Home with francis and fern.

Walter, our peacock rug, has a flourish of dandruff about his feathers from our new miniature noble christmas tree (named Francis... we evidently form attachment to inanimate objects). Fern, our baby wreath, is hanging on the front door, obscuring the number of our apartment. Hiding behind me and the couch is everything that four cars (myself, brad, and both of my parents) hauled up to Seattle this afternoon. In the weeks ahead I plan to nest as much as possible, in addition to gearing up in my imaginary Santa suit and making christmas dreams come true. 


A peek at the lively thanksgiving weekend.