so you don’t think we’re all work and no play, here’re just a few pics of our fun. We always need to eat at Joe’s Farm Grill, walking distance from the Andersons’ home. This is the line length when we arrived.

We weren’t even up to the door yet and you can see in the window how long the line grew behind us. Worth it!

One of our traditions is to hit the Dollar Tree to shop for treasures. Each one buys, say, five treasures. We take them home and I hide them. When they’re all found, the trading begins. Paul held out with the air horn until Bailey offered him all of his treasures in trade. [insert a substantial amount of admiration for Bailey, who, though he is old enough to have a girlfriend and carry a driving permit, is still willing to participate in games with his young siblings]

A post of pictures of beds. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Before.

During.

After.

This story has a happy ending.

And also a happy beginning.

Yep. No ears.

So of course my blogger brain started dreaming of the fun I could have if others would provide a photo to match their drawing. Here’s what I collected (so far):

Michelle drew front and back and named her outlandish hair “duckbutt.”

Steve embellished his drawing and said most of his childhood and youth was spent with wings.

Mauri’s long hair was truly a phase.

My children would just barely claim me as their mother in my curly perm days.

I imagine you have stories to tell about your outlandish hair phases.

Quinn sent me this picture of Cassidy today taken just after she donated her hair (not all of it) to Locks for Love.

No, wait, that’s not Cassidy. That’s Quinn right after a haircut at about the same age as Cass.

Here’s the pic of Cassidy. Now how could I possibly have mixed those up?