Clearly, Temple is not used to the camera. She was upset by the flash. That look is why you aren't allowed to take pictures of the gorillas at the zoo.
There with T is James (in the gray), and Joseph. Stef, their momma, is on the right edge, and my schnoz is hanging there in the left lower corner. Fortunately, Temple has Matt's nose. Matt went to Egypt last weekend, and rather than sit home by myself and find reasons to be angry with him while is halfway around the world, me and Temple went on a ladies' road trip to visit our friends in Long Island. Temple was an angel on the trip. She slept nearly the whole way there and the first three hours of the way back, which was sad for my bladder. She wasn't the best sleeper while we were there, but we had fun staying up late in the hotel and watching My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. I love a clean hotel room. Even thought T didn't nap very well, she was content to hang in her Pack 'n Play with Babcock and Owl Pacino for two hours each afternoon so Mamma could get some horizontal bed time. It was a refreshing change to chill during T's afternoon T time. I'm usually cleaning or interneting.
It was indescribably wonderful to see Stef and her family. Spending time with such an old and dear friends was energizing. I'm so grateful for the weekend.
The rest of T and my week went well. We held it together through Matt's trip. No major surgeries or housing crises. Stay busy, that's what I say.
I'm going to try to blog more frequently. I feel the writey party of my brain atrophying.
In non-Temple related news, I went for a short and horrible walk last night. It was short because I had just eaten 5 baby back ribs, and was hurrying home to eat 5 more. It was horrible because of several horrors I observed. I saw a deer with what looked like an infected bullet wound in his eyeball. It was black and covered in flies. I saw a soaking wet, shivering baby raccoon (actually, that was pretty cute). A black cat crossed my path with what I thought was a dead bunny in his mouth. It turned out to be an almost dead bunny. Finally, near the dirty house where the drug addict mother lives, I saw posters on poles from the National Foundation for Missing and Exploited Children. The fifteen year old skanky daughter is now an "endangered runaway." I noticed that she is my height, and weighs 40 pounds less than I do. Tracy, the gossip, tells me that the girl is "selling herself." We really need to move out of this neighborhood.
