Panties on the floor

I woke this morning after a long day’s journey through conversation and pizza and there was a pair of panties on the floor, only they were almost small enough for a barbie doll and I realized they belonged to my friend’s daughter who had been in the pool. Sign of the times.

I read in the NYT that Loudon Wainwright said if families didn’t break up there would be no need for art and so I think that pretty much sums it all up. Today is Mother’s Day and I am making the trek to see my mom’s family in the country, where life churns in a different way.

For all the things that I could say about my mother, I still sum up her life under the title track, “Love is my religion.” The rest is just the details.

Here are some pics from the weekend –

Drum circle and Broccato’s lemon ice in Fortier Park on Thursday:

Helm paint with Tin entertaining himself (and others):

Crescent Pie & Sausage where Tin fashioned a phone from his straw to call Zagreb and Mama:

Flower left by mysterious “C” by the gate entrance (site of the fallen tree):

Family pool all blown up (a disturbing piss yellow color):

The magnificent yellow and black butterfly that flew into our garden yesterday:

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