Three days in a row.
I am on a roll.
But there is the thought that three times, (or seven, or twelve) does not a habit make. Apparently, one must do something 29 times to make it a habit. I do wonder who came up with that number. But here's to making it to 29. Three down, Twenty-six to go.
Illustrate one of the various meanings of the word tag today in a photograph.
I will admit that my first thought was "Oh, I wonder which of my kids I could pay to take off their socks, put their feet up on the table, and let me take a sterile-ish photo pointing at the bottoms of their feet with a tag on one of their toes..."
Is that too morbid?
I took a look at the first few eager submissions, and there were just far too many price tags, and size tags from inside garments, and I wanted to be different.
I wondered if I could troll around looking for graffiti on some abandoned building, but I live in the sterile burbs, and there are not too many abandoned buildings looking to be decorated around here. There is a pretty nice tag-able surface at the pond, but what with the mountain lion sightings (did I mention this? Did I mention to you, my friends, how Kelly's school was PUT ON LOCK DOWN last week because kids came face-to-face with a mountain lion while doing their 5-lap run? My heart, it was in my throat!) ... anyways, what with the mountain lion sightings, I didn't want to be out in the suburban 'wilderness' alone, with nothing but a camera to protect my tasty, well-marbled butt from being lion-lunch.
Instead, I thought about the whole "Tag! You're it!" calls that echo from my own childhood. I hoped to get up to Nate's school at recess to photograph him playing on the playground with his friends, but it was raining, and I was in meetings, and it just didn't work.
After school, Kelly was picked up by Gail's mom (usually, Gail comes to our place on Thursdays) and the girls went down to the local ice rink for Gail's skating lesson, and for a chance for Gail to give Kelly some informal lessons to try to get her to relax her iron grip on the boards. Yes, it is true, my non-Canadian Canadian child cannot skate. (Truth be told, she doesn't know any of the rules and regulations of hockey, either. Or, as we like to call it... 'ockey)
I went down to the rink after I'd gotten Skip and Nate home in the rainstorm. Brr. It was colder inside the rink than it was outside. I am a thin-skinned, thin-blooded California girl these days. I wouldn't survive a week if I was sent 'home' to the Canadian winter wonderland.
And there I found my inspiration.
Tag! You're it!
(of course, it was no contest. Gail can skate circles around Kelly. But they were willing to mug for the camera.)