More wedding photographs . If the people in the pictures aren’t named, it’s because I have no clue as to who they are.

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This week’s flurry of email traffic illustrates the precision, battle-hardened, fully prepared camping guys in action. “Can I rent a tent at REI?” ” How much water should I bring?” “Where are we going?”

You know me, I don’t photograph anything that doesn’t have tons of color (after which I supersaturate the image in Photoshop turning it into a scene from What Dreams May Come), but this rose, in a Waterford Vase in Diane’s office, caught my eye. I snapped it outside on a glass table top.
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We leave Thursday afternoon for our annual, Maine, fall camping trip. Adam hurt his back, and will be home wishing he were with us, Dan, who has dropped out for good, will be in Miami on business. That leaves the two Marks, me AND a new member, Chris Schreiber, Mark’s young, strong-like-bull son.

Ginger’s told me, “You better bring my husband and my son back alive, or I will kill you.”

Ginger’s comment reminded me of a similar one I heard last summer. As I was organizing the camping trip for Matt and his many friends, that person, who arguably loves me even more than Ginger, said, (and I paraphrase), “If you bring those kids back with so much as one hair on one head out of place, I will never forgive you.”

Not long ago, I reached into my garbage can to grab the bag of bird food (black oil sunflower seeds), only to be confronted by a toothy woodchuck. This time, the critter was far more benign.
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As we were driving to NH to see the Finlays, Flo told us that by raising her voice, she prevented one of the “inmates” from throwing, not passing, a full container of cream at her dinner companion. “Can you see the headlines?” Flo asked, “Elderly in food fight at Concord Park.” I didn”t quite understand why the near toss, to a simple request, “Pass the cream” (this was before the Patriot”s game), and neither did Flo.

A momentary break from wedding photos to show you the house the Canning family lived in from … to … . I could guess, but I’d be far from accurate. This is a recent photo sent to Diane by a childhood friend.
Speaking of Diane, I’m off to airport. Can you say, “Home cooked meals?”

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Jeff, Lynne, Sarah and Pat
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Lilly, Dan and surprise guest, Matthew.
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Helga* called to say how much fun she’s having with Trixie* and Beyonce*. The food in the French restaurant is delicious, the work at the conference, and especially the power networking is hard, but rewarding. Tonight, after the conference ends, the three will explore highly recommended areas of downtown Atlanta. Need I say it? Yes, that probably will be the last anyone ever sees of them.

I”ll pick them up tomorrow at Logan (late morning), and sometime in the afternoon, the Miller family and Flo will drive north to visit the Finlays. A full day indeed.

*Nicknames given to the theraputic three by the girls on their unit. We know them as, Diane, Pat, and Nicole.

Tomorrow: A look back.

Lorna, Andrew (LIn’s sibs) and Barbara (Andrew’s wife), Arthur and Barbara (Lin’s father and step-mother), Dan and Linda, Griff (Lorna’s husband) Sarah and Pat, Margery, daughter of Harriet with sisters Margo and Polly, Becca, Ben (son of Lorna and Griff), and his wife.

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Dan & his sister Lilly. In the background, Lin’s brother, Andrew, his wife, Barbara and Griff, Linda’s brother-in-law.
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A photograph scanned from the current issue of The New Yorker magazine.

Rachel and Rebecca
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Non Sequitur is one of the Boston Globe’s better comic strips, but for some reason I don’t always read it. Thanks to Adam for alerting me to Monday’s cartoon.

Linda, Dan, Sarah and Pat
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You might have to be related, or you might have to have been there, or you might have to be in the mood we were in yesterday, to find these funny. So be it.

Cell phone call to Matt.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

ëWhere are you?”

“In the Garment District.”

I hung up and turned to Diane. “The Garment District? In Boston? Where is that?” Give the boy a car and you never know where he’ll go. It wasn’t until Matt and friends arrived home late last night, and Hil Burgin walked in wearing a satin red jacket with pink sunglasses, that I learned the Garment District is a store that sells clothes from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.

We visited with Kate and her parents yesterday. Kate had been to a Taco Bell and, still hungry, was in search of another. Maybe a rumbling stomach reminded her, “Oh my gosh, I have to write a paper about being digested.”

We drove home, had our dinner and then stopped by to see Flo, who continues to chafe at her new lifestyle.

“I was talking to Lois today. I asked her, ëWhat do they call us?’ “
Flo could hardly end the sentence, she was laughing so hard, and she almost couldn’t get the punch line out.

Diane and I were both thinking, “residents.”

“Lois said, ëInmates.’ “

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There are more wedding photos to come, but I have to finish with Emily Hopkins’s wedding pics.

Matt, Daryl and I worked yesterday to change the front pads on Matt’s Honda. We broke loose the impossibly tight, rusted bolts holding the calipers to the rotor, pulled the old pads off, but found the new ones wouldn’t fit. As in, they were a different shape. I thought about using my grinder to customize a fit, and Daryl thought about removing old parts of the caliper that were in the way, but maybe we both heard Matt’s thoughts, “Hey, don’t be fu*king with my brakes.”

We put the old pads back on, promised to get together next Saturday to finish the job with the correct pads, and then I took the Honda out for a screeching skid test. Just to be sure we put them back on correctly. They are, after all, my son’s fu*king brakes, and he was about to drive all the way to the Garment District.

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