Fourth of July

The thing about a good weekend is I take far too many photographs and insist on sharing them. It's a compulsion that leads to a two week drag on this here blog. Makes me really think about what I thought about, or liked, in any given place or at any given time. Not that I elaborate on those subjects, but I do have the thoughts. Sometimes.

Third of July Fireworks

I'm a sucker for fireworks, so the fact that a good number of residents around the lake decided to try out their goods before the fourth was just 'gravy' to me. If gravy could be a pyrotechnic device of magic.
The reflection of the displays on the water was quite nice, I thought.



I wish I could get my habit of taking too many photographs of fireworks under control in much the same way I need to find a way to refrain from picking up half a dozen shells any time I walk on a beach.

Wedding Dinner, Fireworks and Dancing, Part II

After a little dancing the salad arrived. And with the salad, a few toasts. Wonderful toasts. K., the maid of honor, read a lovely quote that expressed a perspective on love and marriage that I thought fit L. and T. quite well. I'll try and track it down. The salad was delightful.
S., the ridiculously tall woman in this photograph, expressed annoyance with her height...which I found a little disingenuous...considering the fact that she was wearing three inch heels.
The dinner buffet consisted of poached salmon, beef tenderloin, green beans and twice baked potatoes. Those potatoes. Man. They had truffle and garlic essences and magic in them. I had to get up from my table and walk over to L. just to congratulate her on the potatoes. They were really, really good. As was everything else. But those potatoes. People dream of those potatoes. Irish people weep over the potato famine anew after taking a taste. It is altogether too much awesome.


L.'s father made a funny speech and I took photographs of him giving it, but none of the photographs came out nicely. Some photographs just don't know how to behave.
I did capture the moment L.'s father raised his glass to the married couple and all under the tent followed. I decided to make it all gritty in photoshop.
Cake cutting. I missed out on eating it. I don't know what was wrong with me. Other than the copious amount of champagne and potatoes in my belly.

More parental dancing.


I had been discussing L.'s wedding with L. for the days and weeks leading up to the event, and enjoyed knowing all the splendors awaiting us. But I didn't know about the fireworks, which started all of a sudden and were quite nice. I then went around telling anyone who would listen that L. and fireworks were high on my list of favorite things, so this combo really pleased me.


The captains' hats circulating the dance floor were used for musical chairs. That's not accurate. How do I phrase it? L. would be in the middle of a circle and one person would have the hat, dance with her for a bit then put the hat on another and then they would come into the circle and have their dance time. Here L. dances with T.
And here L. dances with her brother, Jerome. Jerome was a great dancer, I wish I had managed to get a few better shots of his moves. Also, his name is not really Jerome.
S. and her in utero son dancing with L.

I asked them to smile, but they decided that they would prefer to look serious. So that's what you have.
The DJ was quite good and entertaining. And the Skidmore contingent really got low, low, low.

The dancing eventually concluded, which was disappointing because I had finally put my camera down and busted out my best ironic, Cosby-like moves. A fair number of the older guests had departed, as did the bartender, but the younger folk continued to hang out on the island, drinking and chatting.
Jerome and L.
L.'s other brother, Z., and I had a nice conversation.
M. and I tried out me as a blonde.


I managed to get a photograph with the couple right before our island evening came to a close.
You would think that this would be the last installment of wedding photos. You would be wrong.

Pizza, The Moon and Fireworks

Sunday evening the S.'s made pizza and I can say with little authority that it was the best homemade pizza I have ever had. Really, it was very, very good. Properly loaded up with cheese and all sorts of toppings (peppers, sausage and olives on one, olives, spinach and no sauce on another). Oh man, it was good.


There was another fire, this time build by G., log-cabin style...and across the lake the moon rose again, while people set off fireworks.

I simply cannot get enough of the moon and fireworks.
Nope, not enough.
A. acted as a blanket for her mother and I insisted on taking a photograph, et voila.