Yesterday the lovely and talented Mutford clan graced us with a sleepover visit on their way home from New Orleans. While they slept, we managed to drum up a pretty impressive snow storm in a valiant effort to keep them with us for an extra day, but alas they outsmarted us and kept those planes flying somehow.
Naturally we forgot to dig the camera out from its home in the junk drawer, so all we have are the memories tucked into our grey matter. Those, and the thoughtful gifts they brung - a novel, Liquor, by the New Orleans author who sports the delightful moniker of Poppy Z. Brite, and an intriguing art of train hopping DVD.
Now I feel sort of bad about trying to steal John's watch.