Precious Moments

My Parents were in town visiting me and my own last weekend. This town is designed for old people, and old people they are. We had a blast, a grand hubbaloo if you will, going to various museums, cemeteries, civil war forts, and plantation ruins. This is no child-friendly vacation spot, folks. No. It is down right boring if you aren't into old houses, boats, trees, moss, bits of string, and fibrous diets. I hope they had a great time.

Notice the socks with sandals that my dad is wearing. You fashion Nazis out there are blanching, but he doesn't care. Even though grunge isn't cool any more, he was WAY ahead of the curve with that one. And when it comes back again with the kids, he will once again be redeemed by all you fashion czars as a forerunner of all things keen.


Unfortunately, we actually took a fair amount of pictures of each other taking pictures.

The socks are gone, but now a nasty sore is forming where the sandals rub. To solve this problem he slide in his shoe a whole Kleenex tissue. Now he looked like he wondered out of a bathroom after a disastrous toilet assident.


Lest she be forgotten on this Non-Mother's Day, here is Mom checking the temperature of this fallen tree. "Oh, dear. It's hot. Hot as mother trucker out here."


Here is evidence of our train depot visit. This is actually a really cool place called The Roundhouse. There are lots of old steam engines, brick workshops full of old machine tools, and a working round train switching-thingy. My Dad loved it here. So would J Boyn, friend from ages past.

Anyway, Happy Father's Day to a fine looking gentleman of class and distinction. Here he is in Bonaventure Cemetery, not being dead.



P.S. Thanks for paying for everything.