Or is it wish it were? I always get mixed up on the subjunctive case.

"Did you just ask her who she's voting for in November?"

"No. John McCain isn't gray, stupid."

"Sure he is. His face is the same color as the make-up that morticians use on dead people."

"Ashen?"

"Yah."

"I guess you're right. Beth, do you want to wear McCain or Obama shoes today?"

"Can I wear one of each?"

"Now you've confused her. You can't pick a political candidate based on shoe color."

"Why not? That's how you make your Super Bowl picks every year."

"No. That's based on the color of their outfits."

"Uniforms. They're called uniforms."

Her brain is a magical place where words go in, rattle around and, like those million monkeys sitting at typewriters, come back out as miniature gems of priceless comedy. Which is why I always go out of my way to teach her new ones.

Take Friday, for example. The niece was at our house for a few hours while her parents ran some errands. Some time after I was done chasing her around the house and forcing her to admit that I was her favorite uncle, she informed me that, according to her mother, "pooh and pee are bad words."

There was no way I could pass this up.

"At our house, pooh and pee are words you HAVE to say. Every day. Fart too. Can you say fart?" I stiffled a giggle.

"My mom says that's a bad word too."

"Your mom is a prude. Can you say prude?"

"Prude", she obeyed.

"Good job. Can you say pooh?"

"Pooh", she parroted.

"Excellent. Pee?"

"Pee", exactly as planned.

"Fart?"

"POOH PEE FART!"

My job was done.

A few hours later, while I was on my way to a weekend backpacking trip, my phone rang. It was my sister-in-law. As expected, upon seeing her mother, the niece had performed the script I had given her. But it was even better that I could have planned.

"When I asked her who told her to say those things, she said, 'Pete.' So when I asked her why she's listening to her uncle Pete instead of mommy do you know what she said?"

This is where the million monkeys earn their bananas.

"She said, 'Because he understands my glory.'"

She'll be back in apple-eatin' shape in no time.

Two teeth where there should only be one.

Sheep at a truck stop.

Like the Mona Lisa, there's a mystery behind his smile. To me, it's obvious why he's smiling. A smirk like that tells me he probably just set something on fire.

Whenever I see him though he always sticks his nose in my crotch then barks once as if to say, "dude."

My next lens might be a fixed depth wide angle lens in the 12 to 18mm neighborhood.

I have a whole bunch of shots from this trip that I'll post this week of kids, dogs and scenery but signs are always an irresistible photographic subject for me. Especially ones I don't fully understand. I mean, who would only camp for the day? Why not just say, "No Camping, Hippies"?

In Mountain View, WY

In fact, I'm going to start calling her wikipedia because if she tells you something, and you cite her as the source in your book report. Your teacher will write on your paper, in big red marker, "please use reliable sources for important work".

Whenever she answers a question like, say, "did you clean your room" or "who broke this wall into a hundred-thousand pieces" or "were you the one who licked all the graham crackers", my instinct is to click her history tab and check to see if the most recent contributor has a history of fact-vandalism.

Why, just this week she was regaling us with the details of her upcoming adventures as a lunch worker at her new school. "...and that's why you don't need to pack me a lunch. Lunch workers get free hot lunch." Sounds plausible, right?

Fast forward to that evening >>>

"How was lunch worker duty?"

"Oh, umm... they switched me to next week because... umm... Kelli didn't bring her lunch and... umm..."

I can't help but think just how very much fun this little personality trait will be after she's discovered boys and meth.

BZ (Before Zoloft), this is actually exactly how sitting in a doctor's office felt to me.

There seem to be a lot of accidents with this one.

Some seriously crappy stuff went down. I don't want to be too specific because, well, it's none of your business. Plus, it doesn't really matter. When you're eating crap, you don't stop to decide what flavor it is. Besides, I'm totally certain that most of you, like most everyone involved, would probably just think it was all my fault anyway. It really is times like these you discover the difference between friends and mere acquaintances. To those of you who sent kind notes, invited me to lunch, drank beer with me, brought me booze, took me to the movies, offered your professional and personal help... thank you so much. Oh, and if you happened to have invented Zoloft or Xanax, I owe you my life.

About that. The past few weeks I've hit some low spots emotionally. But not even close to the way I lived nearly every day before the medication. For the most part I've been calm, upbeat and positive. This whole experience has been completely manageable in a way simply putting one foot in front of another used to be totally overwhelming.

I'm not completely sure I'm ready to open myself up for the entire world just now. To be honest, I'm just not sure who I can trust with my feelings right now. I'm learning the hard way that friends aren't always friends. So don't be completely surprised if my posting is sporadic. Or at least very guarded for a little while.

There's good news though. I replaced my stolen camera. So, I'll get back to posting regular pictures very soon. Probably even this weekend.

As for BLOW. I still have some technology issues to work out. I fully intend to resume interviews in earnest but I need to get my recording situation a little more... umm... situated.

In so many ways