Thank goodness for the public library and high speed access!!!!

Whew! What a luxury to be able to post so many photos so quickly! Or... at all these days!
Not sure what order they are all in, but obviously Christmas pics! My boys Justin and Scotty, my mom and niece Miss Margery, and of course Tony and myself!
Plus one of the kittens, which should havce a caption reading, "everytime Daddy makes us a fire in the fireplace we alllll fallllllsss asssslleeeeep...." and one where Justin appears similarly affected by the fire!
I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! Much love to all!
xo Stevie

Yes, Peter, there is a Santa Claus, but even he would not venture this weather without longjohns!

"TV saying this morning the wind chill temp was (or will be) -53C near you.
That's just cruel."
Yes, my dear Peter, that is truly just cruel.
I went out this morning to feed the critters, my only morning chore today, Tony and I having done as much as we can the past couple of days so as to take a day off... in as much as we ever truly take one.
I thought as we would be back inside within half an hour, my jeans, hat, scarf and sheepskin would be sufficient to keep me warm.
What I neglected was long underwear.
Let me tell you what -39 feels like in a pair of skinny legged jeans.
At first, though you realize your mistake quickly, you think "Bah, just a few minutes in the cold."
But by the time I reached the third pen, I felt as though I were wading pantless though a vast field of Devil's Club, a beautiful broad leaf plant that harbours thousands of tiny stinging needles on every curve.
If you have ever encountered this plant, much like stinging nettle, you can imagine that you would want to get out of said field quickly. But with two more pens and the barn to get back to, I was smack dab in the centre, and no where to go but forward.
While my sheepskin did keep my core warm, my legs were in agony by the time I reached the aforementioned barn.
A mistake I will not repeat anytime soon.
But while the cruel fingers of winter sliced at my legs, the sky in brazen contrast to that misery was a brilliant clear blue, as if glorying in the icy tentacles this December has wrought, and daring me to linger and soak in that beauty. The fact it was so brightly blue while it was so still early in the morning seemed more a poke in the nose than any gift of nature. It only comes at the cost of extreme cold, that particular hue.
Clear skies, as any Albertan will tell you, or for that matter any prairie province, means especially cold weather, no protective cloud covering to hold down whatever warmth the jet stream or muggy pollutive haze the nearby cities might provide.
And as clear as that, sounds travel more clearly, the the traffic from the Parkland Highway just a kilometre away seemed to crack as clear as gunshots, tires crunching and Doppler effects unmuffled even by the wind drifted mounds of snow.
Inside the barn, after feeding a wayward cria who just refuses to grow up and tending to the two older ladies, one of whom has been on death's door for months now (though no one thought to tell her, so she keeps plodding along as if she actually has red blood cells in her shriveled arteries), I grit my teeth for the short walk back to the warmth of the house, knowing full well that while my legs have quit stinging, they will take only seconds to begin again when I emerge.
Grinning the grin of a fool that knows her folly, I nip quickly back into the house, where Tony awaits, having finished his own chores just minutes earlier, coffee ready for me, steaming and rich with the full fat cream I adore, and served, I must add, in the one of the splendid mugs Dale gave us for the wedding.
"No long underwear?!" he exclaims as I explain my rueful smile. "My God. You are one tough chick."
(Translation: you nutty broad.)
It is a lovely day to be inside.

Missing woman causes concern

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN?

Investigators are flabbergasted by the mysterious disappearance of one Margie CM, known affectionately to some as Madam Margie From Down Undah, and a disorganized crime ring is suspected.
"We have been searching high and low," said Detective Frankenfurter LaBrassier.
"There have been numerous reports of movement in the underground caramel groups, and as Ms. CM has been known to lose her head over such sweet and sticky treats... well, we can only hope she has not fallen prey to these dastardly sweet mongers."
One suspect, a titian-haired woman from the northern reaches of Alberta, has been questioned regarding this case.
Known only as Stevie, the suspect allegedly sent the Australian born woman a large box of sweets, including marshmallows, chocolate, and caramels. More suspect though was the tin of fruit tea included in the package, which shook the Australian postal service to the core a few years back.
Although she declined an interview, the Edmonton Alpaca herd manager did admit to sending the treats, but denied they were part of a dastardly plot to ensnare Ms. CM in a worldwide ring of mouthwatering indulgance. However, a second such package was sent in the direction of Trashington, Northumberland that very same year to one Gypsy Noir, who is now the prime suspect in this mystery.
Ms. Noir has herself ties to the nefarious Ferrion gang, and has been known to harbour not only sweets in her apartment above a Chinese take-away, but to consort with Bert, the drunken carrier pigeon, as well as several feline conspirators and and the notorious Neil Emery, reputed son of Pete Townshend. Scotland Yard is closing in on Ms. Noir's residence as we speak... erm... type, and will ransack the joint for any sign of Ms. CM in hopes of finding her safe and free of caramel.
If you have any information that could lead to the solving of this case, please forward them to Scotland Yard post haste.
THIS JUST IN!!!!!!!
Vally P has admitted to potentially having had part in McM's disappearance. The plot thickens...

um... brrrr

and tomorrow morning, a balmy -29, with a wind chill to make it feel like -39 degrees celsius!
Wow... I think it will be a good day to work in the barn and then hang some photos on the walls of the spare rooms...
All this after nearly 20 cm of snow and more flurries tomorrow.
Welcome to Edmonton folks!

just a little snow...

I awoke this morning to a gentle dusting of snow on the trees and ground. A faint melencholia settles around me, the same sort of gentle shawl that the trees are wearing... light, smiling a little sadly, a protective coverlet preparing us both for the winter to come.
Tony sits at the table with his coffee, the inevitable book propped in front of him. My own current tome resides on the bedtable, its call to me unanswered.
In a strange way I want to let this feeling drift over me completely, wrap up in it, and let the tremendous changes of this past year really sink in.
So much... so much.
In many ways, life here is lonely. I mean that not so much as a complaint as perhaps a comparison to the life I led before. It is a contrast so great I am not sure how even to describe it.
From a constant surrounding of people to a solitude of just a few, or more often, of the one.
I have no desire today to look forward or back. Today, I would rather allow that sense of reflection give me pause, a moment in time to catch my breath, take in the enormity of the new path I travel. I feel a great need to get my home in order, paint the rooms that still wait, prepare them for the people in my life I hope will be here soon.
It is not really MY home, but as long as I am here on this ranch, it is mine to make home.
Such changes.
Such changes.
A time now to heal perhaps, rest my soul, allow that ache to come through finally, so perhaps, just perhaps, it will abate and move on.
Just a little snow...

I think I used them all!

WARNING: this post is really quite absurd. Perhaps have a few drinks prior ro reading to dull the inevitable pain....

I sit on my recliner
And attempt to find
The right meter and rhythm
My own challange a bind.

So I will tell you a story
With verisimilitde
And certainly hope
I never am rude.

My titian hair tousled
My brainwaves in peril
I dwell and I dither
My words come out sterile.

But I tell myself "Stephanie,
You must have more pluck.
SO get out of this dwaal
Lest this poem be all muck."

So I will attempt to vivisect
A day common to me
With conundrums aplenty
And much puckery.

The kittens shenanigans
(you see we have four)
Have made a kaleidescope
Of my living room floor.

These scurrilous felines
Begin every day
With Snagglepuss tactics
They just won't obey.

Then after a coffee
For caffeine is a must
I make my way to the barn
Feeling oh so robust.

I don my galoshes
After snarffing a bagal
My nifty jeans all tucked in
To avoid the yard's muddy peril.


"Oglalla!" I shout
Pretending that it's someone's name
And not a species from Voyager
See Star Trek's the game!

The evenstar hangs
In the dark morning air
Giving an eerie bouffant
To my touque covered hair.

The alpaca pellets
A first morning treat
Are greeted with wahoos
And ogles repleat.

Rex is sanguine
Then suddenly lugubrious
He realizes I am walking
Not driving the gator... so curious.

You see Rex is a Gator Dog
It is his job to navigate
So when driving said ranch wheels
I do not discomobulate.

But this morning I walk rounds
In peripatetic fashion
Pouring sesamoid offerings
Into troughs is my passion.

I would play them a tune
If I just had a zither
Instead of singing off key
And sending cria a-dither.

Perhaps filled with aldrenadon
Or suffering hallucinogenation
I pitchfork the hay
For the critters' better selection.

A few cria bottle fed
A bunch of shots given
Is the only way I can think of
To include antidisestablishmentariansim.

My uvula quivers
My tummy is queasy
Do I really dare post
This literary travesty?!

"BAH!" says I, with a right hook to good taste
"I will post it and laugh right in my own face!"
So with that fellow bloggers, yes you, all my friends
I will bring my gaggle-less efforts, now closed, to their end.

(this is just soooooooo awful... lol!)

okay then....

SO we have:
dwarf
dwindle
dwell
pluck (must be used as a noun)
sesamoid
verisimilitude
peril
galoshes
bouffant
dwaal
discombobulate
conundrum
titian
peripatetic
puckery
and from Rache "IJUSTNEEDONEMORECUPOFCOFFEETOFLY" (hee hee!)
snagglepuss
snarf
shenanigans
aldrenadon (which Rache made up, so we best wait for her daffy... er, definition)
hallucinogenation (see above remark!)
evenstar
gaggle
kaleidescope
lugubrious
vivisect
woosah
zither
dither
uvula
travesty
scurrilous
sanguine (ooo I do like this one!)
robust
obey
nifty
ogle
Oglalla
queasy
and of course...
antidisestablishmentariansim

All righty then! Rise to the challenge friends and neighbours! I tag you all to use as many of these in a post as possible! Creative silliness encouraged mightily!

word play.... please play with me!

OK, so my last post was solved instantly by darling Lannio, (the Three Great DWs: dwarf, dwindle and dwell) and Val added a lovely new one to the mix with dwaal!
We also have pluck, which must be used as a noun.
I am tagging everyone!
Let's play a game. Let's list as many unusual, or not used nearly enough, or obscure and strange words as we can and then... we will put them all together! I challenge everyone (once we have a nice crop of them) to stuff in as many as they can in a post of their own.
Mooaahahahahaha! The recipe of a literary mad scientest.... a veritable Frankenstein of phrases! Oh, include phrases too if you like... but don't let on the definitions... perhaps we will learn a little on the way!
I am going to start with
sesamoid (always wanted to use this one and never had the chance)
salubrious
verisimilitude
peril (which started this whole thing off)
galoshes
bouffant

The three great DWs.....

Ok, so while spending a brilliant evening with Dale, we happened on the topic of wonderful words in the English language that are not used nearly often enough. I believe the word that sparked that discussion was "peril."
It reminded me of an email from my friend Peter, who seems to figure quite often on my blog lately! I do not recall just what the whole email was about, but at the end, Peter noted the three Great DWs, three words that begin with dw that are not used nearly often enough, (as well as the word pluck used as a noun.)
So I challenge you all to figure out and list the Three Great DWs... and Peter, I know you are reading this, so no cheating! But do feel free to comment... :)

a request....

could you, would you, all of you please, send me your physical mailing address? You do not have to post it on here, but if you would email it to me at stephanieannstevens@gmail.com I would greatly appreciate it! I have this silly idea that I might be organized enough this year to send Christmas cards to one and all... hee hee! But I have been rather into writing real letters lately, and would love to be able to zip one your way(s) when inspiration strikes!
Thank all.. much love...
S
Margie oh Margie... where for are thou Margie????

today...

i miss my boys so much it is all i can do to stop crying

my friend...

Peter... I hope you do not mind this... sharing a piece of your last letter to me... you reminded me of something I had let go for far too long...
S

....You write beautifully.
Scott soaring and becoming a man.
Finding Tony.
Even that rebuttal to those who must have lost all their senses and urged caution upon you. I guess you know you're a good writer when you can tell your friends to fuck off, without them really knowing that's what you said, but nonetheless being convinced that they should, well, fuck off.

You told me a story once about that gay guy who was in your year at SAIT, who Ian took mercy upon and allowed to intern at his paper. You said that some community leader stopped Ian on the street one day and told him as forcefully as polite communication allows that he couldn't let that kid ever become a journalist.

If I could meet your Tony on the street, I'd tell him as forcefully as polite communication allows -- no, maybe I'd risk it all and grab him and shake him and tell him as forcefully as necessary communication demands that he can't ever let that wife of his stop writing.

Your friend,

Peter....

his words made me feel like an inspired student again... my professor, my teacher, my friend.
Peter was my newswriting instructor at SAIT for two years.
Peter, who never believed in an A , because there is always room for improvement.
Peter, who always called me Stevens, rather than Stephanie, who tented his fingers and stared at me over them with those brooding, inestimable eyes, daring me to keep his steady gaze and earn his respect.
Peter, who referred to our craft always as committing journalism, and whose casual references to his time as a foreign correspondent in the Middle East in the 80s made me yearn to drink in his memories over strong coffee brewed long and black in the Turkish tradition.
It was from Peter that I most craved praise, and from Peter I took criticism not as a setback, but as fuel to improve, to learn more and be the best writer I could be.
And from him, in the end, I got not only knowledge, but a friendship I carry with me like a talisman, more powerful than any charm I wear, more precious than any jewel or token, invisible to others but pressed indelibly within my breast.

His humour, dry and often sarcastic, felt like a shared secret.
I walked into the dark halls of SAIT one early fall morning, the sun barely risen, the grey cement height of the Senator Burns building adding to the quiet the uninspired hallways brought. On the train to school that cold morning the sky had burst with colour, filling me, as it never fails to, with a sort of awe at
the effortlessness of nature to point out good naturedly the impotance she observes in our human existence.
I saw him walking purposefully ahead of me, and called to him. I asked if he had see the sunrise that morning.
His stride did not falter and he responded without pause, "yes Stevens. I watched it with my first years upstairs. We all held hands and sang Feelings."
The quip was delivered dryly, without a glance, but not without a subtle note to it that understood my understanding of the humour within, meant, I like to believe, only for me.
And Peter, who when I was at one of my lowest moments when I was a reporter years ago, overwhelmed with work and life and staring at a deadline already behind me, my spirit crushed and no strength in reserve to draw upon, it was Peter, in response to a desperate plea-riddled email from me that long night, who demanded in no uncertain terms I get my ass in gear, get the work done, and take time to break down later.
Perfect.
More one of my tribe than any ought to be, it brings my soul a healthy measure of steadiness to know he will always be just there, ready to listen, laugh, share of his own... to sidestep in time perchance to share that Turkish coffee, but until then, always just a keystroke away.

and you thought hormones affected YOU.....

So, here I am, entering my eighth month at Amber Autumn Alpacas, happily married to my tall Dutch cowboy, and I have discovered fairly recently that hormonal changes during pregnancy are most certainly NOT restricted to humans.
Nope. Nada. Niet. Nay.
Enter exhibit one.
Ekela.
Now Ekela is a very attractive alpaca, weighing in at about 165 pounds (which is about 40 pounds less than Big Crystal, who did her level best to knock me out last Saturday but managed only to knock me on my back and put my tooth through my lip and nearly break my nose, but that is a story for another post).
When I met her, Ekela was well along in her pregnancy (alpaca gestation is 11 and a half months) and she would stand in her pasture, tail erect and cluck incessantly at me or anyone else with her regal head held high. In alpaca speak, this means (loosely translated of course) " back the hell off or I swear I will charge you and stomp you to smithereens."
If she were in a particularly bad mood, the clucking and posturing was accompanied by a well aimed spit, made up of a lovely blend of regurgitated grass and/or hay and pellets, made up at no small expense just for our rather large herd.
It is a fragrance I truly hope none of you ever wear.
But of course, as she was not in full control of her emotions, we would just give her a wide berth and avoid the spitting, choosing instead to coo to her in soothing tones that she was a lovely girl, and we were so looking forward to meeting her cria, which we truly hoped would be a lovely pure white female.
Time came, about two months ago, that Ekela gave birth to a lovely while male cria, whom I have dubbed Zeke, though his official name has yet to be given.
Of course like all new mums, our Ms. Ekela was VERY protective for the first while and the clucking continued for a couple of weeks.
Then one day, we noticed a wee change.
In doing routine herd care, trimming toenails, giving shots etc., Tony remarked to me, "Honey, do you see how Ekela is acting?"
I looked, and no word of a lie, she was rubbing up against him, as if to say, "Oh Hi! My name is Ekela, and oh please would you rub my neck? You are ever so handsome... did you feel my fleece? It really is soft and fine... touch it... really, go ahead!"
Flirting with abandon at my then fiance (now husband... titter titter!) Ekela went out of her way to charm Tony, then turned her eyes to me and gave what for all the world looked like a dazzling smile.
She continued this way each time we saw her for a few weeks, after which she was bred again, I believe to the handsome Prince Charming (yes, that really is his name) and while she is not quite grumpy enough to spit at us just yet, she has been known to toss a few clucks our way, and does not invite us to stroke her regal neck anymore.
I was reminded of this strongly today when Pixie, who had gotten not quite but almost as bitchy (pardon the language) as Ekela during her pregnancy, gave birth a few weeks ago, and came up to me today and showered my face with adoring little kisses and sniffs, following me around like a puppy awaiting a snuggle.
Sadly, her wee baby did not make it, but she seems to have gotten over the heartache and has directed that adoration directly at me.
Pixie love. Nothing like it, and it makes up for all the hormonally challenged months. I'd best appreciate it while it lasts. Sweet little Pixie is due to be bred in a few days.

Figured I had better post SOMETHING or you would all think I had abandoned you!
Oh and Margie, please to send my your mailing address again?
With love, snuffles and much affection,
S
xoxo

August 1, 2009

Hello all! Mrs. Evers here!
A few pics of the wedding, with the photographer's (my dear friend Monte) to follow when I get them!
It was a wonderful day, and I know Rache you were there with H in her heart, and all the rest of you were carried there via darling Dale!
I am very happy... :)

holy upcoming nuptials Batman...

Oh my gosh you guys.... I am getting married in like... 8 days.... I am so very excited, but it still does not seem real! I admit a teeny bit of fear... that somehow the rug will be pulled from under me. I have been here before... in love, thinking all was perfect, and then wham... all gone. I know that is not the case this time, but still, until the day arrives I am not sure I am going to believe it.
Is that terrible of me?
Here is a snap of Tony and me at a wonderful BBQ my brother put together for us last weekend.
love to all of you...
s

halooooooooo!

Far too long since I have written anything! IN part that is because life is non-stop, and in part because the dial up is to slow it makes me a little crazy!
A quick hello to you all... I have been lurking and reading, but not posting much.
A few new photos... including Tony`s parents who came to visit a couple of weeks ago and I adore!
Love to all... talk soon...xo Stevie

Me, Daisy and Sundance Kid....

We are up to six cria now, with several more due in the next few days... I am in love with each one!
The wedding date has been changed so Tony's family can attend... anyone in the Canmore region Aug. 1 please do join us!
xo
S
ps
please click on the photo to enlarge and appreciate my rubber boots. If one has to wear them... they may as well be kicky!

Our first baby!

Welcome little Daisy...
:)

long overdue.....

Hello all!
This post is long overdue, and my only excuse is the frustration factor that has been trying to upload photos.
So, if this post finds you graphic free, I have decided to wait until I can take the computer to a high speed location to add images!
I love it here, love living with my Tony, and adore my new charges.
We have just over 200 alpaca here, and 70 cria (babies) due between April and August. Our job here entails the usual ranch related duties, feeding the animals, cleaning and repairing pens, herd checks (trimming toenails, teeth, general medical upkeep like shots and exams) as well as an abundance of property care. I am in charge of halter training the weanlings as well, and while Tony will learn, he would just as soon leave it to me as it requires rather a lot of patience!
My big rough tough cowboy has fallen in love with these critters as well, and has been seen giving the odd one a cuddle to soothe them when they have to have teeth trimmed... though he will deny it if you ask him! But I have photos to back me up, IF I can ever upload them.
I saw my boys this weekend when I went back to the valley to see a concert through that I had set up some time ago when still with the youth centre. There was a certain amount of closure for me doing so, though in all honesty, it was an exhausting weekend and the concert took too much of the time I would have rather had with my boys. But, no regrets, and I will see them again soon.
I miss them terribly, but talk to them every few days and I know they are fine.
As for my love and I, we are happily esconced in setting up household together. Admittedly, we were both a little nervous at first. We moved in together so quickly, what if we were not as compatible as we thought? Luckily, we are, and love waking up to each other every day and working as a team here at the ranch.
We picked up a washer and dryer yesterday, and in doing our first load of laundry together had a laugh at the domesticity of it all!
"You're stuck with me forever now baby," Tony told me laughing.
Fine by me.
The house is really more house than we need, but the room will come in handy when we have guests (nudge nudge wink wink) and when the boys are here. I still hope they might decide to move in at some point, as does Tony, because we are feeling pretty strongly this will be our home for many years.
We have a huge yard which Tony is thrilled about. His family background is landscaping and tree care, and he is like a kid in a candy store being able to reach back to his roots, no pun intended. This summer will be busy between our regular daily ranch duties and planning and planting our own gardens and such.
Daryl and Shirley are lovely people to work for, and we are pretty much left to our own devices, which is what they were looking for in their ranch managers. They are both nearing retirement age, and while they love the alpaca, are happy to leave the ranch in our hands.
All in all, things are wonderful!

I am here...

I am here... I am happy... and on the slowest dial up EVER... but will get some photos and post a good one soon!
Love you all...
xoxo

the countdown

one more day... to pack, to gird my loins for the goodbye... to join mijn Tony... myheart is so torn.. so happy to be with my love, so heartbroken to move away from my sons...

the seed.....

So, Rache and I were chatting on Facebook the other night, and we came up with an idea that we are both saying out loud so we can make it become a reality! Or rather, we are both blogging about it to make it a reality!
In 2013, to celebrate the world NOT ending in 2012, let's all of us meet in New York and have a huge first time reunion!
That gives us four years-ish to plan and save, and wouldn't it be wonderful for us all to meet?
I believe the difference between a dream that comes true, and one that doesn't, is whether or not you say it out loud.
So, when you are reading this, and get to this point, please take a deep breath and say loud and clear:
'We are going to meet in New York in 2013 and have a hell of a time!'
xo
Stevie

and so.

Scott... and Kootenay National Park... on our way to see Tony.
I am moving in a week. To be an alpaca rancher with Tony. Lol... changes changes!
More soon!
xo

January... 14.. oh my..

I realized today how very quickly certain things in my life are coming up. On Saturday, my darling son Justin will turn 19, and I can hardly believe the wee baby I brought home is now hitting six feet, and is only a year younger than I was when I had him.
He is a good boy, a good man, and I am so very proud of him.
Justin is one of those souls that feels things deeply, yet holds his cards close to his chest. The rapid recent changes in our lives has had him a little perpelexed I think, but we have had some good moments of communication (not easy for the likes of him and I, butting heads as often as we do!)
Justin has always amazed me a little with his mechanical abilities. Always taking things apart and seemingly always putting them back together in better order than they originally were. Just as Scott sees music as a language, Justin sees circuits and engines and all those mysterious bits and pieces as clearly as I would see words on a page. It truly amazes me.
He was flying when he was 15, his first solo, I believe, a critical turning point in his life. I remember him calling me late one evening, after he and one of his instructors had been soaring for hours, breathless and tripping over his words as he told me he had shared a thermal with a hawk.
"I flew RIGHT BESIDE HIM," he told me, and in a more hushed tone, added, in not to many words, it was an almost spiritual experience. I could not stop the tears his voice and words drew out of me, a salty smile that I will never forget. My boy was becoming a man.
It would seem that experience made driving a car passe, and he has only just finally made the push to get his full driving licence this month. HAHA!! It must be hard for him to drive on the ground with all those corners and restrictions when flying at 11,000 feet was part of his normal days that wonderful summer.
He is so endlessly funny, and smart, with a healthy dose of sarcasm in his charactor. I wonder if I have prepared him enough for the world... or perhaps what I really wonder is if the world is prepared for him. He does things his own way, more's the pity, a trait of mine I would have happily not passed on to him. But I know he will find his way, just as I did, just as we all do.
I am as tall as I can be with pride for him. I know he will do good things in his life, make a difference for people, and while he is on his way to living his own life, I hope, oh, I hope I hope I hope, that he remembers he is always going to be my little boy, and no matter where the winds take us, he has a home with me.
Welcome to the legally adult world my darling Justin... I love you forever... all the way to the moon and back.
And that is far... very very far.
xo
Mom

Our wedding.........

So, Tony and I have chosen as our final date Saturday, June 20, 2 p.m. in Exshaw Alberta at my sister Rose`s home.
:)
We are both very excited!
Of course you are all invited, and I know it is not likely many of my darling overseas or overcountry loves can attend, but you are invited just the same.
We have much to do, but really, it will be a simple wedding, no gifts, just the presence of friends and family. Potluck, and bring lots of laughter...
xo
S

Adendum
I have to admit, as much as I understand and do appreciate the expressions of concerns regarding the short time Tony and I have been together and become engaged, it is a little... wearying. Of course, a few members of both our families have mentioned it, some more vocally, but I wonder if they really think we have not given this serious consideration... for ourselves, as well as my children. We are adults. We are both well thinking, and have not done this lightly or without consideration. After all, we resisted the temptation, great though it was, to get married last week! lol!
I have listened to the concerns from my own family, some expressed clearly and vocally, other via vague words, pursed lips and expressions, and I take them all to heart for what they are: concerns for me from those who love me. And now that they have expressed them, I would ask they please be done with it.
What I appreciate far more are those many friends who have rejoiced with me, and most expecially my mother, who ackowledges the short time, but is celebrating with me and even helping me plan. I don't think that just being happy for me, without questioning me, is really too much to ask.
Ok, I vented. Thanks for listening. It hasn't bothered me all that much, but it obviously has bothered me a little. And now I can get on with the business of being happy!
xo