Things I do at the Winery

Aside from sitting around on a Saturday afternoon listening to live music, I do actually make myself useful.

Rolling silver is my forte.

Ah, a task completed. Such satisfaction.

And there's always the scullery work. A confession. Ron and I staged these photos for my blog. However, as soon as he took them, he showed them to Suzanne who dashed into the kitchen, concerned about my well-being. He'd neglected to mention their lack of authenticity.

Most of our food is catered, so we don't cook much, though Suzanne bakes cakes and brownies, and we do cold lunches. Regardless, the kitchen is much too small!

Now Playing at the Winery

Tyler Hughes and the Generation Gap

Plus:
Killen Time (named after Killen Holler over near the town of Pound, VA)
Josh Wingate
Wayne Mefford and Friends

Easy way to spend the afternoon.

Some of the Musicians

AND THE RAIN COMETH

Even Concord takes shelter from the downpour

We wrestle the tent down, lest it fly over to Lee County.

Far enough down to evade flight.


And Killen Time and friends head to the wine making room...

The fork lift adds a rustic touch...

A fabulous time was had by all.

On The Road Again

Well, not too far. Just to Natural Tunnel State Park, more or less on a "not having used the camper for two years, need to learn to use it again and see what needs fixin' after lack of use and exposure to rodents."

'Tis a humble abode, but mine own.

Tobey thinks the bed is quite comfy. It's certainly a far cry from my backpacking days, with worthlessly thin sleeping pads and sleeping bags rated to about 60 degrees.

Storage...aka the other bed and Abbey's spot.

Kitchen...I actually cook here!

Indoor dining and work (ha!) space.

Outdoor dining. Notice that the table is ADA compliant. For the state of Virginia, I was pretty impressed.

Big thunderboomer left several inches of water on my door mat. And a bit on the inside, too, as I'd not buttoned down my abode when I left in the bright sunshine. OOOpppppssss.

No, I'm not pointing out my need for a pedicure. These colorful flipflops were a goodbye gift from colleagues who knew they would make perfect shower shoes....and they do! And, I do need a new pedi.

Musical accompaniment.

An Aside

A major giggle. Make sure you have the sound on.

Mathilda and Max: My New Imaginary Friends

Writing about myself is, although egotistical, ethically acceptable. Moreover, I think it’s OK to say “Suzanne did X at the winery…” or “Ron ran out and took photos for me.” And, I think it’s OK to poke fun at Brandi and Jessie for encouraging me to attend a Jazzercise class, even though I about died half way through.

This blog is about me, and therefore, of necessity, about the people with whom I interact. However, I don’t have the right to refer directly to an individual’s personal situation, even if I use that situation as a thinking point for myself.

An example is several days ago, when I mentioned the death of the mother of a friend. And I mentioned the friend by first name. I wasn’t announcing her mother’s death; rather, I was spinning off my own thoughts of my own father’s death this time last year. Regardless, in retrospect, I don’t think that I had the right to use this person’s name, even if it is only the first name. She and her personal experience came into my life, and I incorporated her name into my own story. I feel uncomfortable doing so.

Therefore, I have two new imaginary friends; Mathilda and Max. To the extent that it doesn’t become confusing or ridiculous, Max and Mathilda will be stand-ins for real people in my life. I have no idea of Max’s origins but I’m pretty sure that Mathilda comes from Jacques Brel.

So whenever Mathilda or Max appear, know they are the faces of real people.

Melody is Delaware-Bound!

Heading for the University of Delaware this fall, Melody, namer of Abbey, is beautiful both inside and out. She's pretty special, and I am fortunate to have been part of her life.

“The VOICE” + “The FINGER” = Sheer Terror

Pretty much every teacher has “The Voice” a gift to be used only upon the rare occasion that a student miscreant is just about to cross over the line. My teaching repertoire also included “The Finger.” No, not that ordinary finger much loved by the willfully stupid, generally used to indicate an automobile has displeased the giver of the finger.
I’ve known all along that both my version of “The Voice” and “The Finger” were genetically instilled by my father, and now I have visual evidence. After all, Daddy was a Marine in the invasion force of Okinawa. Donald Trump, eat your heart out!