IN PURSUIT OF COLOR

So I got this coupon in the mail the other day for a free quart of Glidden paint. Always one to enjoy a freebie, I quickly visited the website and selected my winning color, a most lovely shade of reddish(ish).

Okay, fine.
So I don't really know what my color selection was called because "they" (the apparent paint naming gods) tend to come up with crazy names I could never remember. Names like buttered sweetcorn, guilded pear, or frosted pine. Sheesh, why does every can of paint need to be a "newborn baby" just waiting to be named?

Now if *I* were to have the coveted paint naming job, I assure you your trip to Lowes would be much easier. Forget all that buttercup sweetcorn fluff. Friends, you would be free to explore paint colors like sunburned red, fake-bake orange, or my own personal favorite, puke green (because every mom or auntie knows what that color looks like. Much easier to remember, yes?)

We recently painted our kitchen green(ish). According to the paint naming gods though, we officially have not a green(ish) kitchen, but rather (look out, here comes the posh name) a "dry grass" kitchen.

Ooookay.

Ironically, we actually have plenty of genuine dry grass, only we have another posh name for it.
We call it our yard.
And let me tell you, our yard is the most beautiful shade of "dry grass" you've ever laid your eyeballs on (snark, snark.)

Seriously? We've tried every trick we can think of to obtain to a more refined shade deserving of a really posh name. You know. Something like, oh say, "Alive Grass"?
Yes, "Alive Grass" would be a nice choice. But not happening, I tell you. No amount of watering, weed-n-feeding, organic wheat glutening, or scolding (yes, I even yelled at our grass in frustration) has made one iota of difference. It seems that dry grass is our resident color.

And naturally, the nextdoor neighbor is the poster child for Better Homes and Gardens.
And get this. It's a B.I.G. secret what makes his lawn so green (Toni waves hands in a most sarcastic manner as she rolls eyes and spits nails.)
I've never seen Chemlawn over there and his children don't run around with third eyes or anything, so I have to believe him when he says he uses an "organic" product. But,...what?
I called the local co-op. They had no idea.
Carl asked him what he uses. You'd think the neighbor choked on a butterfly, what with his trying to dance all around the answer to avoid telling us. I asked his wife, who quickly deferred back to her husband ("Oh, J does all that. You'd have to ask him, but it's something organic.") She even snickered, yes SNICKERED, as she laughed an annoying little "wish you could grow some green grass, don'tcha" laugh and boldly pointed out to me, "Our yard is even greener than C's yard and he uses Chemlawn, hee hee."
Why, I oughta!

So a lil' gift came today. I saw it in the in-flight shopping magazine when we flew to Albuquerque recently. (do those mags carry thee coolest overpriced products or what?)

Aeration shoes.
Eureka, I found it!
Carl needs aeration shoes.

It wasn't a thought I could simply push aside, what with our lovely perpetual shade of "dry grass" and all. So I ordered them. And they came today. And it was sunny and just a perfect day for stompin' around like a manly caveman in your brand new aeration shoes.

"Will I look like a dweeb in these?" he asked.
Me, eyelids batting, "What, in your man-boot aeration lawn cleats? Why noooOo, honey. No. You won't look dweeby at all. A bit Clampetty, perhaps, but definitely not dweeby."
I reminded him that J (a.k.a. Home and Garden) played basketball with his kids in our cul-de-sac one Saturday morning, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and a smile. Ewwww, now that was dweeby looking. And the family across the street occasionally gets their drink on and then makes dweebs out of themselves for all to see. And then there's one who, well, just IS dweeby, plain and simple. So, no. Walking around in his Clampett aeration shoes couldn't be that dweeby.
Right? Because when it comes to yard-czar of the year, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Ah! What we won't do to keep up with the Jones's.

Toni

WHERE I SPENT MY (INDIAN) SUMMER VACATION!

We had plans to take our annual family vacation in Charleston, SC. We were so looking forward to Fort Sumter (where the first shots of the civil war were fired), Boone Hall Plantation (our family is very interested in learning about the history of slavery and civil rights in our country), and of course some ocean beach time for the kids.

The best laid plans (sigh!)

The flights to Charleston were very full. We fly standby and would have needed SIX open seats on FOUR different flights. Way too iffy for us. Next? We tried several other destinations.
Columbia, SC., full.
Corpus Christi, TX., rain predicted.
Boston, MA., rain and cold predicted.
Ft. Myers, FL., rain predicted.
Savannah, GA., a possibility, but not exactly "sure thing" flights and then there was the dilemma. Stay in Savannah and make the best of it or drive the 2 hours to Charleston to stick with our original plan. It gave us headaches and twitching eyeballs just to think about it.
Pensacola, FL.? Okay, a maybe. The flights were better. But the few things we would have desired to do were either closed due to previous hurricanes or not open during our time there. And as much as we enjoy the beach, we're totally not beach vacation peeps. We could not spend more than a day on the beach without losing interest (genetic mutation, I know.)

As a pathetic last ditch effort, Carl said, "Pull up a map of the United States and let's see where we might have overlooked." (Wasn't it Miss Teen SC, ironically, who said that some U.S. Americans don't have maps? Good thing we weren't among them.)

Albuquerque. We decided to check flights to Albuquerque.
BAMM! Available seats for our party of 6 going in and out.
And banner weather predicted.
Oh, and looky here, lots of neat things to see and do.
Alberquerque, here we come! And so it was, from Saturday, September 26th to Wednesday, September 30th.

We even got to take a rare afternoon flight because A) there were available seats all the way (pretty rare for traveling standby in the afternoon) and B) because Carl's co-worker, Danielle, was kind enough to trade shifts with him (we ALL really appreciated that.)

Our hotel sat right on historic route 66, which was really cool. And we had a heated indoor pool and free breakfast. It was only a Travelodge, but the staff was friendly, the price was very right, and the location was great. Win-win!

A few highlights:
We took the Sandia tramway over 2 miles up the side of a mountain to an elevation of over 10,000 feet. It's the longest cable tramway in the world.


We were personally saddened to see a few remaining pieces of wreckage from a 1955 TWA flight that crashed into the side of the mountain in fog. To say that the location was highly inaccessible is an understatement. There were sadly no survivors.
There is a very nice restaurant with amazing views at the top. It was too pricey for our family vacation budget, but I would love to dine there someday when our kids are grown. In the evenings, the tram crowd changes drastically from school groups and tourists sightseeing to D.I.N.K.s and urban professionals going to dinner.

At the top, we hiked along a dirt road through the pines, taking in the most beautiful scenery and freshest air we've ever breathed. It was wonderful. That is, until a very funky looking "squirrel" (we weren't exactly sure what it was at that point) scampered out onto the road and proceeded to hop-hop toward us in a very confident manner.
"Kids, back up. Back uuuup! Uh oh, no. No, don't try to go to it. Kids, back...back...RUN!!!!!!!" In a panic somewhat based on an irrational fear of rabid animals, we were instructing our four kids to run.
To RUN, for cryin' out loud.
From a squirrel.
Clampetts!

Fact was, it was not at all rabid. Just not scared of humans because it clearly doesn't encounter them often enough to need to fear them. But this is what we saw coming at us.
I ask you, would YOU know it was a squirrel? Oh sure, if you're familiar with the Abert squirrel, you would. But where I'm from, squirrels have teeny little ears, not rabbit-sized mutent antennae on their heads. SHEESH!

When we had wandered a good three quarters of a mile from the tramway, it occurred to us that we were in fact not alone. Lions, no tigers, but bears, oh my!
Yes, mountain lions and black bears are on the mountain.
Suddenly, every stump was a wild animal.
Every sound a potential ambush.
I was not amused. I pointed out to Carl that we were not well versed in our food chain defense tactics where bears and mountain cats were concerned.
He quickly comforted me. "Hey honey, we have nothing to worry about. After all, you see how well we handled a rabid squirrel coming at our kids." Honestly, we told them to RUN from a 2 pound squirrel. What were we going to tell them to do if we saw a bear?
Sing show tunes???

We did figure out (later) what you should do if you encounter bears or mountain lions. Let me just say, it wasn't what we would have thought to do and so we'd have been up the creek without a paddle (and that's a heck of a place to be in a torrential rain.) We also decided to let the kids have a much safer encounter with nature, by heading straight for the local zoo when we got off the mountain. Zoo animals, btw, are GROSS! You know the various behaviors you've seen. But this guy was just waaaaay too cute for words, I tell you. I think you'll agree. We also spent a day at Bandelier National Monument in Bandelier national forest. The drive up was both spectacular and heart wrenching. We saw the gorgeous desert terrain agains the mountainous backdrop. Then we saw the amazing and intimidating rock exposed cliffs (and the falling rock warnings to remind us that beauty and danger often coexist.) Finally, rocky cliffs yielded to spectacular Ponderosa pine forest (which was on fire in one area as we headed back out at the end of the day, a sight that was sobering to see.) We passed through many tiny mountain towns, several of which were on Pueblo Indian reservation lands. The poverty in those towns was truly difficult to take in. They are so very, very proud of their heritage and their history. And so gracious to share it with all of us (as I'll get to.) But their lives are drastically different from the life I know. I wondered if their basic needs were met. I wondered if they were content in their circumstances. I wondered if my perception didn't equate with their reality. All questions not easily answered, I suppose.

So, if you're not familiar with Bandelier, then I'm sure you definitely ARE familiar with Pueblo cliff dwellers from one of your history classes along the way. We had the privilege of hiking out to see an archeological dig, the Tyuonyi Pueblo (a permanent village of the Pueblo people, which consisted of multilevel adobe apartment dwellings of terraced design, clustered around a central plaza.)

Even more incredible was the opportunity and experience to ascend ladders along an enormous and intimidating rocky mountainous cliff to physically enter the cliff homes of Ancestral Pueblo people who would have lived there in the 1300's A.D. Unbelievably moving experience that I would fail to adequately describe to you.

Most of the cavates were easily accessible by climbing a short ladder to one of the cliff dwellings above. However, for the more adventurous, you could hike another 1.2 miles to ascend four ladders (140 rungs) to enter both a very large cliff dwelling known as Alcove House, as well as its restored kiva (kivas were circular structures that were entered by descending a ladder through a hole in the roof. The kiva was the center of community life. Knowledge was passed on from parent to child. Faith too. And important decisions, a la tribal business, was also conducted there.) The height of this particular dwelling was dizzying (literally for me.) The view, while absolutely spectacular, reminded me that we must remain very cautious and focused at all times. Folks, we were HIGH up on a rocky cliff, I tell you.

Our kids have had some experience with ascending ladders on cliffs, as we hike in several state parks here that have similar ladders. I do believe it gave us ALL the confidence and experience to be able to enjoy this one time experience at Bandelier. If you're ever in Albuquerque or Santa Fe (or you enjoy native American history), I would highly encourage you not to miss a day trip to Bandelier. $12 got our entire family into the park to enjoy this otherwise free experience. We all enjoyed it fully.

We did make it over to Santa Fe for a day of shopping in the old town section. Lots of funky, artsy boutiques and stores. I purchased a beautiful, colorful costume jewelry earring and necklace set to remind me of our time there. We toured a gorgeous historic Catholic church, the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.
Somehow, don't ask me how, we forgot to visit Loretto chapel, whose famous staircase you may well have heard of. I know I have. Two blocks away and we forgot to stop and see it. Isn't that special? Grrr!

We had to wake our four kids up at an unthinkable hour, 3:45am, to catch a 6am flight back to Indy. Yeah, we were all packin' a few extra bags there, if you get what I'm putting down.

Seriously though?

Our kids are wonderful travelers. They know the drill at this point, even our 2yo. We gave the pep talk the night before, reminding them there was no slow-poking allowed when the dreaded wake-up call came. All hands feet on deck. We had 2 suitcases, a diaper bag, a carry-on bag, a backpack, two carseats, a purse, a stroller, and four kids (up, dressed, teeth and hair brushed) out the door and on our way to the airport in 25 minutes' time.
Sheesh, not bad, eh? ;)

But this travel tale would so not be complete without telling you about the knot. When we got to the rental car return, Carl and I hurried to unpack our 6-party load so we could sk-diddle over to the shuttle bus back to the airport. Carl yanked the stroller out of the back, while I grabbed a a few bags and started for the side of the car.

That's when it happened.

The stars. The momentary confusion. The PAIN!

For just a brief moment, I seriously thought I had been struck in the head by an attacker in the parking lot. But remember, I was passing the back of the car, where Carl was busy getting the stroller out in a hurry.

You don't think he'd inadvertently hit me in the head with a heavy-duty stroller, now do you? Of course not. He'd use the hatchback door. And I so have the knot on my head to prove it. Nothing says, "souvenir" like bodily injury, what with no customs declarations needed on that one.

Toni