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

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Nothin’, that is, other than these ridiculously adorable pictures of Talullah and Oscar, hanging out on my son’s bed when they thought no one was around to catch them in the act.

And no, I’m not at all above asking Talullah if she’s a bad, bad girl to get her to tilt her head like so.

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.

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I am greatly outnumbered in my family. Boy husband. Boy dogs. Boy children. Boy cat.

I tried overcompensating at first by getting a girl cat. And that look on her face may tell you right away, she’s not that into girl stuff. I’m not either. We get along great.

She’s a little feral. For the first year she lived with us, the only real cuddling we did was when she would jump on my back while I did yoga.

Actually, that’s the only real cuddling we’ve ever done.

When we brought this ridiculously adorable mess of a girl dog into our family last year, it’s possible I went overboard with the idea of having a fluffy little princess. I’m not sure why; girl stuff has never been my thing.

While shopping for dementor masks and ninja knives and other boy-like Halloween trappings last year, I may have picked up a purple tutu for her. What dog doesn’t want to dress up like a ballerina? Come on. You know they all do. It’s a great idea. Everybody thinks so.

Except, possibly, for Talullah.

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

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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.

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I’m not here.

(OK, OK, you’re right, I’m here. I’m trying to make it look like I’m not here. These people with their questions and their projects and their deadlines and their delusions that I have answers won’t leave me alone. I’m staying here until they all go away. Or until I’ve emptied my email inbox. Whichever comes first.)

So, I’m not here. Now where could I be?  Why, look! There I am! Over at Whit’s place, prattling on about god knows what*! Go, go, check it out! And bring the irate, pitchfork-wielding crowd gathered outside my door along with you!

*I’m pretty sure the little guy made it. I found something dead in the basement this morning, but it definitely wasn’t him. Too big.

Husband: “It’s quite a good picture of her. Were you trying to make her look regal?”

Me: “There’s only so much I can do.”

The last time I went fishing, I was 12 and accompanied by four other 12 year old girls. It was my friend Midi’s birthday party. She lived on this completely sick horse farm in Darien, and there was a pond across the street stocked with who knows what kind of fish. It’s safe to say these fish of indeterminate origin were unprepared for an encounter with a small army of pre-teen girls. It disappoints my oldest son to no end that I don’t remember more of this story, but this is roughly how it went. One of us was holding the fishing rod as the lure and hook dangled salaciously (well, to a fish, I guess) in the murky water. We were surprised flabbergasted rendered incapable of any kind of communication other than shrieking when we actually caught a fish.

I don’t remember how we got the fish off the hook. I want to say I was brave enough to grab its body and hold it still as I gently removed the hook from its mouth and tossed it back into the murky depths. But I’m pretty sure I’d be making that part up. I do remember the whole experience was enough to keep us up chattering into the late hours (it was a sleepover) as we played Titanic, a fun and extremely involved 1970s board game I never came across anywhere else besides Midi’s house.

When we were lifeguards, my friend Joe and I feared hearing one thing more than anything else: “Hey lifeguard, I’ve got a fish hook in my eye. I think I need some first aid.” We developed a Universal Symbol for Fish Hook in Eye (with your forefinger slightly curled, stick it just under your brow bone and hold on tight while making your most grotesque facial expression) and waited vigilantly for our first victim patient. Of course, we also spent our time waiting for a commercial airliner to fall out of the sky and (conveniently) into the Long Island Sound so we could see exactly how long it would take us to row out a few miles to grab all those survivors. I can safely attribute our love for the macabre to being bored out of our skulls.

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It’s not all fun and games here, people. We’ve got serious work to do on this vacation. Observe the mighty canine, at the ready to grab small children from the rip tide. But he doesn’t need the rescue board. Salvation is just a giant labrador head away. Just grab on to those ears and hang on.