It’s ten degrees outside. Even without that hard bit of data, I knew it was damn cold as I padded across the pine kitchen floorboards this morning. Thousands of dollars on insulation and new windows later, our home remains a drafty old farmhouse. I let the dogs out into the snow and felt the arctic blast, realizing too late that the tank top and flannel pjs that felt so reasonable between memory foam and blankets were no match for this morning’s deep freeze.

I closed the folding doors to the basement and the pantry, eliminating some of the draft.  I built a fire, hoping to get the living room cozy and warm before my boys awoke to greet the new year.

Click to continue »

Finally. I started this blog in 2008. Finally.

And finally, 2008 is drawing to a close. Finally.

I’ve had so much fun.  So many of you have made me laugh (and occasionally tear up) over these past several months as I’ve read your blogs and as you’ve commented here. I’ve been so honored every time a reader comes back, so happy when anyone leaves a comment. Although I don’t blog every day (and there are times when I go weeks without so much as posting a picture), I’ve got this blog under my skin… if only, for no other reason, the freedom to use whatever words I damn well please without anyone having a hissy fit.

More 2008 in rewingdangdoo after the jump

Click to continue »

At least that’s when I think this photo was taken. Maybe 1972?

This is me (on the left) and Cheryl. Speedos, hot dogs, swim club. What more could we ask for?

Wait, let me answer that question. A life-long friendship. A memorable 8th grade visit to the horrors of Nature’s Classroom. High school years when we were up to no good. College years spent sharing wardrobe staples (rather than fighting over the last Esprit long black cotton skirt in our size? We split the cost and shared it). Matron of honor duties at each others’ weddings.

But Cheryl? Dude? About that maid of honor business. As you know, I spent a good part of my night going through pictures. I found pictures of me in a poufy pink number at your wedding… and pictures of you in a sexy black sheath at my wedding. Girlfriend, what’s up with that?

Not that it matters. How can I hold a grudge when I’ve got pictures and pictures and pictures like these?

And by the way, how much do you think the City of Stamford paid us to talk about your hair? Because clearly, we were deeply engrossed in that conversation. Who can be bothered looking at the water when there’s so many important topics to discuss?

I love you girlfriend!

Remember last summer when we thought spending a few weeks at the beach seemed perfectly reasonable? I do. Vaguely.

Taking hundreds of pictures during our Vineyard trip last August was a clutch move. Sure, the memories will sustain us for a while. More importantly, my laptop is throwing off a lot of heat as I fix the tilted horizons and try to eliminate zombie dog eyes… and I’m sure running a computer is far cheaper than turning the heat up above 58 degrees.

Viewing the world from the late November market’s underbelly, hitting the road for two weeks seems a little extravagant. But I wouldn’t want the money back. Blowing it on an overland parking permit, Back Door Donuts, Sharkey’s margaritas and fishing poles (the ones a certain dog who shall remain nameless ate somewhere between Providence and New London) sure was fun. Pull up a chair and warm your hands by the CPU with me as I stroll down memory lane.

I’m still enamored of the clams in the bucket. If I took one picture of these, I took 4 dozen. Greedy greedy greedy.

The Edgartown Lighthouse is beautiful inside and out. And, yeah, I remember those flip flops. I think Talullah ate them some time in early September.

More extravagant memories after the jump.

Click to continue »

Although we only had 12 people here yesterday, i think I cooked enough for several dozen more. What a feast: brined turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a cheese board, three pies.. and that’s just what I made, never mind what two of my sisters and my mom contributed. Thanks to a late night of pre-Thanksgiving cooking and a touch of insomnia for the past few nights, I am completely exhausted.

My youngest, who dressed up as a chef for Halloween, couldn’t have been happier helping me cook. He’s finally at an age where when he comes in the kitchen to help, he really does help! He couldn’t have been more disappointed when I sent him to bed Wednesday before I put the Yukon Golds through the potato ricer (my top Thanksgiving gadget of all time). He was in the kitchen before me, sorting dishes (and breaking wine glasses - whoops) and ready to get cooking.

What a kid. I think I’ve officially turned over Thanksgiving hosting duties to him, as of yesterday.

This is for Stamford Talk, who’s asked me to post some pictures from my trip to Cannes. Dear, dear Talk… I regret to tell you that I took a small handful of lame pictures with my iPhone while I was there. It was partly because I was working, partly because it rained so dang much there weren’t a lot of opportunities for quaint pictures of this beautiful seaside resort.

Let’s start with my room. My assistant fought tooth and nail to get me into this room, which somehow seemed more desirable than the newer hotel down the street where everyone else was staying. I’m not sure if the fringe curtain around the king-sized bed was very French or just very slutty. You decide:

More fun after the jump

Click to continue »

The chateau was beautiful and romantic, with a centuries-old terrace directly on the sea. It was close and warm as the endless deluge of rain kept us within the old walls. I heard Obama’s name in countless conversations in languages I didn’t understand.

After, most of my colleagues gathered in a nearby bar to watch the returns. Wanting access to Kos and interactive maps and Connecticut returns and the man I’ve watched the returns with for the past 16 years (if only by email), I retuned to the broadband comfort of my room.

My 2 a.m. tears were joyous as Sky News called Pennsylvania. Florida was inching its way back into my good graces. Emails, tweets, early returns (showing Chris Shays unemployed at long last!) restored my faith in America. I gave in to the siren’s call of sleep at 3, missing the acceptance speech but confident we finally got it right.

The sea is swirling and crashing in a joyful dance. Everywhere I am greeted with congratulations and handshakes from the Europeans, and happy tears of relief and amazement from the Americans.

My boys know their parents voted for Obama. Some day, they will see beyond the historic moment of electing a black man. They will understand what was at stake in this election. This moment in time will have a legacy. I am grateful and humbled to have had a voice in making a better world for my children.

Hands down, these bushes are my favorite part of our yard in the fall.

Nearly at their peak of color, the leaves will be almost gone when I return next week.

More after the jump. But first, take a moment to commend me. It took chutzpah to name a blog post firebush.

Click to continue »

I’ll be away next week.

I absolutely adore Cannes and I count myself lucky for traveling there on business every year or so.  But the prospect of being out of the country for the presidential election is making me increasingly anxious.

I’ll be sending in my ballot this week. I’m not anxious about making my choices, I’m not anxious about change. I think it comes down to a twinge of sadness. We’re on the cusp of the most important election of my life and I won’t be here to celebrate.

Click to continue »

Boy did I need to see this tonight.

I can’t say for sure what was at the end. But I had my two redheaded midgets in the car with me when we saw both rainbows.

I’m just sayin’.