If you're not an Instagrammer, you've missed out on some serious self-indulgence ly prolific photography of Old Town by me and my phone. Well, good news folks, with about 5 weeks left here (OK, 3 if you take away our upcoming vacation don't panic Martha don't panic don't panic) I am in full panic mode and actually brought my real brand spankin' new camera (thank you Pater Familias) on our walk tonight, along with my Sherpas (Nate, Phil & Ted) and minions. So I've got a tiny taste of the neighborhood for you. Over a year in, I still can't believe we got to live here. It's like grown-up Colonial Williamsburg, which explains all the William & Mary grads who live here (go Tribe! ... er, Ebirt! ... er, Griffins! kyyeerrrrrr) And now that I've used the words gypsy, Sherpa, and Tribe (apparently) in inappropriate ways and used five parenthetical expressions in one paragraph, I think we'll move swiftly onward to the illustrative part of this post.
an aside on what dads are for
It crosses my mind that some people don't look at that and think "beautiful". But I do.
(Because in Old Town, you go on walks and find boxes of free books on the brick sidewalk.)