My parents are going up to Vermont to visit Maude's parents. I take this as a very good sign that my dad is feeling a lot better. Betty absolutely can't wait, as Maude's mom is one of her best friends. They didn't go last year as my dad wasn't doing very well.
This is their annual "go up and hang out with Maude's parents and pick as many blueberries as the car will hold" trip to Vermont. It's so cute - they have so much fun up there. And then Betty makes blueberry jam, blueberry buckle, blueberry coffee cake, blueberry whatever you can imagine.
They pick these ginormous organic blueberries that are so lush and beautiful and juicy and delicious. I hope that in August I'll have enough to eat till my teeth turn blue and plenty to freeze for smoothies.
I am confident I will be getting blueberries, as they always share, and they always bring me presents from trips. Although I have to say, when they went to Namibia and South Africa, I asked for blood diamonds and was chagrined that they ignored my request so thoroughly.
One year they came back from Vermont with these alarming umbrella hats. I'm sure you've seen them. They're rainbow colors and they kind of sit on your head like a stand.
According to Betty, they're just the best thing for picking blueberries. The air can circulate under it, so it keeps the sun off your face and your head stays cool! They were delighted with this great find. In fact, she said in all earnestness, I might like one. They both wore them every day in Vermont.
"Oh, sweetie, they're just so great! They keep the sun off, and they keep your head cool. You might want one just to wear around outside!"
This, from people used to attending embassy receptions in their finest. I, their progeny, would rather pull my fingernails out with a pliers than wear an umbrella hat anywhere.
I briefly tried to picture myself strolling about DC, keeping a straight face, pretending not to realize what a cretin I looked like in my umbrella hat. And realized I just don't have the wherewithal for it. I may wear a wig when it's not officially Wine And Wig night, or look like an ass in mismatched running clothes or take the trash out in high heels, but at some point you have to draw the line.