Gotta Love Ted

 

My friend Ted just e-mailed me some pictures from the party.

I'm pretty sure it's this one that eventually led to the whole singing in public shenanigans.


 

This is me opening a coveted bottle of Brambleberry from Hazlitt 1852 Vineyard.

 

I have been staring at this bottle for six months.

 

I became addicted to Brambleberry when I worked in New York.

 

The rumors that I would send Ted massive amounts of cash so he could buy the wine by-the-case for me once I moved away may be true.

 

But good 'ol Ted left New York and moved to nearby Washington, D.C. to be a political correspondent.

 

He brought me two last bottles when he came six months ago.

 

And I couldn't bring myself to ever open those last two bottles.

 

But then I downed one on Saturday.
 

Did I mention they were 1.5 liter bottles?
 

That may explain some questionable ballet moves I thought I was so awesome at performing by the end of the night.
 

I always say boots are the new heels ... but leather soled boots also double as ballet slippers on a smooth concrete shop floor.
 

At least that's what the Brambleberry leads me to believe.
 

By the way, who is Ted?

 

He's this guy.

He was a reporter at the station where I anchored in New York.

 

And he's the only person who truly appreciates wine and fast food like I do.

 

We took this picture the morning after the party when we went to the casino breakfast BOO-FAY in town.

 

We both look a little rough, I know.

 

I do for obvious aforementioned reasons.

 

And Ted is on a post- RNC/DNC shaving strike.
 

Because it's the cool thing to do when you have a whole week without liveshots.

 

Otherwise, he's Mr. Clean Cut.

 

 

See?

 

I wasn't kidding.

 

Fall Farm Fest

 

After a super-duper hot farm party last year, (okay, the last three years) we wised up and moved our annual bash to the fall.

 

 

The weather was perfect this year.

 

Just enough of a chill in the air to make it really feel like fall.

 

And I was feeling extra fall-ish, so we served caramel apples and pumpkin bread for appetizers.

 

And then a whole lotta comfort food and desserts after that.

 

Some of my favorite little people came.

 

Including Miss Mulledy Jane, the most stylish cowgirl around.

 

And her spur-wearing, belt buckle-sporting brother Elijah.

 

If kidnapping were legal, I would soooo steal these two.

 

And their newborn baby sister Berkeley Raine.

 

As usual, I forgot to take pictures during the party.

 

But did managed to get a couple of the cornhole games.

 

And I did snag a video of some friends (and awesome musicians) playing bluegrass with my husband. 



And then I caught it.

Out of the corner of my eye.

The public debut of the mandolin.

Guess what he played?

Of course, Copperhead Road.

I think it's still the only song he knows on it.

If you don't count The Gourd's rendition of Gin and Juice.

He does that, too.

 

And it's possible that I had just enough drinks in my system to sing a duet with my husband.

 

But you will never see that on here.

 

Ever.

Meet Massey

 

We've added another furball to our 4-legged brood.

 

Meet Massey.

 

The new resident mouse catcher.

 

I named her after my husband's mowing tractor.

 

(That's Massey Ferguson for you city folk)

 

But only after he wouldn't go for my first choice ... Polka Dot .... Dottie for short.

 

Apparently that's a no-go since she has stripes and not dots.

 

Geez, so literal.

 

 

Even though she is supposed to live in the barn, I sneak her inside quite a bit.

 

She is extremely playful and loves my friend Heather.

 

So playful, as a matter of fact, that right now she is switching between helping me type and clawing holes in my hoodie.

 

But she's not a Woodrow fan.

 

This is her hair-standing-up, back-curling stance she takes every time she sees him.

 

It's followed by a series of hisses, howls and moans.

 

She is, however, a great snuggler.

 

And anytime you can't find her ... look over on the tractor manuals desk in the shop.

 

She likes to hangout somewhere between the stereo and the tractor logs.

 

She has adopted it as her new home.

 

It breaks my heart to leave her in the shop at night.

 

But she'll never catch any mice if I take her to the house.

 

I bought her a pink collar yesterday. It has a little bell on it so I can keep track of her while she's so little. And I made a tag too, in case she gets lost.

 

As you can tell, she's not a fan:

 

((Ignore my annoying "Ow, Ow" She likes to claw her way up my leg and it friggin' hurts)) 

 

When I got to the shop this morning to check on her ... I found her bell and tag up on the desk, and her collar on the floor.

 

I bought her a break-away collar in case she gets caught on all the equipment she climbs on in the shop.

 

The little squirt figured it out and broke it open on her own.

 

She's over it.