Casa Walsh

Seventeen straight weekdays. Best $1.00 I ever made.

Elias and I had our Christmas morning yesterday. I don’t want to be a show-off, but I got the best present ever!

I whipped up some frosting for the cupcakes I made the night before.

Later in the afternoon we had a little Christmas/Festivus party. No grievances were aired.

Adult storytime:  

Or, be careful what you put on your Amazon.com wishlist.

Elias and I had our Christmas morning yesterday. I don’t want to be a show-off, but I got the best present ever!

I whipped up some frosting for the cupcakes I made the night before.

Later in the afternoon we had a little Christmas/Festivus party. No grievances were aired.

Adult storytime:  

Or, be careful what you put on your Amazon.com wishlist.

Elias and I had our Christmas morning yesterday. I don’t want to be a show-off, but I got the best present ever!

I whipped up some frosting for the cupcakes I made the night before.

Later in the afternoon we had a little Christmas/Festivus party. No grievances were aired.

Adult storytime:  

Or, be careful what you put on your Amazon.com wishlist.

Last night I came home to find this wonderful little tree set up in our living room, already festooned with lights and tinsel. Is there a better word than festoon? Nope. Festoon.

I can’t wait to go home for some more adorning (festooning!) with my glass ornaments and Judy Garland (garland!) paper dolls.

Last night I came home to find this wonderful little tree set up in our living room, already festooned with lights and tinsel. Is there a better word than festoon? Nope. Festoon.

I can’t wait to go home for some more adorning (festooning!) with my glass ornaments and Judy Garland (garland!) paper dolls.

Last night I came home to find this wonderful little tree set up in our living room, already festooned with lights and tinsel. Is there a better word than festoon? Nope. Festoon.

I can’t wait to go home for some more adorning (festooning!) with my glass ornaments and Judy Garland (garland!) paper dolls.

Here’s something I wrote on the train last month. Sure, it’s not new content, but it’s new to you!

I’m traveling down to own to New Jersey today because my family is throwing my grandmother a party for her 95^th birthday. Grandma has four children, seven grandchildren, 10 great-grandchildren and a score of great-nieces, nephews and cousins. I didn’t bring her a present, just a card. I called her the other day and asked her what she wanted for her birthday. “Oh, dear, you know I don’t want anything.” I’m taking her word for it this time. I thought it would be nice to bring her some pictures, but she’s run out of space in her small apartment. Every surface, the fridge, the desks, the dresser, the table and walls are all covered with framed photographs of her ranks of small family members. There’s a picture collage on the wall in her bedroom; all pictures of me as a baby and toddler. That’s my corner. I don’t want to take up more space than I’m allotted. The last time we visited grandma gave me a small stack of old photographs of me. “I thought you might want these,” she said.

I thought of bringing her a batch of pepparkakors, the spicy molasses cookies she used to bake me, my favorite. But I couldn’t find the recipe she gave me. And I thought it would draw attention to her inability to do any baking these days. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive, but I felt similar guilt choosing a birthday card. I didn’t want to go the hallmark route; the sappy poem embossed over the pastel sunset. All the cards in the small boutique stores in Cambridge are directed at a certain type of person – that is, someone with a sense of irony, or of misplaced nostalgia. Have you seen these “retro” cards? Tinted vintage photographs of women in modest bathing suits, the “modern” kitchen, families eating TV dinners. These cards are not meant for people who lived out these scenes, as the captions usually boil down to, “can you believe people once looked like this?” Also out, all the cards mentioning “kicking ass”, getting drunk, or making fun of old age.

I chose a beautiful card; screen-printed flowers on recycled paper. A simple “Happy Birthday” message in script on the inside. What to write? Dear Grandma. Happy Birthday. I love you. XOXO Amanda. Anything else seems wrong. “Many happy returns?” The woman is 95, maybe she doesn’t want many happy returns. I respect the living history of my grandma, but I don’t feel the need to point it out. Hey, you sure did produce a lot of people. Most of the people at the party wouldn’t be alive had grandma not been born in 1908. That’s something to put on a card, eh?

Here’s something I wrote on the train last month. Sure, it’s not new content, but it’s new to you!

I’m traveling down to own to New Jersey today because my family is throwing my grandmother a party for her 95^th birthday. Grandma has four children, seven grandchildren, 10 great-grandchildren and a score of great-nieces, nephews and cousins. I didn’t bring her a present, just a card. I called her the other day and asked her what she wanted for her birthday. “Oh, dear, you know I don’t want anything.” I’m taking her word for it this time. I thought it would be nice to bring her some pictures, but she’s run out of space in her small apartment. Every surface, the fridge, the desks, the dresser, the table and walls are all covered with framed photographs of her ranks of small family members. There’s a picture collage on the wall in her bedroom; all pictures of me as a baby and toddler. That’s my corner. I don’t want to take up more space than I’m allotted. The last time we visited grandma gave me a small stack of old photographs of me. “I thought you might want these,” she said.

I thought of bringing her a batch of pepparkakors, the spicy molasses cookies she used to bake me, my favorite. But I couldn’t find the recipe she gave me. And I thought it would draw attention to her inability to do any baking these days. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive, but I felt similar guilt choosing a birthday card. I didn’t want to go the hallmark route; the sappy poem embossed over the pastel sunset. All the cards in the small boutique stores in Cambridge are directed at a certain type of person – that is, someone with a sense of irony, or of misplaced nostalgia. Have you seen these “retro” cards? Tinted vintage photographs of women in modest bathing suits, the “modern” kitchen, families eating TV dinners. These cards are not meant for people who lived out these scenes, as the captions usually boil down to, “can you believe people once looked like this?” Also out, all the cards mentioning “kicking ass”, getting drunk, or making fun of old age.

I chose a beautiful card; screen-printed flowers on recycled paper. A simple “Happy Birthday” message in script on the inside. What to write? Dear Grandma. Happy Birthday. I love you. XOXO Amanda. Anything else seems wrong. “Many happy returns?” The woman is 95, maybe she doesn’t want many happy returns. I respect the living history of my grandma, but I don’t feel the need to point it out. Hey, you sure did produce a lot of people. Most of the people at the party wouldn’t be alive had grandma not been born in 1908. That’s something to put on a card, eh?

Here’s something I wrote on the train last month. Sure, it’s not new content, but it’s new to you!

I’m traveling down to own to New Jersey today because my family is throwing my grandmother a party for her 95^th birthday. Grandma has four children, seven grandchildren, 10 great-grandchildren and a score of great-nieces, nephews and cousins. I didn’t bring her a present, just a card. I called her the other day and asked her what she wanted for her birthday. “Oh, dear, you know I don’t want anything.” I’m taking her word for it this time. I thought it would be nice to bring her some pictures, but she’s run out of space in her small apartment. Every surface, the fridge, the desks, the dresser, the table and walls are all covered with framed photographs of her ranks of small family members. There’s a picture collage on the wall in her bedroom; all pictures of me as a baby and toddler. That’s my corner. I don’t want to take up more space than I’m allotted. The last time we visited grandma gave me a small stack of old photographs of me. “I thought you might want these,” she said.

I thought of bringing her a batch of pepparkakors, the spicy molasses cookies she used to bake me, my favorite. But I couldn’t find the recipe she gave me. And I thought it would draw attention to her inability to do any baking these days. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive, but I felt similar guilt choosing a birthday card. I didn’t want to go the hallmark route; the sappy poem embossed over the pastel sunset. All the cards in the small boutique stores in Cambridge are directed at a certain type of person – that is, someone with a sense of irony, or of misplaced nostalgia. Have you seen these “retro” cards? Tinted vintage photographs of women in modest bathing suits, the “modern” kitchen, families eating TV dinners. These cards are not meant for people who lived out these scenes, as the captions usually boil down to, “can you believe people once looked like this?” Also out, all the cards mentioning “kicking ass”, getting drunk, or making fun of old age.

I chose a beautiful card; screen-printed flowers on recycled paper. A simple “Happy Birthday” message in script on the inside. What to write? Dear Grandma. Happy Birthday. I love you. XOXO Amanda. Anything else seems wrong. “Many happy returns?” The woman is 95, maybe she doesn’t want many happy returns. I respect the living history of my grandma, but I don’t feel the need to point it out. Hey, you sure did produce a lot of people. Most of the people at the party wouldn’t be alive had grandma not been born in 1908. That’s something to put on a card, eh?