Today I was at a funeral.  My cousin, Matt and his wife Sara-Anne’s baby died.  He was born premature, tiny, perfectly formed and developed, except for his lungs.  He lived for ten minutes, long enough to meet his family and for his father to baptize him.


The funeral was a little surreal.  There’s more to type and say on the matter, but I’ll save it for another time – right now it’s a jumble of images and sounds:  the tiny coffin, family members being there for each other and still able to spare a few smiles and laughs, the energetic chattering sound of all the pinwheels in the children’s section of the cemetery…


Breathe in.


And breathe in.


And the living go on living and I’ll change to a happier track and a boisterous example of living.  Here are more of the pics from the Slip ‘N Slide party – picking up where we left off LAST TIME.

Brave slip n’ sliders gather in the dim . . .

Ken and Nick battle down the slide with Steve speeding from behind.

Byar!  Thar be a pirate wench!

Imbibe enough rum and a slip n’ slide party becomes a surrealist painting…

This sport was ment to be by torchlight.


Uh . . . are my eyes glowing there?

This was taken just after I crashed into the brush and literally ate dirt.

Same picture as above . . . but in ZOMBIE-VISION.

“Second star to the right and straight on till . . . OW!  I’ve got a twig up my ass!  Fuck!!!”

Slip n’ Slide parties are a tribal affair.

Sliders face the hazzard of sliding past the slide and into mud and brush and pain.

Nick jams on a guitar, apparently on another plane of existence.

Dori looks on, rather majestically.

No stairway.  Denied.

AND NOW . . . the morning after . . .