More November

Below are some shots from thanksgiving weekend at Seth's folks house. The girls did well, Tua out-eating her mom and dad in turkey and Pippa winning the prize for the most winsome smile at the table.

Trees

Tua made a gift for us today. During crafts hour at nursury, the children were all given material to assemble into trees. Every branch had a word that represented what the child was most thankful for. I can only assume that Tua does not grasp the concept of gratitude yet and was only fishing for words out of her small (but growing) collection of language, because the branches of her tree bore two words only: 'mommy' and 'cheese'.

The Musician and the Cook

cut

Last week, Seth's hair had reached the length required for donation.






The hair will go to Locks of Love, a hair replacement charity which offers wigs at little or no cost to children who have lost thier hair to surgery, cancer, or disease. If you've got a fast growing top and don;t mind a drastic shearing every few year or two, I would recommend the hair donation route.






Tua and cousin Pascal reacting to the new look.

Pippa in her oft frequented leaf pile.

This one was taken tonight just before bed. Pip has taken to this rocking chair like a duck to water.

apples

The following shots are from the last week. The first two are of Tua, Winter, and Pippa taken at a park function at Long Trail. The rest are from an afternoon at Poverty Hill, where we walked the rows and rows of heirloom apple trees. The autumn light was very fine.

Traffic

A recent late summer day found Pippa, Tua , Seth and cousin Pascal out on a walk. A wagon always helps on the way up...and eating apples seems to pass the time rather well when your that age.

The Last Pancake

From what I can remember of my earlier days, I seem to recall the pancake figuring into my youth on a very regular basis. My father spent years perfecting his own recipe, each week rising early on Sunday to create the perfect batch, altering the ingredients a pinch here or there, tweaking the griddle temperature or cooking time. Now Dad has it down to a science and the caliber of his pancakes is known (quite literally) around the world. My experiences in the realm of extracurricular pancaking are limited to a small diner on the outskirts of Bridgewater. Blanche and Bills Pancake House has set my standard by which all other restaurant food is measured. It was here that I first tasted a pancake created from an aged batter. It was here that I first learned that one could be served ice cream in liquid form (in a glass, with a straw); and that one could order this and the pancake made from aged batter at the same time. One could have chocolate chips or blueberries added to the aged pancake batter as it baked slowly upon the griddle, rising to that perfect thickness. Blanche was always one of my heroes. She made the best ice cream shakes, the best blueberry french toast, the best waffles, and very nearly broke the tie for the best pancake. Last Wednesday was Blanche's last day behind the wheel of her establishment. She had sold the building, the trade name, and the secret pancake recipe the week before to a couple from California after nearly thirty years of business. I made a point to eat one last pancake and get a picture of the event. Blanche was in rare form. Despite having transferred ownership to the new proprietors, she still sported her signature blue apron and her sharp demeanor

"What'll it be, Seth?"

Dunno, Blanche. It all looks so good. How about the blueberry french toast?"

"How about it?" she replied.

"And a pancake. I'll take a pancake.

"You want those together?"

"Sure."

"Coffee?"

"Please."


Just as my plates were brought out, I asked one of the other waitstaff for a photo of me and Blanche.

"You want to make sure to get the Red Sox corner in the background." said Blanche. "I sold that to the new owners as well. All that memorabilia. But I won;t need it anyway. I'll be in Boston forgoodnessake."