Live & Kern

A couple of weeks ago I went to Washington, D.C., for my brother’s wedding. It was lovely. While there, we also did a little sight-seeing.

Washington Monument and Constitution Pond

U.S. Capitol

I also spent my vacation scanning (and photographing) QR codes. Because I’m a nerd and do things like that. Sadly, about half of the QR codes I found (out of six, I think) didn’t work. I also discovered some new Twitter accounts to follow. (Dear U.S. National Park Service: I could do a lot of fun things with social media for Arlington House. You have a good start, but there’s so much more potential there. Call me.)

Bearcat missed me terribly. Miraculously, everyone survived both the drive to D.C. and back home. And the wedding was perfect.

My brother is getting married next month. My mother and I are the only members of his family going to the wedding. Not that we have a large family, but he did come back from a deployment overseas to walk my sister down the aisle for her wedding …

My mother has decided to “plan” the couple’s rehearsal dinner. Which means she gave my brother and his fiancée cash to help cover the dinner, then decided she could invite a friend to attend and go pick the venue and recraft the guest list. In my world, gifts do not work that way. Now she’s upset because the bride wants to do things her way, and says she won’t have enough time (a weekend) to get to know the bride’s family.

Really, I want to be left out of all of this. I want to go to the wedding, wish the couple a lifetime of health and happiness, and have a glass of celebratory champagne. At this rate, I’m going to be looking for a designated driver for the rehearsal dinner and wedding reception.

I caught Bearcat on the (cluttered) dining room table Tuesday night, which she has never been interested in. (And she is aware of my no-table and no-counter rules.) My brother was staying with me at the time.

Me: “Were you jumping on the table with Bear last night?”
Adam: “What’d she tell you?”
Me: “I just want to know who’s the bad influence.”
Adam: “She did it first.”

Damn cat.

When I was at my mother’s last weekend (pre-roller coaster ride), we picked and picked and picked and picked green beans. This wasn’t the first time, by any means. I brought home about half of the bounty — snapped, there was one-and-a-half gallon-size Ziploc bags of green beans.

That’s a lot of green beans. They’re fantastic steamed with a little garlic salt and pepper.

I have been assured that when I got back next weekend (when, hopefully, I will have a car to pick up. Or a progress report of some sort.), there will be just as many.

Plus sweet corn.

And zucchini. (I don’t do zucchini.)

And some maybe tomatoes.

Mom’s (very big) garden has cut down on my summer grocery bill, for sure. Now if she could only get that bacon to come up at the same time the tomatoes are ripe …

Regarding a broken garden hoe, which, for the second time, had become detached from it’s handle.

Me: I fixed your hoe.

Mom: It’ll just break again.

Me: I don’t think so. Last time I fixed it, it was fine for three weeks. And after I smooshed it back together, I went out and hoed around a little.

Mom: You’re such a little hoer.