Random Relatives

Billy came to visit a couple of weeks ago. While Thanksgiving is the traditional time for brotherly video game festivals, the boys weren't able to coordinate their schedule last year.

So this time, in addition to the traditional electronic entertainment, Brian and Billy went hiking.



Which meant that Billy got to hike four miles with an added 10 pounds of cuteness attached to his chest (Brian carried our offspring the other seven miles) and now I have more beautiful pictures on the computer of woods and treeish things.



And here is Brian and Billy with our dear friend Katie. Nazarene pastors, all of them. I couldn't be prouder. I don't know where the future of the church is headed, but with them involved, it certainly should be interesting!


For Pop's birthday next month, everyone pooled their money to buy him a better canoe. And through the miracle that is Ebay.com, we wound up getting it from a guy in Fremont across the Bay. So for Memorial Day weekend last week, Pop and Penny drove down to pick up the canoe.

(This is what happens when I get vague instructions like: "Take pictures of the baby and the canoe and send them to my parents.")


We went to the Aboretum and the Conservatory. I'm waiting for my next shipment of fiber from the Yarn Barn to show up so I can translate all this into fiber. Can you say "dye-fest"?

Feeling Photogenic

Usually, I don't let people take pictures of me without makeup. And when they do, I don't post them on the blog. (With the possible exception of the first picture of Shirley. But apart from experiencing overwhelming maternal pride, I also had a lot of narcotics in my system at the time.) But I had to show this one off:



And the baby looks cute too.

Can I laugh at this?

One of the awkward things about growing up in Whitman County is that it's really white. (86.5%, according to the US Census. ) In fact, it wasn't until 2000 that they decided to change the name of a prominent local landmark to "Negro Creek Falls." (Yes, the previous name was what you think it was.)

Consequently, there's a lot of times when I feel as though the word "redneck" is permanently tattooed on my forehead. I try to not act like one, but the baggage is always there.

Living in such a cosmopolitan area as San Francisco, I'm acutely aware of the differences between my upbringing and many other people's. And sometimes they're really funny. But I'm always afraid to laugh at them for fear of drawing attention to my own "redneckedness."

For example, a lot of the nurses I work with are originally from the Philippines. Most of them were educated there and then moved to the US, although many of the younger ones moved here as children with their families. The other day, as I was on my break at work, I overheard the following conversation (names have been changed to protect the innocent) between two of the Filipina nurses:

"Is Steven [one of the yonger male nurses on night shift] Mexican?"
"No, he's Filipino."
"Wow, he's really good looking for a Filipino man--are you sure he's not Mexican?"