Maggie Monday, The Pronunciation Edition

Last week, Barbara asked me to illustrate the Maggie pose. I went through a collection of photographs and came across these.

Taken when my sister lived in Chicago in the early 90s (big hair, Sissy!). I think we were arguing which is why everyone looks so miserable, and why I popped up to take a photo. Because you can't have enough pictures of pissed-off people! We were also miserable because it was freaking cold. I didn't actually own a winter coat and everywhere we went, I was bundled up in a trench coat with a scarf wrapped around my head like a babushka. Cute.

I don't know where this one was taken, but I think they ordered the tasting menu.

This was my aunt and uncle's 25th (and a half) anniversary cruise. Look at Mags, she brought her drink all the way to the other side of the table just to toast the camera. And she put on every piece of leopard print clothing she had packed, and insisted on wearing her leopard print sunglasses at night. That is one hot cougar old lady.

This one is from Aruba. Which brings me to this week's Maggie Monday story. In the early 80s, my mother and father, Maggie and I went to Aruba. One night, after our fancy dinner (and presumably a few drinks) we were in a taxi back to the hotel. A silence had fallen and suddenly we hear my grandmother, "a-ROO-ba," she says. Then "A-roo-BAH." Then "A-ROOOOO-ba." The rest of us start cracking up, and I think that's when she realized we were still there. But now you can't drive any distance with my family without someone reading the street signs with varying inflections. Even the dude.

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After Friday's stitch-in, where I did remarkably little work on the flower basket on the marquoir, I turned my attention to Christmas crafting since I was a chess widow again this weekend. I started painting boxes. I painted the papier mache boxes for the spa gifts--and started knitting the wash cloths--and the box to mount this for Sissy's not-so-hypothetical future beach house. I was so pleased with myself painting the box a base coat of marine blue with a crackle coat of parchment. Then I set off to mount the stitched piece. The one I cannot find. It is not in the FUFO pile. It is not on the craft table. It is not anywhere. Which, it turns out, is exactly where the strips I cut for the messenger bags are. It turns out the lovely job I did painting the box resulted in a box that is now painted shut. So much for the successful weekend of Christmas crafting.