Last week's festivities -- 29 here for a fine feast, some who came spur-of-the-moment from London, woodfire burning constantly, and we used up five bags of marshmallows. I did nothing but sit around while the people I still think of as The Kids did everything including the list-making.
This picture was taken before all the homemade pies arrived.
We had plenty of drama all week:
The garage door opener wouldn't shut.
The microwave fan wouldn't go off.
The disposal wouldn't dispose -- Avi said we wouldn't need a plumber, that when the eye surgeon arrived for Thanksgiving dinner he'd take the pipe apart and fix it -- and that's exactly what happened.
This general dissolution was evidently contagious -- our overflow who stayed at a nearby b&b came back to borrow a plunger at one point.
We had an 89-year spread of ages -- great-granddaughter Athena spent most of her time in a big carton, obligingly left in the living-room by the applance guy. Grandsons Nathan and Aaron each chose sets of Jane Austen from The Collection. The London contingent furnished two young boys who kept the mini pinball machine in pretty constant use. I have fine pictures of all these goings-on, forwarded from various attendees, but they just won't transfer to this screen. That's why this post is so late -- I've been trying, giving up in frustration and then trying again the next day.
So I'll just tell you a bit about what I've been doing since:
I forgot to mention -- the washing machine stopped washing also -- and this during a week involving one way and another nine house guests including a toddler. I ordered a new washer, asking for the simplest replacement, but this new control panel seems to offer 42 choices ... I was reduced to reading the manual.
All's well that ends well. For your viewing pleasure, here's a Before and After of every bath towel I own. That bottle in Before is an unopened Beaujolais left from The Feast. I'm not a drinker, and all I know about wine is that Beaujolais doesn't keep -- it's supposed to be drunk promptly.