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The baby squirrel, and all that followed

Tuesday, September 1st, 2015

My sister Becca has this story. And I’ve asked her to tell it to me, like, three times because it’s so good. Now I want to share it with you.

Awhile back, Becca found a baby squirrel alone in her driveway. Here it was:


Her dogs were barking, and she knew she couldn’t leave it – so she did what any animal lover would do: she wrapped it in a towel, brought it inside, and put it in a puppy kennel.

She called Animal Control, but got a voicemail message. “If this is an emergency, call State Patrol,” it said. So she called State Patrol.

A gruff man answered: “State Patrol.”

“Um, is this where I should call if I found a baby squirrel?” Becca asked.


State Patrol was obviously no help, so she did an internet search and got the contact information for a wildlife sanctuary called Squirrel Creek. She got in touch with the nicest man, who told her to yeah, sure, bring the squirrel on down!

So she and her husband Mike drove down to Littleton after work, and pulled up at a huge lodge. They were confused because it looked like a business – a restaurant, even – but when they knocked on the door, a lone man answered. “Come on in!” he said.

They walked into a huge, empty banquet room, complete with a full bar and everything. “So, what is this place?” Mike asked.

“Oh, it’s a wildlife refuge. Also, a restaurant and a bar and a swing club and an events center.” With visions of swing dancing happening on the dance floor, Becca and Mike left the squirrel and headed home.

Becca posted an update on Facebook, telling her friends that the baby squirrel had been taken care of, and gave a shout-out to Squirrel Creek for being so great. They told all of their friends about this cool place down in Littleton – and maybe they should all go sometime?

Until one of their friends googled it. And they found this:

Screen Shot 2015-09-11 at 9.42.48 PM

They’d invited all of their friends to a 50,000 MEMBER SWINGERS CLUB. (Also a wildlife sanctuary. Of course.)

Wedding day (not mine)

Wednesday, February 27th, 2013

The other night, Becca texted Sarah and me this amazingly awkward picture.

It could only mean one thing. We belong on “Murder, She Wrote”!


Becca and Michael’s wedding pictures are ready!

Hop over to Jeremy and Ashley’s blog where they’ve absolutely killed it, proving once again why they are so worthy of being named one of American Photo’s top 10 wedding photographers IN THE WORLD (true story). They captured the day perfectly. Can you handle the feathers? The sunshine? Becca’s glamtastic hair?

And if you’re my Facebook friend, you may have seen my post on their wedding day:

Despite the great outshined/outshone debate, keep your eyes peeled for a glimpse of that moment come to fruition. Tyler won. He always does.

becca and michael got married from WE ARE THE PARSONS on Vimeo.

The Murphys

Monday, January 21st, 2013

On Saturday, my sister Becca married Michael Murphy.

I know. Her dress is insanity. This picture is insanity. Jeremy and Ashley are insanity, and will be posting many more pictures in the future, I’m sure.

I am still reeling from bronchitis-while-bridesmaiding, 3 days out of the office, and all of the wedding festivities. I’ll see you back here when my brain and body have recovered.

Damn, girl.

Monday, July 18th, 2011

Before you hear this little story, there are two things you should know.

1) My sister Becca is definitely a looker: funky and darling and adorable.  She has a heart-shaped face and a great figure and awesome hair.  It’s never a surprise when a dude finds her attractive.

2) Sloan’s Lake, our new neighborhood, is… colorful.  Interesting.  Slightly ghetto.

Got those two facts?  Okay.  Here’s what happened on Saturday.

Becca was walking around the lake, and when a certain man passed her, he looked her up and down and said, “Damn, girl – you look beautiful!”

And despite Becca’s aforementioned beauty, when she relayed this story to me, we both laughed until we cried.

Because this is what she was wearing:

Damn, girl, indeed.

(I’m still laughing.)

My new roommates

Tuesday, July 5th, 2011

As you learned in last Friday’s video, I now live with my sister Becca in the Hooker House.  Get used to it – I have a feeling that Life on Hooker Street will become a popular subject on this blog.

Aside from time time spent under our parent’s roof, this is the first time that Becca and I have lived together.  She is 3 1/2 years younger, half my weight* and twice my sarcasm.

Becca has a dog, and she’s pretty much obsessed with him.  His name is Gabe, but “The Greebs” is the moniker that’s stuck.  So obviously, I now live with the Greebs, too.

Are you curious about these two new roommates of mine?  Here.  I’ll show you.

Becca and Gabe

And in case you forgot, here is me.

So, yes.  This could be interesting.  ACKNOWLEDGED.

But so far, it’s been fun.

I’m teaching Becca things like “you have to rinse your plastic soup container before you put it in the recycling bin.”  And she’s teaching me things like “this isn’t Auschwitz.”

For all he sheds, and despite the fact that he ate one of my books, the Greebs is kind of becoming my best bud.  On hot days, I walk him the half-mile to Sloan’s Lake where he can swim.  And on the days when I work from home, he never leaves my side.  I talk to him in my voice reserved for dogs (admit it: you have a “dog voice,” too), and when I grab his leash and say, “You wanna go?” he jumps in the air like a kangaroo.

In the midst of so much upheaval and transition in our family, I am thankful for a sister to share a home with.  And despite our differences (which are many), there is a comfort in knowing that at the end of the day, I’m not alone.

Even if it means that my couch – and floor – and car – and clothes – are covered in dog hair.

*Not really.  But basically.

The most artistic Parsons

Wednesday, January 26th, 2011

My sister Becca is a great gift-giver.  She puts a lot of time and thought and effort into the things that she gives people – and this past Christmas was no exception.

In addition to our “real” presents, she made everyone in our family an awesome dog portrait.  Weird?  NOT IF YOU’RE A PARSONS.

Becca knows that I like those dogs with floppy hair that falls into their eyes, so she made me this:

Isn’t that amazing?  I love it so much.  He’s my imaginary dog – the one that doesn’t care if I leave town for the weekend, or if I don’t come home for 12 hours straight, or if I don’t feed him.  He’s the best.

I think Becca should start a pet portrait business.  All in favor, say aye.

Potluck post

Wednesday, June 10th, 2009

Here at the Emma shop, some serious gems get forwarded along; after all, email IS our native tongue.  As I am 1) a fan of the internet, and 2) feeling completely unoriginal 2) a giver, I thought I would pass along some of my favorites.

Brought to you by my co-workers:
1)    The world’s most amazing movie trailer.
2)    The Tone Matrix.  I could do this for hours.  Who am I kidding?  I DO do this for hours.
3)    If you get nightmares easily, do not look here.

I told you.

– – – – – – – –

My sister Becca put a spike through her face.  Just one more example of how different we are… and how she can make absolutely anything look cute.

– – – – – – – –

Debbie’s curry hummus ranks among the top 5 things I have ever tasted.

– – – – – – – –

Whitney is a girl I’ve never met, but her writing is absolutely lovely.  She left a comment on Monday’s post that I believe is worth highlighting:

“We do what we love because love stretches us even when it’s hard. Even when routine threatens our own boredom and we feel a lack of inspiration that threatens suffocation. We do what we love because love is the point, even and especially when we don’t feel it. Because loving and acting out of love when the feelings aren’t there reminds us that love isn’t a feeling, and we aren’t a chaos of emotion wrapped in a thin layer of skin. We continue to do what we love because, even if it’s music, even if it’s a relationship, even if it’s writing, even if it’s weaving, we remember that love isn’t about what we get out of it. Love teaches us, in desert, in valley, as well as mountaintop.”

U is for Ubiquity

Monday, December 15th, 2008

Let me begin by saying that U is for a lot of hideous words.

Udder. Ulcer. Urethra. Uvula. Upchuck.

U might be turning into my least favorite letter.

However, U is also for Ubiquitous, which is what I was this weekend – seemingly present everywhere at once. Becca and I did a lot. And friends, let me take the opportunity to make this announcement: anything I said before about possibly turning into an extrovert is being utterly revoked.

I am an introvert, through and through.

Weekends like this – where I am presented with many very, very good options of how to spend my time, and thus feel the need to make them ALL happen – leave me feeling exhausted and peopled-out. So much so that at the Tacky Christmas Sweater Party on Saturday night, I found myself attempting solitude the only way I could figure: by sinking onto the kitchen floor in the corner. It was quieter down there.

Becca and I took part in two Christmas parties, a Josh & Meg show, running club, Whole Foods lunching, Anthropologie browsing, the Frist, a Dickens of a Christmas festival down in Franklin, Rosepepper Mexican food, and of course, plenty of photo ops.

Now she’s gone back to Kansas, where it was 4 degrees this morning.

Now I’m back at my desk, where my mind is elsewhere and everywhere*.

Ubiquity, indeed.

* = the fact that I’m living on my credit card, and I don’t know when/where I’m going to do laundry next, and I’m moving a week from tonight, and how am I going to buy Christmas presents for anyone, and holy cow I’m really training for this half-marathon and that scares the bajeebis out of me because oh man it’s going to be hard, and I need a haircut, and I wonder which of my friends will get engaged THIS Christmas, and is Nashville really going to be covered in ice tomorrow, and I’m still a temp receptionist, and I miss my Seattle friends, and I wish I could go hang out with my friend Christina in Boston, and I’m sorry but I just couldn’t get a video together today.

Taking the title of this blog seriously

Friday, December 12th, 2008

You know how kids are always told to never touch a power line?

How do the birds live?

This was my “maundering pondering” of the morning, as I drove to the airport to fetch Becca. Little Sister is visiting for the weekend; unfortunately, I am at work today, for temping takes no holiday – even on a Nashville-wide “snow day.”

Honestly, people. I saw nary a flake.

But I am happy for my friends of the matriculated variety, who have found themselves with a day void of responsibilities. I am rounding them up, along with my unemployed (okay, SELF-employed) pals, for a lunchtime rendezvous at the Panera near my office on West End.

That’s right, blog stalkers. You know where to find me come 12:20. I’ll be surrounded by my posse, though, so you might have a hard time breaking through the entourage.

In other news, I will be cross-posting on my friend Mark’s running blog with a featured “East Nasty of the Week” write-up. If you are not a Nashvillian or my mother, you’re probably not interested. But if you DO live here in Music City, and want to train for the half-marathon happening in April, the East Nasties are the coolest runners in the city.

But since I’m always last, I don’t know if I count as one of them yet…

Happy weekend to all. Becca and I are ready to show Nashville no mercy. Stay tuned for a full report… and maybe even a video blog?? I know: you expect nothing less.


Saturday, April 26th, 2008

Since I sit at a desk all day long, I find myself clicking out into the internet. I click and click and click until suddenly, I realize that I have no idea how I got to where I am. Like when I came across this. And also, this.

But the other day, I was so happy to arrive here.

This is the funniest story I have read in a long, long time.

So I forwarded the link to my sister, and then we engaged in a little Facebook chat about it:

Becca: It reminds me of a story my friend told me. Except she was in bed with her cousin. And it was pee. Real pee – not even lemonade.