puff puff

That's me on the tricycle. I can't make out if that's Jennie or Irene tending to me. Irene is just a few years older than I am, and this sister looks a good bit older than what Irene should've been. It sure looks a lot like her. There are baby pictures around that show Irene and Jennie looking a lot like each other when they were babies.

I think that's Brooky in the background playing in the flat area of our backyard. There's a swing-set on the flat as well. I don't ever recall one being there. I do remember it being on the other side of the house growing up - beneath a large mimosa tree. Even though they made a mess of the yard, mimosas were great trees to have around with kids. They were very easy to climb and little Finlayson's often did.

You can double click on the photo to get a larger image.

Dad is in the background reclining a the chaise longue smoking a pipe. I never saw Dad smoke. I heard tell that his sister Florrence Foster Finlayson once talked him out of smoking his cigars and pipes. The only evidence I saw of his puffing years was a pipe-rack and pipes that were stored in the front coat closet. The pipes disappeared somewhere down through the years. I wish I had them - like I wish I had that big old tackle box of his. He used to have it filled with big brightly colored wooden lures.

I'll smoke a cigar or a pipe every now and again - maybe three of four times a year. I don't care for the long lasting after-taste, that's why I don't do it as often. I do though love the smell of cherry tobacco. Even during the period of 1990 - 99, when I didn't puff at all, I would stop my grocery shopping long enough to smell the pipe tobacco. Once in Washington, DC, I followed a man to the street corner just to ask him what what delightful blend he had stuffed in that pipe of his. Another reason I don't smoke my pipe as much is because my beloved Gina can't stand the smoke.

So if Magritte says this is not a pipe....what is it?