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Here’s another photo (Adam spied her in First Snow) of my dog, Fang. Her previous owner called her Jill, Jilly Cakes, Jilly Pops, girly names to be sure. That was before the dog learned to join me at construction sites where men, standing knee deep in snow, rip walls down while dressed in animal skins . The name Jill? It had to go.

Fang is a man’s dog. She wakes me in the morning (bark, bark), alerts me to invisible threats (bark, bark), and, as I say, joins me at work. Pictured here, you can see a slavering Fang preoccupied with a baseball (fond memories of her previous owner’s son?). Soon Fang will be fitted for tool carrying cargo bags. Last night she chased down a doe and brought me the hind quarters for dinner.

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I was showing Susan old family photos when I stumbled onto this one. I know the people, but what was the event? And is that a baking tray of beef balanced on an old coffee can? And a container of something I’d never admit to eating – Cheese Whiz?
First row: Mark Schreiber, Sammy, Karen Schiff, B.J. Sullivan, John Lewis.
Back row: Ginger, Greg, Bonnie, Brian, Tess, Me, Diane, Bonnie Bortle and Jim McMahon.
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Diane’s a cooking, Flo’s pacing, Susan is airborn, Matt is playing with his new iPod, the Finlays are probably packing for their road trip to Acton… and me? Dodging all responsiblities as usual.

I’ve heard about the Yankee Jazz Stompers for quite a while, from Flo, who sends me the print out of the weeks events at Concord Park. Yesterday, as we were dropping Flo off after lunch, I could hear music wafting from the entertainment room and it was indeed, The Stompers.

Patti Finlay, Christmas 1997, Torroemore MN.

A blog with photographs to rival mine.

A glimpse into the Downing family Christmas.

Peter and Emma Finlay, Christmas at Torroemore, 1997.
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Diane bought a duffle bag with this cardboard inside – It’s sole purpose to maintain the shape of the bag. We were about to toss it when we spied this warning label.

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It’s six degrees outside, the snow crunches underfoot, and the drafts in our house force us to huddle around the wood stove. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been thumbing through photos of our trip to see Peter in Hawaii three years ago. Diane and Peter “relax” in the lobby of the hotel before we leave for the airport.

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Susan’s plane arrived right on time – 2:16 P M – and from Logan Susan publicly transported her way to the West Concord T stop, which is but feet from Concord Park. Maybe thirty seconds into her visit, Flo assaulted her with complaints about “The Hole. “ The glop they serve, the atrocious bingo, the lack of a bathtub (“I can’t live another month without a tub.”) and the people. However, she did say she liked the coffee. And we thought Flo was a CP convert.

Sadly, our plans to scurry to La Cantina for cheese quesadillas and, most importantly, margaritas with rocks and salt (they make the best) were scuttled. The town suspended the Cantina’s liquor license. We settled for near undrinkable margaritas (too sweet) at Scupper Jacks.