tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44439864054635102762024-03-14T00:03:22.994-07:00I DouxHannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-12339938518337479562011-05-03T06:37:00.000-07:002011-05-03T06:54:54.801-07:00Wedding Blog, Sans WeddingIsn't it weird to have a wedding blog post wedding? Unless you're <a href="http://www.apracticalwedding.com/">Meg</a> of course. What am I suppose to talk about since I don't have the arm loads of tissue paper and the pouring of candles and the pinning of flowers into my hair? Does anyone want to hear about painting my bathroom (grey) or about brunch this weekend (the hollandaise was not tart enough, too thick) or about my best-friend-from-high-school possibly moving to Durham? Or my new job (handling all graphic design, marketing and publicity for Campus Recreation, Health and Wellness and Physical Education at the douchiest school in these United States)? Or about how sick I think the reveling in the streets and "foot in your ass"ing around is right now? I'm considering returning to our regularly scheduled programing over at <a href="http://www.doux-style.blogspot.com/">Doux</a> with flouncy skirts and making mobiles. <br /><br />Somehow the marriagey stuff post wedding seems to personal to blog about.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-14581311478647255652011-04-06T07:33:00.000-07:002011-04-06T07:48:59.961-07:00ReturnedI've been away because I've been sick. Really not good sick. Spending our grocery money on accupuncture sick. Pill popping sick. Hiding hiding hiding sick. Not very good at staying awake past 7:30 sick, not very good at getting up before 7:30 sick. Dear Husband, please make dinner and fend for yourself sick. Bad bad spring sick. But the weather is getting a wee bit warmer and my accupuncture seems to be working a bit and I've been home and my mother bought me sturdy, clompy clogs for clomping and walking. And I've seen a new nephew and I've snuggled with one of my sisters for one whole week. So I'm back. Slightly the worse for wear. Anyone still out there? <br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-78PKEQp7JfU/TZx8Imc5c-I/AAAAAAAABek/WZElXnq4myw/s1600/luke.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592481324489864162" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-78PKEQp7JfU/TZx8Imc5c-I/AAAAAAAABek/WZElXnq4myw/s320/luke.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">This tiny nephew person recently met</span></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N3UUTlfPQ-o/TZx8IVoSZuI/AAAAAAAABec/WTkcIL4LZfE/s1600/mum.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592481319974233826" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N3UUTlfPQ-o/TZx8IVoSZuI/AAAAAAAABec/WTkcIL4LZfE/s320/mum.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"> Home recently visited, complete with ponies munching hay and the barn of wedding fame</span> <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-2374690663822362012011-02-14T13:29:00.000-08:002011-02-14T13:29:00.132-08:00Valentine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zkc0FhJ17c0/TVWquXDzALI/AAAAAAAABdI/p4rUci-4mGQ/s1600/still-life-with-kettle-and-onions.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zkc0FhJ17c0/TVWquXDzALI/AAAAAAAABdI/p4rUci-4mGQ/s400/still-life-with-kettle-and-onions.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572547827381502130" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Valentine</div><div style="text-align: left;">by Carol Ann Duffy</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Not a red rose or a satin heart.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I give you an onion.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It promises light</div><div style="text-align: left;">like the careful undressing of love.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It will blind you with tears</div><div style="text-align: left;">like a lover.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It will make your reflection</div><div style="text-align: left;">a wobbling photo of grief.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am trying to be truthful.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Not a cute card or a kissogram.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I give you an onion.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,</div><div style="text-align: left;">possessive and faithful</div><div style="text-align: left;">as we are,</div><div style="text-align: left;">for as long as we are.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Take it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,</div><div style="text-align: left;">if you like.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lethal.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Its scent will cling to your fingers,</div><div style="text-align: left;">cling to your knife.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We are having a small Valentines, a hiding Valentines day. I am sick and I am drinking boiled herbs and trying to stay awake. Onions seem appropriate for today.</span></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-58433494298461400702011-02-12T12:00:00.000-08:002011-02-12T12:00:00.656-08:00Having a Coke with You<iframe title="YouTube video player" width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YDLwivcpFe8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Frank O'Hara reading <i>Having a Coke with You.</i></div><div><i></i><br /><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-90163562250293724202011-02-11T13:14:00.000-08:002011-02-11T13:22:06.959-08:00The Gift<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Oxm7IgdiG9I/TVWn-7SjBDI/AAAAAAAABdA/zKEXhDsJTpQ/s1600/IMG_0817.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Oxm7IgdiG9I/TVWn-7SjBDI/AAAAAAAABdA/zKEXhDsJTpQ/s400/IMG_0817.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572544813450069042" /></a><br />Our<br />Union is like this: <div><br />You feel cold<br />So I reach for a blanket to cover<br />Our shivering feet. </div><div><br />A hunger comes into your body<br />So I run to my garden<br />And start digging potatoes. </div><div><br />You ask for a few words of comfort and guidance,<br />I quickly kneel at your side offering you<br />This whole book-<br />As a gift. </div><div><br />You ache with loneliness one night<br />So much you weep </div><div><br />And I say,<br />Here's a rope,<br />Tie it around me, </div><div><br />I will be your companion<br />For life.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>-Hafiz</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Picture of the party David and I met at, it looks so sunny compared to now</span></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-63237966029493480612011-01-28T13:38:00.000-08:002012-06-29T06:52:47.791-07:00Not Changing<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TUM5zG0q3_I/AAAAAAAABck/hU85PNPjBg8/s1600/mr%2Band%2Bms..jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567357114527703026" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TUM5zG0q3_I/AAAAAAAABck/hU85PNPjBg8/s400/mr%2Band%2Bms..jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 263px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
The Name Change issue has been all over this week,<a href="http://www.eastsidebride.com/2011/01/should-i-take-my-husbands-name.html"> eastsidebride</a>, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1465263068676754070&postID=4658717858022641506">Souris Marriage</a>, <a href="http://apracticalwedding.com/2011/01/reclaiming-wife-changing-your-name-back/">A Practical Wedding</a>. We're all thinking about it. It's one of those wedding/marriage issues that doesn't really ever seem to be resolved (some people change their name and then change it back, see APW) and until you have children there is that up in the air as well. I, as I've been kind of loud about, didn't change my name. Couldn't FATHOM changing my name. It was never on the table. I understand why people do. My Oldest and Best Friend didn't think twice about it, it's what she wanted to do. My college roommate (not Mary) changed her name because it was important for her to have a united name with her husband and mostly her daughter. For me, changing my last name seemed as alien as changing my first. Ages ago <a href="http://apracticalwedding.com/">Meg</a> said something about name changing being so emotional because it's an issue where inequality is still the norm and she's right. And that's really really wrong.<br />
<br />
<div>
I grew up in a family with two last names, June Momslastname and Terry Dads. I was named Hannah May Momslastname Dads. I like the idea of sharing a name with my mother so I'm been Hannah Momslastname-Dads. My sisters and brother generally just go by Dads. Which is cool. I never minded the two last names. We're still a family, Christmas cards are addressed to The Momslastname-Dads Family. My mom said she never minded not having the same last name as her children. All is well.</div>
<div>
<br />
Over and over again in the conversation women talk about the desire to have the same name as their children. I understand that desire and share it. I'm not as chill as my mom. I want my kids to have the same name as me too; I want it to be clear to all involved that they're mine and I'm theirs and we are in the same family. No one has discusses the possibility that children be given their mother's name and that their father be the odd one out. Is a man's right to have his children bear his name really that sacred? I feel like it isn't. No more so than my right to share a name with my children. Fortunately for me, David doesn't have the same intense feelings I have about names (for serious, I cried when I got that stupid Christmas card addressed to Hannah and David Davidsname from my sister in law). Dave's sisters have different last names and he feels no less related to them, feels no loss at the change of name. So our children will most likely have my name. Not both of my names, carrying on both grandparent's last name from one side seems a bit intense. But Dad's name. Because that's the one I share with my siblings.</div>
<div>
<br />
I would love to have a united family name. I would love for David to take to take my name and for us to be clearly delineated as a family in that way but I can't do it at the expense of my name. It's just not on the table. David has considered changing his but decided that it would offend his family and be misconstrued by his friends. Which I understand. So I'm not pushing the issue. He's as entitled to his name as I am to mine. No more so though. And we are equally entitled to name our children after our families. So we'll see. I'll let you know how it goes.</div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-9858453759711966032011-01-20T16:44:00.000-08:002011-01-20T17:32:57.595-08:00At North Farm<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTjhOYmZgAI/AAAAAAAABaM/atsz5OE4GiU/s1600/IMG_0445.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTjhOYmZgAI/AAAAAAAABaM/atsz5OE4GiU/s400/IMG_0445.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564444976854171650" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Domesticity</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>In the <a href="http://doux-style.blogspot.com/2009/05/one-down.html">May of 2009 </a>I read Isabel Gillies <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Happens-Every-Day-All-Too-True-Story/dp/1439110077">Happens Every Day</a> </i>and was blown away by a section of <i>At North Farm</i> she quoted:<div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-style: italic; line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Somwhere someone is traveling furiously toward you.<br />At incredible speed, traveling day and night,<br />Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through narrow passes.<br />But will je know where to find you,<br />Recognize you when he sees you,<br />Give you the thing he has for you?</span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div>It made my toes tingly. I don't really know what it means but that first line, the line about someone traveling furiously toward you, that really rocked my world. I loved it. I sort of believed it. That someone was traveling furiously toward me. And then in June I met David, then he went to Europe for the summer. And in August we talked on his porch all night long and a week after that we basically new we were going to marry each other (but we didn't talk about it to each other yet) and then in December we were talking about it. And in January we were engaged already and then in July we were married. After 11 months of being together. And now, January of 2011, we live in Durham with our two dogs and a cat. Wow. </div><div><br /></div><div>And it's working really well. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't normally tell people that we knew each other for 11 months before we were married and five months before we got engaged because, ya know, it's nuts. Completely nuts. But ya know. </div><div><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-39144366333649165512011-01-19T12:56:00.000-08:002011-01-19T13:03:23.647-08:00New Photos!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCweZ-EI/AAAAAAAABaE/PuzeZOPBdM4/s1600/99-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCweZ-EI/AAAAAAAABaE/PuzeZOPBdM4/s400/99-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564004972453558338" /></a><br />Six months after our wedding, our photographer updated his website and there are some wedding photos I haven't seen. I'm esspecially digging the one of my littlest 14 year old sister drunker than drunk swaying to some awesome tunes while older and wiser adults condone her behavior. Dear Dad, At least she has a water bottle?<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCt2O-sI/AAAAAAAABZ8/mQzLztrLUrY/s1600/3333-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCt2O-sI/AAAAAAAABZ8/mQzLztrLUrY/s400/3333-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564004971748195010" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCl82fCI/AAAAAAAABZ0/DLA_-LWiH7o/s1600/44-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCl82fCI/AAAAAAAABZ0/DLA_-LWiH7o/s400/44-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564004969628466210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px; " /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTdRCl82fCI/AAAAAAAABZ0/DLA_-LWiH7o/s1600/44-Philadelphia-Wedding-Photographer-Shaun-Yasaki.jpg"></a><div><br /></div><div>The "complete" wedding, to quote Shaun, is <a href="http://www.shaunyasaki.com/#28">here</a>.</div></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-91327134120835208172011-01-18T16:48:00.000-08:002011-01-18T16:48:00.375-08:00Kilty Cake Topper<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTkx0dR8GI/AAAAAAAABZc/iNz_EmpbJZU/s1600/167669_1541796464530_1223492044_31248161_4781923_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTkx0dR8GI/AAAAAAAABZc/iNz_EmpbJZU/s400/167669_1541796464530_1223492044_31248161_4781923_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563322984255582306" /></a><br />I made Tilly and Ben's cake topper of pegs. Very much like mine, this one in a kilt though, this one on a cake of cheese. I took pictures but they are on my sister's friend's camera so the facebook ones will suffice. Want one? I'll make you one!<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTkyGB8cbI/AAAAAAAABZk/nHAacNyi5Wg/s1600/163841_1541795304501_1223492044_31248158_6142116_n.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTkyGB8cbI/AAAAAAAABZk/nHAacNyi5Wg/s400/163841_1541795304501_1223492044_31248158_6142116_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563322988972765618" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTkyGB8cbI/AAAAAAAABZk/nHAacNyi5Wg/s1600/163841_1541795304501_1223492044_31248158_6142116_n.jpg"></a><div><br /></div></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-44548999562813041152011-01-17T14:29:00.000-08:002011-01-17T16:18:54.929-08:00Six Months<div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTP7ZL2ZSI/AAAAAAAABYU/RhMl-ZELDSQ/s400/Dave%2526Hannah-210.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563300058989225250" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTY6Fzw5-I/AAAAAAAABYs/uoqeYszV9uM/s1600/Dave%2526Hannah-351.JPG"><br /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTRbY629bI/AAAAAAAABYc/ubiJKpFSTBs/s1600/Dave%2526Hannah-244.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTRbY629bI/AAAAAAAABYc/ubiJKpFSTBs/s400/Dave%2526Hannah-244.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563301708185400754" /></a><br /><br />We've been married for six months. To celebrate we walked to Whole Foods to get chicken for curry and I've had three pots of tea. Lots of quiet. Looking at the photos everything just looks like sunshine. I did my own flowers, all my own stationary, set my own tables but I'm so glad we shelled out for a<a href="http://www.shaunyasaki.com/"> photographer</a>. The photos are so evocative in a way nothing else is. <div><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTRb3kW1KI/AAAAAAAABYk/-CcgbqvtrL8/s1600/Dave%2526Hannah-317.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTRb3kW1KI/AAAAAAAABYk/-CcgbqvtrL8/s400/Dave%2526Hannah-317.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563301716412519586" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's been a good six months.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTY6Fzw5-I/AAAAAAAABYs/uoqeYszV9uM/s1600/Dave%2526Hannah-351.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTTY6Fzw5-I/AAAAAAAABYs/uoqeYszV9uM/s400/Dave%2526Hannah-351.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563309932212709346" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-24113362240528333652011-01-17T08:37:00.000-08:002011-01-17T14:29:33.678-08:00Waltzing Matilda<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3XMvBFCI/AAAAAAAABYM/5kdNQge7QDE/s1600/IMG_1272.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3W7sOQRI/AAAAAAAABX8/nOg7OQK4ZcM/s1600/IMG_1123.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3W7sOQRI/AAAAAAAABX8/nOg7OQK4ZcM/s400/IMG_1123.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563202675573408018" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Ardtornish House in the daylight</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3Wb5F4HI/AAAAAAAABX0/DdGxrfYkNTY/s1600/168787_10150126957610774_653740773_7862737_4089397_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 226px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3Wb5F4HI/AAAAAAAABX0/DdGxrfYkNTY/s400/168787_10150126957610774_653740773_7862737_4089397_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563202667037450354" /></a><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The Holospeced congregation, that blond befeathered head in the middle front is me. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></div></span>So my photos of Tilly and Ben's gorgeous wedding are a bit of a blur fest (low lighting and crap camera be damned). There were holospex that made each point of light a heart and all the guests wore them and sang Love Me Tender, there was a five tier wedding cake made not of cake but of cheese with loads of oak cakes and chutney made by my aunt (okay, the mother of the bride) and the caleigh band got too drunk to come play all except the accordion who did a bang up job all on his own despite his apparent intoxication. We danced and sang and drank and drank and ate loads of cheese and chutney and when the night went on a bit long a few of the bridesmaids changed into our boots and the night ended with us sitting on the couch posing for an Italian photographer named Simone. Glams all round. Gorgeous.<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3XMvBFCI/AAAAAAAABYM/5kdNQge7QDE/s1600/IMG_1272.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3XMvBFCI/AAAAAAAABYM/5kdNQge7QDE/s400/IMG_1272.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563202680148530210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Tilly let me decorate her cake which felt a big reckless, Ben and she cut the cake with a sword of her dad's</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3XKdGmFI/AAAAAAAABYE/penWGhfgZqM/s1600/IMG_1287.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3XKdGmFI/AAAAAAAABYE/penWGhfgZqM/s400/IMG_1287.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563202679536523346" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The aforementioned dad swirling our cousin's wife around </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3WXCsiAI/AAAAAAAABXs/YefLTjeRhr0/s1600/162820_10150126960445774_653740773_7862792_8036150_n.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TTR3WXCsiAI/AAAAAAAABXs/YefLTjeRhr0/s400/162820_10150126960445774_653740773_7862792_8036150_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563202665735555074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">David and I pretending to be in Brideshead Revisited for the sake of an Italian photog. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">I think we were on different pages as to what that means.</span></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-79100640272611678062011-01-13T11:46:00.000-08:002011-01-13T11:47:45.727-08:00ResolutionsI am going to blog more. And learn the guitar. And wear slippers everyday so I don't complain about how cold my feet are. And knit. And wear moisturizer. Mostly continue to eat cake and sleep a lot. Ya know. New years.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-25228670416734578862011-01-12T08:30:00.000-08:002011-01-12T08:38:41.376-08:00Scottish Wedding<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TS3Y7FZvMAI/AAAAAAAABXk/dsS4FQPtxHA/s1600/163251_10150120435646488_634761487_8266228_1387448_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TS3Y7FZvMAI/AAAAAAAABXk/dsS4FQPtxHA/s400/163251_10150120435646488_634761487_8266228_1387448_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561339624446439426" /></a><br />Things have been very quiet here while I was off on the West Coast of Scotland for Tilly's wedding. I decorated a cake, I drank to excess and wore feathers and hugged the bride and groom a lot. I listened to Waltzing Matilda about 90 times (Scottish cousin Matilda marries Australian Ben so WM seemed the thing) and spent loads of time in front of fires in layers of warmth with cousins and second cousins and first cousins once removed. It was glorious. I'm still at my parents until Friday so posting will not resume in full force until then. Photos will follow. In the mean time here are some photos of Ardtornish (taken by my gorgeous second cousin Julia). If anyone is wondering where in the frozen highlands they might like to get married in January Ardtornish is the place.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TS3Y62p9BKI/AAAAAAAABXc/ibDc5hlRUOE/s1600/163024_10150120433631488_634761487_8266200_3070292_n.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TS3Y62p9BKI/AAAAAAAABXc/ibDc5hlRUOE/s400/163024_10150120433631488_634761487_8266200_3070292_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561339620487922850" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-66444618489736339242010-12-31T08:10:00.001-08:002010-12-31T08:10:57.912-08:00Merry Christmas, Happy New Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TR39PZNkCII/AAAAAAAABXU/rjtGz8Mird4/s1600/167565_1489595807699_1468080029_31037629_6781651_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TR39PZNkCII/AAAAAAAABXU/rjtGz8Mird4/s400/167565_1489595807699_1468080029_31037629_6781651_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556875956152699010" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Picture 0f stockings of all siblings and now David at my parents house, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">nicked off of Facebook as I don't have my camera or computer</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>We are at my Mum and Dad's for Christmas, New Years and the lead up to our week in the Highlands. We bought thermal long underwear and wool socks and pullovers and we drank spiced wine and we cuddled puppies and kittens (BOTH!!) and ate turkey and stuffing and mince pie and all four of my parent's daughters cuddled up in a bed and watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0203259/">Law and Order SVU</a> for hours. Tonight we're off to go to my cousins and uncle and aunt to greet 2011 and eat goose and then on Wednesday, Mum, David, Sister Tres and I are flying to Edinburg for my gorgeous cousin's gorgeous wedding with a gorgeous cake-topper made of pegs by me. Photos will abound. I'll be missing for a bit. I hope your Christmas was the most wonderful and that you get good and zozzled tonight and that 2011 starts with a hangover and gets better everyday. xoxoxHannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-8082385853901518862010-12-01T13:34:00.001-08:002010-12-01T13:41:10.977-08:00If You Need Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TPbAyHIu_gI/AAAAAAAABV8/rLHXRlXvAE8/s1600/Dave%2526Hannah-63.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TPbAyHIu_gI/AAAAAAAABV8/rLHXRlXvAE8/s400/Dave%2526Hannah-63.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545831958295019010" /></a><br />I will be over at <a href="http://doux-style.blogspot.com/">Doux</a>, unless something explicitly wedding related pops up. <div><br /></div><div>Pop on over and visit me and Mary (seen above using fashion tape to try to keep me from flashing my tits to the entire church)</div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-52413278801748092292010-11-29T11:20:00.000-08:002010-11-29T15:09:56.696-08:00Home Again, Home Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TPQxvuDhTiI/AAAAAAAABVs/UX7vo8u_6Ec/s1600/ScottieWhite.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TPQxvuDhTiI/AAAAAAAABVs/UX7vo8u_6Ec/s400/ScottieWhite.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545111737086332450" /></a><br />Back from Thanksgiving, done with work, eating Sunbelt Granola (the ghettoist of ghetto granola) by the handful from it's alluring box and thinking about all those Christmas cards on the desk waiting to be written (being married seems to indicate to me that I should actually send Christmas cards like an adult) and the flat that needs to be cleaned. Snugged on the couch with Susie and the Cat sick as hell. It's very nice to have a husband to get ginger ale and crackers. Very nice.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-38346613168058942562010-11-22T20:18:00.000-08:002010-11-22T20:32:35.202-08:00Thanks. Given.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TOtD2Hl0fVI/AAAAAAAABVk/TuI7o0z1Ays/s1600/IMG_1425.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TOtD2Hl0fVI/AAAAAAAABVk/TuI7o0z1Ays/s400/IMG_1425.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542598363439201618" /></a><br />Cliche:<div><br /></div><div>I am thankful that Susie is still alive. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful my mother doesn't have a job so she can answer my texts about Susie's health and how to fix watery split pea soup. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful for sweatpants, not just on Thanksgiving but every day (sidenote: in college my roommate and I would enter our room and immediately shed our trousers for less constricting clothing, sweatpants featured prominently. F*ck pants was our moto. Sometimes still is). </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful for fried potatoes I will be enjoying in sweat pants with Best-Friend-from-High-School on Wednesday night, and for grand old time with Oldest-and-Best on Friday. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful for our cute new apartment and our very new family. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful for free cable which hasn't shut off in the four months since we moved in despite the lack of bill. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful that I will get to be with my whole gorgeous family on Thursday (except Dos who is enjoying her semester in Rome and will be dancing on a bar somewhere in Italy being luminous and living the dream).</div><div><br /></div><div>I am thankful for Daveroo. Who basically a year ago was still just <a href="http://doux-style.blogspot.com/2009/08/bad-blogger.html">this guy</a> and is now my husband. Which still seems like a big scary weighted word but I'm working on it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Picture of last Thanksgiving, my brother with Susie. </span></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-72307585122907976822010-11-17T12:39:00.000-08:002010-11-17T20:55:51.342-08:00Turkey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TORAsoQqbfI/AAAAAAAABVc/Mz1YDP8lg6s/s1600/Dave%2526Hannah-165.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TORAsoQqbfI/AAAAAAAABVc/Mz1YDP8lg6s/s400/Dave%2526Hannah-165.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540624577038282226" /></a><br />Thanksgiving. We had some difficulties with David's family immediately before the wedding. One of David's family members tried to get him to nix the idea of marrying me and when that didn't work as well as she might have hoped, shit went down. A lot of it. There were tears and feelings were hurt. I tried to be cool about it and rise above it all but when you arrive at your bridal shower with a puffy, red, streaky face then you have a problem. We got married on a Saturday and that Thursday we packed up and moved to North Carolina, I've seen David's entire family (sisters, brothers, in-laws, nieces and nephews and parents) once since we got married which was nice (seeing them, not the only once aspect). Now we're trying to negotiate our first major holiday together. Which set of parents do we spend the day with? When do you see the second set of parents? How does one you tell your mother that you aren't spending Christmas with her? (luckily that someone is not me) How do you not hurt more feelings? This is difficult even with perfect relationships (as if those exist). My oldest and best friend (who basically could not like her in laws more and who's husband lurves her parents) think it's a suckfest. Trying to do it when your sister in law would probably like to devour your face and serve you up instead of a turkey? Reaaaaaally a suckfest.<br /><br />At least any holidays not spent with my sweet and lovin' family will be spent with David's (now my) nephew, Ian, who has yummy cheeks for biting and cute tiny toes even if his mom is a mega b-word. The face he is making is the face my brain makes when I contemplate Thanksgiving.<br /><br />Picture of Ian at our wedding, taken by <a href="http://shaunyasaki.com/">Shaun Yasaki</a>.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-69703287728476976982010-11-15T10:36:00.000-08:002010-11-15T10:45:08.735-08:00Painting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TOF_LtnDjzI/AAAAAAAABVU/jfiJ6-EIKRg/s1600/Picture%2B1.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 322px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TOF_LtnDjzI/AAAAAAAABVU/jfiJ6-EIKRg/s400/Picture%2B1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539848855841115954" /></a><br />Accord to <a href="http://www.sherwin-williams.com/">Sherwin Williams</a> this is what my bathroom would look like if painted 'peppercorn'. David thinks it's totes hideous. I think he's mostly deranged but I like him anyway. What do we think?Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-20272538913067733482010-11-12T20:30:00.000-08:002010-11-12T20:32:03.545-08:00Hint<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TN4UrFV6HfI/AAAAAAAABVM/JOYraiTwVag/s1600/il_570xN.191067169.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TN4UrFV6HfI/AAAAAAAABVM/JOYraiTwVag/s400/il_570xN.191067169.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538887322113285618" /></a><br />Just in case anyone who's name is David would like to know about a nice present for me for Christmas which is my most favourite time of the year. I think <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/61281674/pine-cone-necklace">this</a> is real pretty. Just sayin.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-46000900234501139472010-11-10T21:00:00.000-08:002010-11-10T21:00:06.710-08:00New Weddings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TNtDQ-6AEfI/AAAAAAAABUU/sr1TS3a7kAI/s1600/ardtornish-house%252C-header.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 151px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TNtDQ-6AEfI/AAAAAAAABUU/sr1TS3a7kAI/s400/ardtornish-house%252C-header.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538094125825397234" /></a><br />My lovely lovely cousin is getting married in January at this lovely house in the freezy breezy Highlands of Scotland and, this time, <i>I</i> get to be a bridesmaid. I've never been one before and I'm thrilled to the teeth.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-88759397170512248792010-11-10T17:25:00.000-08:002010-11-10T17:39:06.109-08:00Some Things....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TNtJIGtpI4I/AAAAAAAABUc/GOoznTGYTMI/s1600/IMG_0670.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TNtJIGtpI4I/AAAAAAAABUc/GOoznTGYTMI/s400/IMG_0670.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538100570371990402" /></a><br />....I really like about being married, three months in.<div><br /></div><div>Now that we are married, David makes me tea every single morning and every single evening and sometimes he peels my oranges for me. He used to do it sometimes but now he does it all the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now that we are married, I can tell David I really hate his new haircut and he doesn't mind that much because I'm not going anywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now that we are married, when my dog nearly died and David went with me and my arms full of westie and wool tartan blanket and my red, puffy, sobby face to the vet and didn't say anything about it when I cried really loud and ugly in front of all the vet people. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now that we are married, we have our money, and our dogs and our cat and our flat and our car and our computer and our bed and our dinner and our lives. Which is much easier than having to mind your own life and car and flat and dog and computer and bed and dinner and money. Much much easier.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">P.S. The dog has been in the doggie hospital for two days and while for normal people this might not cause heaps of sobbing and ghashing of teeth and sleepless nights, for me this is it. So send Susie happy thoughts. </span></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-67964981544836804172010-09-28T18:47:00.001-07:002010-09-28T18:47:43.846-07:00BRBI'll be back soon, don't go away. I just moved and am looking for a job and drinking lots of tea and every now and then screaming at my husband and throwing things. Because it's a bit hard right now.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-65329735447916616162010-09-20T08:44:00.001-07:002010-09-20T08:46:36.251-07:00A Brief Aside<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TJeBkxfGKWI/AAAAAAAABTg/yXI4h4Cmm8s/s1600/n1468080029_30006734_7199.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TJeBkxfGKWI/AAAAAAAABTg/yXI4h4Cmm8s/s400/n1468080029_30006734_7199.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519022337124870498" /></a><br />I am not one of those cool girls who never wanted to wear a white dress and didn't think about weddings. This is the evidence. I wore this for a whole year.<div><br /></div><div>P.S. Dear Four-Year-Old-Hannah: I want yo shoes. Love, Twenty-Four-Year-Old-Hannah</div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4443986405463510276.post-52031542398690346562010-09-07T06:55:00.000-07:002010-09-07T07:13:39.706-07:00Let Them Eat<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZHJXJDeNI/AAAAAAAABSY/RGULUKAsj6A/s1600/Dave%26Hannah-260.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZHJXJDeNI/AAAAAAAABSY/RGULUKAsj6A/s400/Dave%26Hannah-260.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514173019918137554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZHI01y-nI/AAAAAAAABSQ/lbOxewu-CkU/s1600/Dave%26Hannah-259.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZHI01y-nI/AAAAAAAABSQ/lbOxewu-CkU/s400/Dave%26Hannah-259.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514173010710559346" /></a><br />The cake came from our friendly neighborhood farmer's market cupcake lady. She made the cake, dropped it off with Meghan-the-day-of-coordinator and then at the last minute we decided that my little tiny peg people should go on the regular cake. Because I'm crafty darn it. Crafty. She also arranged some extra flowers around it. My youngest sister at it for breakfast every day for a week after the wedding. It was so unbelievably delicious. I remember reading somewhere on <a href="http://www.apracticalwedding.com/">APW</a> about a couple who served cake to everyone and we hadn't really thought about who was going to serve the cake so I ended up doing it. Which gave me a chance to speak to everyone who wanted cake and made me feel like a real hostess, I loved it. I also managed to resist feeding David cake. Which. I. Did. Not. Want. To. Do.<div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZITue3sWI/AAAAAAAABSo/C7_mg8YP3GA/s1600/Dave%26Hannah-332.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZITue3sWI/AAAAAAAABSo/C7_mg8YP3GA/s400/Dave%26Hannah-332.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514174297493975394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zWVop8J3Tuw/TIZITue3sWI/AAAAAAAABSo/C7_mg8YP3GA/s1600/Dave%26Hannah-332.JPG"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Feeding cake to my sister-in-law, which I did want to do. Please ignore my double chin.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If anyone in Western or Central Maryland or South Central PA wants a fantastic farmers market cake tasting like magic, shoot me an email and I will hook you up. I have all the hook-ups.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">All photos by <a href="http://www.shaunyasaki.com">Shaun Yasaki</a></span></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17424710533603846341noreply@blogger.com5