sweasel.com

Wonderful post.

I shudder to think about the time when they’ll have to put a particularly unattractive man on their colourful money. So, there’s something to be thankful about, that The Queen is still around.

Thanks for the thanksgiving wishes. I’m a in a somewhat down mood (I made the mistake of reading the news and what’s been going on) but I’m looking forward to the huge thanksgiving dinner in a few hours!

Mmmm, I love the images I find here.

Most of them.

Most of the time.

But this one especially.

I had to look up inglenook to be sure I knew what it was. Wikipedia has a picture of your fireplace as an example, or so it would appear. 16th century and all.

If you mistakenly enter inglenook into the URL field, Opera takes you to an age verification page for a winery in CA. At first glance I thought it was a pron page. Heh.

The things we learn on this internet thingy.

It’s great that you’re home, Sweasel. Best of everything to you and Uncle B. Here’s to stout walls to keep the howling wind out.

Yes, I almost put a link to the images page for “inglenook” but I thought maybe I was the only damn fool that didn’t know the word until I started coming here. I hate to sound patronizing.

Some of them are big enough to put an armchair in and sit. Ours isn’t, but it’s pretty damn big, and the bread oven is impressive.

Uh oh. It appears that they’re on to ya, Sweasel.

Check out the comment by Sylvia. 🙂

That you are lucky enough to be you today, Weez, is enough for the rest of us to be thankful for.

Happy Thanksgiving!

/can’t think… Getting.. all… maudlin… Must… fight….. turkey… drugged… Wine.. didn’t.. help…. zzzzzzzzzzzz……….

Happy Thanksgiving to you!
What a great picture of Charlotte – when do we get to see Uncle B?

I feel patronized.

Glad you finally made it sweasel!

Jessica! SarahD! Haven’t seen either of you in ages.

You’ll never get a picture of Uncle B (except p’raps by private email). I’m careful what I post about him, as he values his privacy and the Web gives him the jimm-jamms. He does, however, uncannily resemble a badger.

Oh! I forgot to mention…Uncle B took that picture. He took a whole series of her skulking around the bread oven. They’re now best of friends, and she loves Badger House, but she’s still in stealth mode.

Is that a left-handed spronging fork that Charlotte is admiring? It looks very …. authentic. Yeah. Authentic.

I hope the Spirit of Tryptophan is visiting all and sundry in happy ways. mmmm, naps!

Good deal the entire way around, Weasel. This gives me the warm fuzzes.

🙂

What a beautiful cat. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Great picture!

“It was a little damp today, but they were out gamely selling anyhow.”

And, hopefully, selling game! Mmm, pheasant….

Hope you had a tranquil thanksgiving!

Thanks for taking good care of our Lady, Uncle B.

They do sell game in the grocery stores here, Jill. There’s a warning card on the case cautioning you to watch out for any shot that might be in the meat.

G’morning. Stayed up too late and got me a bit of the scungemouth.

Well, git yer apron on and start bustlin’ ’round the kitchen, Weas! That’ll clear you right up!

Congrats, Weaz. Glad to hear it’s all going well. I’ll surely raise a glass to you and Uncle B tonight. In fact, I’ll do it from the stage (band’s playing in Atlanta tonight) and make everyone in the joint join me. So if y’all’s ears begin to burn around 1 AM or so EST, you’ll know why.

Thanksgiving to remember for the Weasel.

After long and difficult preparations, including tricking the bureaucrats of two governments and the sale of all worldly possessions, her journey starts with the near-loss of her faithful-but-afraid companion to last-second fears and doubts.

Our Lass bravely chooses to search and rescue her dear Charlotte -even at the risk of the wreck of her own plans; fortunately love and a special knowledge that only true friends share triumphs at the last possible moment.

Throwing money at the driver, and shouting, “Damn the police, man! – I’ve a plane to catch and my true love is waiting!”,there a wild ride through the cold November countryside to the tiny Rhode Island airport, where the pilot waits, smoking a third cigarette and glancing at his watch. He can be a little late, for a plucky girl. Besides, by pulling up to 50,000 feet and then putting the plane into a powerdive, he can make up the lost time over the Atlantic – if she comes soon.

Meanwhile, Uncle Badger waits. His tie is in the pocket of his tweed jacket… it’s been on again, off again. He knows that she’ll think it too stuffy and Brit to wear a tie, but dammit! it IS an occasion, and he’ll be uncomfortable with his collar open. The flowers are wilting, but he doesn’t think about that. He wishes he still smoked, since he can’t have another drink, and his scotch (splash of soda) is wearing off.

Finally, through the fog comes the shrill shriek of a Jet in a dive. He glances again at his watch. That’s the one. Her plane. He drops the newspaper that he’s been staring at blankly – doesn’t hear the Cleaning Lady mutter, “‘ello Guv, have a bit of thought there” – as he strides to the gate, flowers clutched too tight in his hand.

Ah, then there are Customs! “Hello, Miss. Coming from America on a Finance visa, are we? Well then…” And then the rescue of a pathetically mewing Charlotte who is wondering exactly what the hell just happened? and what the hell is going to happen next?.

We will not linger on the tears, and kisses and hugs. Those are private things not to be discussed before the minions like us.

Instead we shall leave our Badger and Weasel basking in the soft orange light of the fireplace, snuggled together under a warm wool blanket, past talking of nothing, but still too excited to todder off to their bed. A “I thought you’d be hungry” meal sits only nibbled at on the table, and a bowl of cream is waiting for Charlotte when she sneaks out of hiding….

Was there ever a better Thanksgiving? This is the night the poet was dreaming of when he wrote, so many centuries ago,

“Blow, western wind, when will thou blow
and down small rain can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!”

Scungemouth sounds so romantic!

I’m late to the party, was on the road a lot yesterday. Hard to complain when your travels take you through the Carneros region of the Napa valley on the way to family and turkey.

But the thing that I’m most thankful for is the companionship of family. I’m happy that you made your trip safely and that you (and charlotte) have found your home and companion. You just can’t put a price on that.

Nice pic of Ye merry baker cat. the only thing missing is a cloud of self-rising flour in the air….. 🙂

No, Stoaty, you’re not the only one who didn’t know what an inglenook was. Being from California originally, I immediately thought of the winery. I’m always happy to learn a new word; the opportunity doesn’t arise all that often anymore. BTW, the best thing about having a PhD that I don’t use (since I change diapers and cook and mop and read Dr. Seuss for a living now) is that it gives me the freedom to admit I’ve never heard of something without having to worry about people thinking I’m ignorant. Expensive toy, those little letters have turned out to be.

I hope you both had time to stop at the pub on the way home to, errr. . . dry off and such.

I hope you both had time to stop at the pub on the way home to