Family / Fanciful

SO THEN BABY JOSH GRADUATED and other newsworthy items

Well.

Well, well, well (dun! dun! dah dun! (That’s not my favorite song of hers, btw. This one is better. So is this one)).

Last week is over. That was fun. Stuff and stuff and more stuff!! So many responsibilities! So many obligations! So little time left over for blogging (sorry, blog!)

How can I make amends? Ummmmm, shucks, I don’t know what the internet wants. How about pictures and juice, juicy gossip?? Welp, I have approximately zero gossip, so that’s out of the picture. Instead–only pictures! Oh, great, your favorite!

First of all the things: baby Josh, the babiest of baby Joshuas, graduated from college thanks to hard work, perseverance, and the prayers of all of the blessed saints in heaven (he wouldn’t even be frustrated that I told you that. I graduated from college once myself, I know this life), and the grace of a good and loving God.

Tah dah.

Tah dah. Padre y hijo.

We went out to eat some food beforehand, and it was Mexican food, because my dad’s favorite thing to do in Detroit is eat Mexican food, and he’ll take every Detroit-y opportunity he has to partake in that cultural phenom.

Pawl and Jawsh, waiting for the meal and eating those chips they always give you while they're waiting.

Pawl and Jawsh, waiting for the meal and eating those chips they always give you while ya wait.

Today Paul Facebook messaged me about a squirrel who said he wasn’t a squirrel but, rather a rat, but then another woodland creature said, “You’re not a rat, you’re a squirrel who’s shaved off ‘is tail!”

And I was like, “What is this about?”

And Paul was like, “I once heard you telling Josh a story on the paper route, and that was all I heard.”

Cue memories. I did tell Josh countless stories about woodland animals while we were on the paper route together, because he was younger than I was and I have creative stores of material in my mind, so the stories would span days.

ANYWAY, now he has a college degree. šŸ™‚ No more need for stories about woodland creatures.

After we watched Pomp&Circumstance (and I cheered for every person whose name was called. Including person with last name Kenobi, wherein I found it fitting to yell, “You’re our only hope!” so the old man in front of me snort-laughed and then we were friends), Christine and I walked to a holiday festival held in Detroit ever year.

This festival is held up and down one of the main streets, in and out of churches, museums, art spaces, public spaces, etc. We tried a few new venues, but ended up on the floor of the tried-and-true International Institute, where they showcase dances every year, and I’m a total, absolute addict for watching dance. Snaking towards the rickety stage is always a gamble–there’s no guarantee what you’ll see. The worst year for us? The overweight guys dancing like Polynesian Islanders. The one guy with the too-small sarong? Cannot un-see.

BUT. We weren’t disappointed AT ALL. In fact, we hit the jackpot! We walked in as the African drummers walked out (love to African drummers!), just in time for the FLAMENCO DANCERS.

Personal favorites. So much feminine grace, strength and beauty. Man.

Personal favorites. So much feminine grace, strength and beauty. Man.

Then, we waited for the next dance…and it turned out to be Christine’s favorite: the Indian dancers. We fully, fully love their expressions and intricate patterns of choreography. There is always so much detail–their eyes, their fingers, their purposeful steps. Really, these girls did a great, great job.

"Your starting move is a lunge. Now, hold it for five minutes while the sound guy tinkers with the sound." ~Choreographer, probably

“Your starting move is a lunge. Now, hold it for five minutes while the sound guy tinkers with the sound.” ~Choreographer, probably

So, yeah. Now it’s full-Christmas-prep like, whoa, though, isn’t it? Guadate Sunday has passed and that rose candle was lit and, baby, I’ve got presents to make/ buy/ wrap.

I made my way out to Hamtramck to pick up some goodies (like CHOCOLATE-COVERED PRUNES and don’t you even go knocking until you go trying because: all levels of Eastern European “oh my gracious, YUM”) and I ran into none other than SAINT NICK…wouldn’t ya know??

He was like, "God bless you, child." And I was like, "Thanks."  And then I walked away.

He was like, “God bless you, child.”
And I was like, “Thanks.”
And then I walked away.

It seems like this time of year everyone wants to gather–and, let’s be real, I want to gather, too. Even though there are a million more obligations, holiday cheer seems better when shared with friends. Like, for instance, these two goobers, who sat across from me at last week’s official burger club meeting (I’m only a member because I have a good attitude).

"Smile, guys!" "No."

“Smile, guys!”
“No.”

Aaaaaaaaaaaand, last but not least, here’s a picture of Sharp City tearing it up with some Christmas carols. šŸ™‚ My apologies to Mike, one of the few readers who crosses the line of electronic-to-real communications by occasionally talking to me about the blog. Sorry we don’t have a full shot of yo’ face, broseph.

Sharp City keeping things real.

Sharp City keeping things real.

I’ll bet you FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAHS that what you most want to see is my favorite-ever picture of Josh during the holidays, right?

Right.

May I present:

The amount of apprehension contained within is truly inspirational.

The amount of apprehension contained within is truly inspirational.

Advent, ya’ll.

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