Personal Fonts

My husband and I were discussing the crew yesterday. He suggested that each member have a personal font. He thinks it might make reading my blog a little easier.  I considered it overnight and brought it up to the troupe this morning...though, I have to tell you there were little whispers in my dreams, all night long! Gothic fonts and mystical fonts, whimsical fonts and fonts in red! I did not sleep well.

Gathered around the pool, sipping coffee and wishing we had some banana-nut bread or one of those cinnamon coffee cakes from Starbucks, the crew and I begin with Mrs. Richardson calling us to order!

(Seriously, she is going to have to lighten up!)

She took attendance, all present and accounted for.

"First order of business: Individual Identification Fonts! A proposal has been submitted to the Board that we might all choose a font that best suits our personal style and characteristics for easy recognition in printed form."

"What idiot added the "printed form" phrase?  If we are talking about fonts, we are talking print!"

One probably doesn't need reminding that Beatrice is not a morning person and is rarely civil before 9 a.m. Beatrice is rarely civil at all but especially before 9 a.m.  I was hoping she'd sleep in!

Mrs. Richardson bangs her gavel on the patio table, knocking two pairs of goggles onto the ground.
"Out of Order, Beatrice! Sit Down!"

"I am sitting down! Are you frickin' blind?"

"I meant "be quiet"!"

"You meant "shut up"! Stop being such a diamond factory!"

"What's a diamond factory?"  Carly-Anne really needs to get out more.

Bill reaches up for his Marlboro hard pack. "Stick a lump of coal up her butt and in a week we'll have a diamond! What Beatrice is trying to say is that our Mrs. Richardson is on the north side of up tight!"

BabaMara takes the coffee from me and hands me the purple pair of goggles.  She is absolutely right. I am going for a swim. The hooligans can bang this out  amongst themselves, after all, I am perfectly fine with Arial, 12 pt, in #424c3d (gray!)

Swimming

Monday morning and it is already hot. I'm trying to convince the team ( I use the word loosely) to go for a morning swim.

Sinthya and BabaMara are all in, Carrie-Anne is jonesing to get back to the studio and clay, Mrs. Richardson is demanding that Monday's are for getting things accomplished, Ms. Machado is reading Exodus Lost and is absolutely refusing to be disturbed.

Bill is not interested in sitting in the heat while we enjoy the water. He doesn't get in because moisture is not good for his Marlboro hardback. He keeps it rolled up in his t-shirt sleeve and refuses to be seen without it...his image, you know! He says since the new neighbors cut all their trees down, destroying the privacy of our backyard, swimming is no longer fun! I believe he is referring to the wearing of swimsuits is required now, before we just stripped at poolside and dove in.

Have I told you that we don't like the new neighbors?  Chopped down the trees, mangled our hedge and massacred theirs and now, hammering starts at 6 or 6:30 every morning, especially Saturday and Sunday and continues until 10:300 p.m. They can stand in their windows (split level floorplan) and see everything in our pool.

I'm considering swimming in the nude just to scare the crap out of them!

Beatrice is still sleeping, which, to be honest is always a good thing. This morning, though, I am thinking that a grand cannon ball off the diving board would do her some good!

Sorry, Ms. Machado and Bill, the votes are in and swimming it is!