Which is obviously too fascinating altogether to keep to myself. Doh.
Walking past the library the other day, I spot two people affectionately situated, lovingly popping one another's zits. True love, that.
Emily and I, noticing the hood of my car is flapping oddly as we drive down the highway:
E: What can it mean? Is there something wrong? We should find out.
Me: Nooo...that would mean actually opening the hood! Let's just leave it alone until it falls off.
Random kid at the school where E teaches: Hey, there's something wrong with your hood!
E: Yeah, I was noticing that.
Kid: *wanders over, pushes on hood*
Hood: *instantly mended*
Kid: Emily, it wasn't closed. At all.
Entering a practice room the other day, cellist for accompanying in tow, I discover a folded piece of lined paper, labeled in purple ink, "Grace F.". Confuzzled, I open it to discover a pencil sketch of a happy-looking couple digging with what looks like a soup spoon for what look like large, sparkly corn flakes. Below this touching representation is a face surrounded by a lot of hair, featuring weepy eyes and a pitifully tragic expression.
Problem: No name. No note. And the only people who can get into that room are the piano majors and a few other Select People with keys. Mysterious...
So, this weekend features our Annual CREC Texas Piney Woods Family Camp. Which will be shiny. And amazing. And beyond words. *lurvs*
Over and out.
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