My mother has a rather grisly habit of buying picture frames and then hanging them...without pictures. The frames are always lovely; it's the lack of photographs that I find spooky. My love of ornate frames...in sepias and burnished gold...that comes from a little Momma-envy. I, however, FILL my frames.



I purchased the above frames, and filled them with images I captured from our honeymoon in Charleston, SC. Last September, I showed the completed frame [set] to Mom, and she liked it so much that she went and bought two of them for her own home. I was tickled...imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I first discovered them hanging pristinely upon the walls on my visit home last December...utterly unsullied by the act of displaying photographs. They were naive and fresh...and as empty as a pie plate after I've finished with it.

I feel it my mission to fill their void! I began my attack on this beauty. This is the image from the online catalog...my mother's frame had never known such a display. It had only known the vacant stare of its cardboard backing...until ME.

Last Friday, I shot images of the farm, Mom's collectibles, and the like. I shot them with the sepia setting, as her tastes run along the old fashioned, such as mine (or mine do, such as hers...if we want to be accurate) and aged them to look a little scruffy with blurriness and scratches in places for authenticity (or I was trying to cover shotty photography...I can't be certain ;-)).

• Tin Can Collection
• The Farm Sign
• Breezeway Interior
• A Washboard
• A Piece from her Pottery Collection
• The Sunroom
  (Or, the "Identity Crisis Room"...it's been a playroom, an office, a dining room, a family room, and a computer room as well. Cute couple in the rightmost frame, eh? Oh, and that dandy table is actually a sewing machine! WILL WONDERS NEVER CEASE!?)
• Trike planter
• Billowing Lace Curtain
• Oil Lamp
• Spice Collection
• Rosemaling Checkerboard
  
  From Webster: Main Entry: ro·se·ma·ling
  Pronunciation: 'rO-z&-"mä-li[ng]
  Function: noun
  Etymology: Norwegian, from rose [rose] + maling [painting]
  : painted or sometimes carved decoration (as on furniture, walls, or wooden dinnerware) in Scandinavian peasant style that consists especially of floral designs and inscriptions
• A True Country Crock

The frame looks somewhat nice, with pictures filling the gaps. Mom thinks she could grow used to frames displaying pictures. I'm gonna make her worldly yet.

Through artful conversational technique, it was told that Miles' mother is Native American...he says only about an eighth or so. Still, neither Mom nor I were overly surprised, as Milly has that telling regal handsomeness to her features. Through further artful conversational technique, my dad asked which dropped faster: a ton of bricks or a ton of feathers. Mom and I answered just moments before dad completed his own quiz and exclaimed, "Trick question!"

Miles, brooding at the edge of the S.S. Uff Da, corrected, "Actually, the bricks would fall faster because they would have less air resistance." While struggling to refrain from slapping him upside the head, we three rolled our eyes. The boy tends to take the fun out of mindless entertainment. He wouldn't have survived in my house growing up ;-)

Thus, he became Feathers Fall Slowly, a name Mom and I used throughout the night. Dad became his natural ally, though he secretly rejoiced to have the teasing shifted away from himself, I am certain. The two huddled at the opposite end of the pontoon for most of the evening, tolerating our taunts.

Miles raised an eye to the container of grubs, then to the pole propped against the boat. He baited the hook and cast the line, and we cheered, "Feathers Fall Slowly fishes!" I like to call this his Babe Ruth pre-cast.

To be honest, I never realized that my computer-enabled husband knew such outdoorsy behavior. I am dully impressed with Feathers Fall Slowly, even though he has a smart mouth.

However, he seemed more interested in watching the fishies than catching them. Mom said, in her best Indian Chief voice (which obviously wasn't very good at all) "Our tribe is starving, but Feathers Fall Slowly is vegan."

Tonight, we gathered at the farm for a dinner with my folks and a night watching fireworks.

Every year, we were able to watch Rhythm & Booms from the top of the hill. We would tune to the correct radio station and watch the synchronized fireworks display...talk about cool. This year, we added a new spice to the recipe: Dad's pond...Dad's pontoon.

We made our way to the pond, in an area which used to be a sand/gravel pit, which used to be farmland...and that's just in my lifetime. I'm sure it could have been a mountain range, or even a disco hall, at one time.

At first, I thought my father a fool for having a pontoon boat in a piddly 3-acre pond. Upon learning that he named the boat the S.S. Uff Da, I knew my feelings were justified. I must admit, however, that it is quite relaxing to bob upon the water and watch the sun set, and I (*deep breath*) understand his obsession.

I will leave you with a parting photo, more stories to follow including all there is to know on Feathers-Fall-Slowly. But, for now, this will have to do. Clearly, my mother's revelation, whatever it was, was way over my head.