First of all, I need to put out this letter of apology out to the blogosphere, and most importantly, to Mary Ann.
Dear Mary Ann,
I’m sorry for the disparaging remarks I made about your recent arrest for possession of marijuana. My husband, just showed me a news article in which you were exonerated of most of the charges. Complete with a much more flattering photo. I apologize for jumping on that media band wagon.
And just for the record, you were one of my favorite islanders, too. Except that I thought the Professor was really smokin’. Only, when I was 10, I didn’t say “smokin’.” But he was.
Again. My bad.
On Easter Sunday, I posted a graphic I found of a drawing of the empty tomb, in 70’s style colors. I thought it was groovy. And it expressed the jubilation I felt on Easter morning with “He is risen!”
Amen to that.
Well. When Fiddledaddy (my live-in graphic artist) saw it, he mumbled something about how I was working “outside of my gifts” and he went off to create a new and improved graphic for me. Because as the creator and manager of the aesthetic appeal of my blog, he felt the graphic I had chosen reflected badly on him.
Too groovy, I guess.
What he came up with instead, was something spectacular. He had taken Emme and Cailey to Easter sunrise service on the beach, and he took some beautiful pictures of them frolicking in the ocean.
Yes, a couple of you referenced the fact that I call our place of residence “Armpit, Florida” while we live within driving distance to this beautiful ocean. Which is true.
If you are a beach type of gal.
Which I am not.
I blame it on too many pain-filled summers spent at Padre Island, Texas in my youth. When I thought it was a good idea to slather myself in baby oil, and bake on the beach. When I’m already prone to sunburn. And peel. And freckle. And dehydration. And bad taste in swim wear.
Also note that using “Sun-In” on your hair during these basting sessions never produced the desired affect. Orange hair and pink skin clash. Just sayin’.
A couple of you e-mailed me to ask how he put the graphic together.
Photo shop, my friends. Photo shop. I know nothing of how this process works. I only know that Fiddledaddy had the ability to erase my braces, and trim my ears in a bit during one near disastrous Christmas photo shoot.
And for that, I will forever be indebted to him and this Photo Shop.
And for the record, I didn’t avoid the Easter festivities because of my disdain for the beach, but rather to save the sanctity of the sunrise service by keeping Jensen at home. Had he attended, everyone there would have ended up in the ocean.
And we would have been in the news. Once again.
We managed to go an entire week without killing “Crabby” the depressed hermit crab. Emme kept asking me why he was burying himself into the sand of his tiny prison. I assured her he was just shy.
In reality, I’m certain he was afraid of me and my well known love of sea food. And was equally frightened of my daughters, Dr. Death and her faithful sidekick, Nurse Ratchet.
Evidently, hermit crabs are a hearty lot. If we were to ever consider a pet, like say, when pigs take flight, then I would definitely consider a hermit crab.
Have a lovely week everyone!