"lean restroom
smoked brisket"
I should have gotten a picture, but we drove by too fast. Then I spent the next 40 seconds or so trying to wrap my brain around what the billboard was advertising at the gas station in the middle of nowhere, Texas.
"lean restroom
smoked brisket"
Finally I told John exactly what I had seen. His first reaction was, “ewww”. Lean restroom-smoked brisket? Then immediately he pointed out, as I’m sure you have already discerned, that there is probably a “c” missing:
"clean restroom
smoked brisket"
Mind you, this was at about hour 11 on our long drive, so I blame my brain malfunctioning on that little fact.
Eventually we got hungry for dinner, but not for “lean restroom-smoked brisket”.
Or for McDonald’s (just doesn’t taste good).
Or for Dairy Queen (usually takes forever and a day for them to get your order filled).
When you are driving through most of Texas, larger cities are few and far between, and the small towns generally have: McDonald’s, Dairy Queen, and Sonic.
So, Sonic it was.
Only, at about the time we decided we were hungry, the road had turned into a larger highway not directly intersecting any towns. It is at times like this that having a blackberry in the car is pretty handy. I found the next two nearby towns and looked up the location of the closest Sonic, got directions, and attempted to steer John (who was driving at the time) in the right direction.
Apparently there were two different exits leading to the same road, and the one we chose to use was going in the wrong direction. Within ten minutes I ascertained we were not any where close to a town, so we turned around to head back to the highway.
Just as I was thinking I might need to eat my arm I was so hungry, we saw yet another exit for the same road. I was hesitant, but John wanted his Sonic so he took the exit. Two miles down the road, lo and behold, there stands a glorious Sonic waiting just for us. Angus burger and mozzarella sticks for all.
In case you’re thinking of driving on Hwy 287 in Colorado, don’t. Even if it seems like it will be faster than the alternative routes, it won’t. That’s because at two separate locations the road is down to one lane for several miles, which basically ensures you will have to wait for upward of twenty minutes at a dead stop until it is your turn to drive on the road. (On the up side, both locations receive cell service, so it’s a great time to make some phone calls or use your blackberry/I-phone.)
Also, the E470 toll road in Colorado is probably more expensive than you assume it will be. And they don’t take credit cards. We finally ran out of cash at the third toll booth and had to just drive on through. It’s two dollars at each booth. (Obviously we are not cash-carriers.) We fully expect to receive our bill from the transportation department in Colorado any day now (if they even send interstate tickets). It will just be for the tolls we didn’t pay as long as we pay within 20 days of receiving the bill, so really, that might be faster than stopping at each toll booth on the road unless you have a toll pass…hmmm.
Surprisingly the road trip home did not seem as long as it really was. But I probably do not want to be stuck in a car for longer than a few hours again any time soon.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
More Random Snapshots from Colorado
Another reason the Cowboy Brad performance mentioned in the previous post was so entertaining: lots of kiddos in attendance.
It seems many of the children have seen Cowboy Brad before. I’m uncertain as to whether it is easier or more difficult for Cowboy Brad during this particular performance, but the audience continues requesting songs until the very end so he does not need to come up with (or, on the other hand, does not get to choose) any of his own pieces to perform.
With all the children’s requests we get to hear songs about a skunk, a feather bed, and water.
Near the end of the evening, Cowboy Brad picks one little girl, probably about three years old, to sing her request. The small girl speaks so softly that even we, sitting just two rows behind her, cannot hear or understand the song she is asking for. The girl’s mother, either in an attempt to make an actual song title out of her daughter’s request or because she herself has no idea what her child was saying, pronounces that her daughter is saying, “On Top of Old Smokey”.
The little girl will have none of it. This is obviously NOT what she wants to hear. Immediately she states, more clearly and loudly, that she is requesting Cowboy Brad to sing “Don’t Let Kitties Out”.
Without a moment’s hesitation Cowboy Brad responds, “Oh! We all know that one! Let’s see, it has three…no four…verses.” He then proceeds to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”, “The Alphabet Song”, and “Baa, Baa Black Sheep” followed by “Don’t let kitties, kitties out; don’t you let those kitties out…” to the same tune.
As an accommodating audience we all join in.
The four-year-old sitting almost right in front of us also provides quite a captivating show. At some point during the event, her mom hands her their digital camera. Watching the world through the screen on the back of the camera is just fascinating! After about five minutes, the girl figures out how to press the button to take a picture and proceeds to take pictures of the ground, the sky, her shoes, her shirt, a rock, and John (whom she is flirting with just a little bit). Most of these pictures are taken either right on top of the object or from a distance of about half an inch.
It is almost as entertaining to watch the girl’s parents reviewing her photography skills after they eventually reclaim the camera. I’m fairly certain most of the pictures were not kept for posterity, but it sure occupied a four-year-old for a good 15 minutes.
It wasn’t all fun and games with the kids, though. One boy, I’m guessing he was about six, must have had his hand in the air after every song for a good twenty minutes, ready with his request for Cowboy Brad. Unfortunately, the hour comes to an end, Cowboy Brad ends the show, and the little boy throws a fit that he did not get his turn to make a song request. The last time I see him, the boy is scrambling out of his mother’s arms and heading up to the CD table and Cowboy Brad, his hand still waving wildly in the air, no doubt ready to tell Cowboy Brad just what he wants him to sing.
One other totally unrelated incident I must share from our week in Colorado: the hairdryer.
While cleaning up breakfast one morning, my sister-in-law rounds the corner from the hallway with a stricken look on her face and announces, “The hairdryer fell into the toilet” followed immediately by, “What do I do?”
To my surprise she is obviously still alive and unharmed. Haven’t you been told all your life that if you drop the hairdryer in water (or even use the hairdryer too close to water) you will suffer a most unpleasant death by shock?
I have.
At least, that’s what I think of every time I dry my hair near a sink or toilet.
The bathroom we’re sharing in Colorado is the size of a matchbox, and with the toilet lid up there is definitely a great chance that a hairdryer that slips out of the hand could end up right in the toilet bowl.
To my relief, I see when I enter the bathroom that my sister-in-law has already boldly and quickly yanked the plug out of the socket. In this case, I’m fairly certain no harm can come from lifting the hairdryer out of the toilet.
This happens to be my mother-in-law’s hairdryer - a travel-sized appliance that she bought recently for a trip to Germany because it converts to two different voltages. Fancy.
Miraculously, after waiting a day for the hairdryer to completely dry out, we try it out just to see if it might still work, and it does!
My mother-in-law says she just might write a glowing review of the item for the company that makes it: dropped in the toilet while turned on and plugged in, but it continues to function!
Maybe all hairdryers are this impervious to water, but I don't recommend trying to find out.
It seems many of the children have seen Cowboy Brad before. I’m uncertain as to whether it is easier or more difficult for Cowboy Brad during this particular performance, but the audience continues requesting songs until the very end so he does not need to come up with (or, on the other hand, does not get to choose) any of his own pieces to perform.
With all the children’s requests we get to hear songs about a skunk, a feather bed, and water.
Near the end of the evening, Cowboy Brad picks one little girl, probably about three years old, to sing her request. The small girl speaks so softly that even we, sitting just two rows behind her, cannot hear or understand the song she is asking for. The girl’s mother, either in an attempt to make an actual song title out of her daughter’s request or because she herself has no idea what her child was saying, pronounces that her daughter is saying, “On Top of Old Smokey”.
The little girl will have none of it. This is obviously NOT what she wants to hear. Immediately she states, more clearly and loudly, that she is requesting Cowboy Brad to sing “Don’t Let Kitties Out”.
Without a moment’s hesitation Cowboy Brad responds, “Oh! We all know that one! Let’s see, it has three…no four…verses.” He then proceeds to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”, “The Alphabet Song”, and “Baa, Baa Black Sheep” followed by “Don’t let kitties, kitties out; don’t you let those kitties out…” to the same tune.
As an accommodating audience we all join in.
The four-year-old sitting almost right in front of us also provides quite a captivating show. At some point during the event, her mom hands her their digital camera. Watching the world through the screen on the back of the camera is just fascinating! After about five minutes, the girl figures out how to press the button to take a picture and proceeds to take pictures of the ground, the sky, her shoes, her shirt, a rock, and John (whom she is flirting with just a little bit). Most of these pictures are taken either right on top of the object or from a distance of about half an inch.
It is almost as entertaining to watch the girl’s parents reviewing her photography skills after they eventually reclaim the camera. I’m fairly certain most of the pictures were not kept for posterity, but it sure occupied a four-year-old for a good 15 minutes.
It wasn’t all fun and games with the kids, though. One boy, I’m guessing he was about six, must have had his hand in the air after every song for a good twenty minutes, ready with his request for Cowboy Brad. Unfortunately, the hour comes to an end, Cowboy Brad ends the show, and the little boy throws a fit that he did not get his turn to make a song request. The last time I see him, the boy is scrambling out of his mother’s arms and heading up to the CD table and Cowboy Brad, his hand still waving wildly in the air, no doubt ready to tell Cowboy Brad just what he wants him to sing.
One other totally unrelated incident I must share from our week in Colorado: the hairdryer.
While cleaning up breakfast one morning, my sister-in-law rounds the corner from the hallway with a stricken look on her face and announces, “The hairdryer fell into the toilet” followed immediately by, “What do I do?”
To my surprise she is obviously still alive and unharmed. Haven’t you been told all your life that if you drop the hairdryer in water (or even use the hairdryer too close to water) you will suffer a most unpleasant death by shock?
I have.
At least, that’s what I think of every time I dry my hair near a sink or toilet.
The bathroom we’re sharing in Colorado is the size of a matchbox, and with the toilet lid up there is definitely a great chance that a hairdryer that slips out of the hand could end up right in the toilet bowl.
To my relief, I see when I enter the bathroom that my sister-in-law has already boldly and quickly yanked the plug out of the socket. In this case, I’m fairly certain no harm can come from lifting the hairdryer out of the toilet.
This happens to be my mother-in-law’s hairdryer - a travel-sized appliance that she bought recently for a trip to Germany because it converts to two different voltages. Fancy.
Miraculously, after waiting a day for the hairdryer to completely dry out, we try it out just to see if it might still work, and it does!
My mother-in-law says she just might write a glowing review of the item for the company that makes it: dropped in the toilet while turned on and plugged in, but it continues to function!
Maybe all hairdryers are this impervious to water, but I don't recommend trying to find out.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Rocky Mountain Adventures
I believe I may begin making ice cubes in trays because the ice coming from our ice machine tastes bad. For those of you who know me, you know I do not take ice in my drinks…normally. I think the circumstances are now appropriate to drink beverages with ice. It may have something to do with the fact that over the last week in Colorado I became acclimated to temperatures that never rose higher than the 80-degree mark only to return to the humidity and consistently triple-digit temperatures that are summertime in Texas.
Yes, it has been difficult coming back to the realities of life: work; sweltering heat; flat, brown, treeless landscapes and all.
Estes Park was lovely. The view from the cabin we stayed in was great. Cooking our food rather than rushing around each night to get ready to go out to dinner was relaxing. The hikes we went on were beautiful.
In fact, as I looked back at our pictures today I begin to wonder if it might be possible that the photos are actually more superb than the views in real life. Nah. I think maybe the pictures are that much more perfect now that I am back home and far removed from mountains, trees, and running water (in the form of streams, rivers, and waterfalls…we do still have running water in our house – even in the kitchen sink).
After that long day of hiking to Black Lake, including the unsuccessful search for Blue Lake, we were going to take the day off but decided instead to take a shorter hike the following day. Rocky Mountain National Park and the surrounding forests are huge. I’m not a big fan of repeating hikes since life is short and I know there is so much more to be seen, but the Circle of Lakes is a beautiful place to hike and the round-trip distance is manageable and does not require an early morning start.
The early morning starts and I are not necessarily friends. We’re not enemies either. It’s more like a love-hate relationship. I’m not exactly a morning person, but then I also absolutely love admiring my surroundings and the beauty of nature in early morning light and the silence that accompanies the beginning of a new day. This is why one morning last week I accompanied my dear husband to Sprague Lake before the sun rose to watch the sunrise and experience alpenglow.
The Circle of Lakes trail was interesting to me this time because the first (and only other time) I hiked this trail it was cold, snowing, and the water was frozen.
Let’s compare and contrast. Here is the view of Emerald Lake in May of 2005:
And here is the view we enjoyed last week:
This short hike is much easier (and much shorter) in July.
Finally we take a day of rest, driving down to Glenn Haven for cinnamon rolls in the morning, and then driving up Fall River Road to the Alpine Visitor Center 12,000 feet above sea level. The view is stunning. And don’t you agree that this picture I took looks like it comes right from the Windows wallpaper that comes with your computer?
At this point, I feel I must admit that, contrary to my vows after Monday night’s YMCA program featuring the singers from South Dakota, I did indeed attend yet another YMCA program Wednesday evening: Cowboy Brad.
I also admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the performance consisting of Cowboy Brad and his guitar. He sounds just like John Denver, sings a lot of John Denver pieces, and even looks a bit like John Denver. I have a special place in my heart for John Denver because I grew up listening to his records (that’s right…records…from back in the day), and my sister and I would spin and dance around the room to John Denver’s music and voice.
The rest of the week consists of more hiking, both hikes I had not done previously: Lake Isabelle and Estes Cone. Lake Isabelle is actually in a national forest, not the Rocky Mountain National Park and the gate employees do not seem to be in the best of moods. First they ask if we have a national park pass (whish is irrelevant since this is a national forest, not a national park), then when we say we need to get a few more dollars out of the trunk to pay the forest fee they tell us we need to move forward to the pay booth right now while John’s mother is still trying to find the money in the trunk of the car. We decide to wait a few seconds for her to finish in the trunk before driving off. The man tells us we can’t just sit there without pulling up because he doesn’t want the line of cars to stick out in the road. (The road, as far as we can tell, is about two miles away from this pay booth, but whatever.)
Lake Isabelle was probably my favorite hike, while Estes Cone was my favorite destination of the week.
While eating lunch at Lake Isabelle, we are entertained by what we think is a beaver poking out of the huge rock we’re sitting on. At least, his head looks kind of like a beaver. However, later, he emerges fully from his home and his tail is definitely not that of a beaver. Perhaps he is a large marmot? I have never seen a marmot this large, but I suppose if people regularly eat on this particular rock, and the creature lives right here under the rock, then large quantities of human food could contribute to his (or her) size. We got some pretty good close-ups of the animal through the binoculars.
John would like me to inform everyone that Estes Cone is really a mountain. Mt. Estes Cone if you will. We would not want anyone to underestimate the steep, rocky hike or the extremely high elevations we climbed just because “mountain” is not in the name of Estes Cone. It is not the prettiest of hikes, but the view from the summit is worth every step.
Thus ends our week in Estes Park. The 15-hour drive back home was really not as long as we expected it to seem, even though the second audio book we listened to on our way home was not nearly as good as Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage.
After a day filled with unpacking, laundry, cleaning, and catching up I am appreciating our trip to the mountains even more. Stay tuned for ramblings regarding the drive back.
Yes, it has been difficult coming back to the realities of life: work; sweltering heat; flat, brown, treeless landscapes and all.
Estes Park was lovely. The view from the cabin we stayed in was great. Cooking our food rather than rushing around each night to get ready to go out to dinner was relaxing. The hikes we went on were beautiful.
In fact, as I looked back at our pictures today I begin to wonder if it might be possible that the photos are actually more superb than the views in real life. Nah. I think maybe the pictures are that much more perfect now that I am back home and far removed from mountains, trees, and running water (in the form of streams, rivers, and waterfalls…we do still have running water in our house – even in the kitchen sink).
After that long day of hiking to Black Lake, including the unsuccessful search for Blue Lake, we were going to take the day off but decided instead to take a shorter hike the following day. Rocky Mountain National Park and the surrounding forests are huge. I’m not a big fan of repeating hikes since life is short and I know there is so much more to be seen, but the Circle of Lakes is a beautiful place to hike and the round-trip distance is manageable and does not require an early morning start.
The early morning starts and I are not necessarily friends. We’re not enemies either. It’s more like a love-hate relationship. I’m not exactly a morning person, but then I also absolutely love admiring my surroundings and the beauty of nature in early morning light and the silence that accompanies the beginning of a new day. This is why one morning last week I accompanied my dear husband to Sprague Lake before the sun rose to watch the sunrise and experience alpenglow.
The Circle of Lakes trail was interesting to me this time because the first (and only other time) I hiked this trail it was cold, snowing, and the water was frozen.
Let’s compare and contrast. Here is the view of Emerald Lake in May of 2005:
And here is the view we enjoyed last week:
This short hike is much easier (and much shorter) in July.
Finally we take a day of rest, driving down to Glenn Haven for cinnamon rolls in the morning, and then driving up Fall River Road to the Alpine Visitor Center 12,000 feet above sea level. The view is stunning. And don’t you agree that this picture I took looks like it comes right from the Windows wallpaper that comes with your computer?
At this point, I feel I must admit that, contrary to my vows after Monday night’s YMCA program featuring the singers from South Dakota, I did indeed attend yet another YMCA program Wednesday evening: Cowboy Brad.
I also admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the performance consisting of Cowboy Brad and his guitar. He sounds just like John Denver, sings a lot of John Denver pieces, and even looks a bit like John Denver. I have a special place in my heart for John Denver because I grew up listening to his records (that’s right…records…from back in the day), and my sister and I would spin and dance around the room to John Denver’s music and voice.
The rest of the week consists of more hiking, both hikes I had not done previously: Lake Isabelle and Estes Cone. Lake Isabelle is actually in a national forest, not the Rocky Mountain National Park and the gate employees do not seem to be in the best of moods. First they ask if we have a national park pass (whish is irrelevant since this is a national forest, not a national park), then when we say we need to get a few more dollars out of the trunk to pay the forest fee they tell us we need to move forward to the pay booth right now while John’s mother is still trying to find the money in the trunk of the car. We decide to wait a few seconds for her to finish in the trunk before driving off. The man tells us we can’t just sit there without pulling up because he doesn’t want the line of cars to stick out in the road. (The road, as far as we can tell, is about two miles away from this pay booth, but whatever.)
Lake Isabelle was probably my favorite hike, while Estes Cone was my favorite destination of the week.
While eating lunch at Lake Isabelle, we are entertained by what we think is a beaver poking out of the huge rock we’re sitting on. At least, his head looks kind of like a beaver. However, later, he emerges fully from his home and his tail is definitely not that of a beaver. Perhaps he is a large marmot? I have never seen a marmot this large, but I suppose if people regularly eat on this particular rock, and the creature lives right here under the rock, then large quantities of human food could contribute to his (or her) size. We got some pretty good close-ups of the animal through the binoculars.
John would like me to inform everyone that Estes Cone is really a mountain. Mt. Estes Cone if you will. We would not want anyone to underestimate the steep, rocky hike or the extremely high elevations we climbed just because “mountain” is not in the name of Estes Cone. It is not the prettiest of hikes, but the view from the summit is worth every step.
Thus ends our week in Estes Park. The 15-hour drive back home was really not as long as we expected it to seem, even though the second audio book we listened to on our way home was not nearly as good as Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage.
After a day filled with unpacking, laundry, cleaning, and catching up I am appreciating our trip to the mountains even more. Stay tuned for ramblings regarding the drive back.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Reading in the car
While we're not all that excited about ending our vacation tomorrow, we're eagerly anticipating the book that we plan to start and finish during tomorrow's 16 hour drive. On the way up here, we listened to Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage, and thoroughly enjoyed it. It's the true story of Sir Ernest Shackleton's 1914 expedition to Antarctica that went terribly wrong. He and 27 other men ended up stranded for over a year and a half in the arctic waters of the Weddell Sea. This true story is both astonishing and inspirational, and is a testament to the capabilities of the human body and mind when put to the test. If you're looking for some good summer reading, pick this one up. Or, download it from Audible and listen to it on your next road trip.
Hiking Estes Cone today
While we're enjoying our last day in Colorado hiking Estes Cone, go to our Flickr site to see pictures and videos from this week. Erin will write again in a couple of days to fill you in on our adventures.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Bits & Pieces from Estes Park
We made it to Colorado. After a quick trip to visit some friends in Colorado Springs, we drove up to Estes Park where the in-laws have a cabin every summer.
Currently John is enjoying some almost-cooked brownies (we like them a little gooey) eaten with a knife because we seem to have depleted the stockpile of silverware and dishes during the course of this evening. (This may have something to do with the fact that John’s dad provided us all with a “pasta bar” for dinner – it’s always a production, requires the use of all cookware in the kitchen, and ends up being quite tasty.)
Though the cool air and general silence of the mountains is perfection, the dishwasher (yes, we have a dishwasher in our not-so-rustic cabin) is currently working overtime to correct the kitchen situation, and let’s just say it sounds like it’s about to take off every time we turn it on.
So far: we’ve eaten out on the porch for most meals while enjoying a fantastic view of the Rocky Mountains, taken two hikes (one to Ouzel Falls, another to Black Lake), done some reading in the chairs out on the front porch, taken two trips to the grocery store (yes, that’s two trips in two days), and attended a gospel quartet (that was actually a quintet) YMCA program.
If this post is random and makes no sense, that’s because I’m dead tired. I think we hiked about 11 miles today. The view was worth it as you can see below, but the trail was pretty rocky, and my feet still feel a little like Jell-O.
Currently John is enjoying some almost-cooked brownies (we like them a little gooey) eaten with a knife because we seem to have depleted the stockpile of silverware and dishes during the course of this evening. (This may have something to do with the fact that John’s dad provided us all with a “pasta bar” for dinner – it’s always a production, requires the use of all cookware in the kitchen, and ends up being quite tasty.)
Though the cool air and general silence of the mountains is perfection, the dishwasher (yes, we have a dishwasher in our not-so-rustic cabin) is currently working overtime to correct the kitchen situation, and let’s just say it sounds like it’s about to take off every time we turn it on.
So far: we’ve eaten out on the porch for most meals while enjoying a fantastic view of the Rocky Mountains, taken two hikes (one to Ouzel Falls, another to Black Lake), done some reading in the chairs out on the front porch, taken two trips to the grocery store (yes, that’s two trips in two days), and attended a gospel quartet (that was actually a quintet) YMCA program.
If this post is random and makes no sense, that’s because I’m dead tired. I think we hiked about 11 miles today. The view was worth it as you can see below, but the trail was pretty rocky, and my feet still feel a little like Jell-O.
Oh, and we also experienced "krummholz", a German word meaning "bent, twisted, crooked". In the subalpine area on mountains, there are areas of these densely packed, two-foot knarled, trees. After Black Lake, we tried to find Blue Lake, but we were unsuccessful at negotiating the krummholz by traversing the rocks (as described to us in our hiking book). There was no signage, and the krummholz got the better of us. We decided to turn around and make our way back before ever finding the elusive Blue Lake.
(There's my sister-in-law among the kummholz.)
I think that YMCA program last night with the gospel “quartet” (quintet) was my first and last YMCA program experience. The guys who sang hailed from South Dakota.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from South Dakota. I guess with the population that state boasts chances are slim that I would actually know anyone from that area of our country.
The “quartet” sang pretty well and was fairly entertaining as far as gospel quartets who drive all the way to Colorado from South Dakota to sing for probably a few hundred bucks go.
Mind you, I am still getting accustomed to the altitude here, and we hiked yesterday, so I was struggling to keep my eyes open during the hour-long concert.
During a rendition of “I’m Proud to Be an American”, in my tired state, I found it a little too funny when multiple audience members shot up out of their seats to stand at the line in the song that says, “And I’ll gladly stand up…” Ironically, no one stood up for any of the songs about Jesus. The whole religious/political/worshipping God/”worshipping” country dilemma is something I could write a separate blog about. But not today.
The low-point was probably after the “I’m Proud to Be an American” song when the lead singer announced that this is usually when they end their concert…selfishly I start having visions of bed…only to then comment, “But tonight, just for you all, we have two extra pieces we’re going to sing for you.” I managed to stay awake and still got to bed at a pretty early hour.
Oh, and also on the way back to the cabin we stopped by to borrow “National Park Monopoly” from the YMCA. Mostly just to accumulate a couple more dice so we have enough to play Farkel, but we also found it interesting to peruse the properties on the game board. While waiting for the employee to tape up the dilapidated Monopoly box, we found this sign:
Good to know. You know, in case the fire wood doesn’t burn the way we think it should, we’re stuck with it. Or if we don’t use all of it we’re just going to have to eat that $2 and leave some “free” firewood for the next cabin occupants.
And just to make everybody down in the Southern U.S. jealous: it’s in the 70’s here, and that’s about 30 degrees cooler than current Texas weather.
And here’s some of what we get to look at:
(There's my sister-in-law among the kummholz.)I think that YMCA program last night with the gospel “quartet” (quintet) was my first and last YMCA program experience. The guys who sang hailed from South Dakota.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from South Dakota. I guess with the population that state boasts chances are slim that I would actually know anyone from that area of our country.
The “quartet” sang pretty well and was fairly entertaining as far as gospel quartets who drive all the way to Colorado from South Dakota to sing for probably a few hundred bucks go.
Mind you, I am still getting accustomed to the altitude here, and we hiked yesterday, so I was struggling to keep my eyes open during the hour-long concert.
During a rendition of “I’m Proud to Be an American”, in my tired state, I found it a little too funny when multiple audience members shot up out of their seats to stand at the line in the song that says, “And I’ll gladly stand up…” Ironically, no one stood up for any of the songs about Jesus. The whole religious/political/worshipping God/”worshipping” country dilemma is something I could write a separate blog about. But not today.
The low-point was probably after the “I’m Proud to Be an American” song when the lead singer announced that this is usually when they end their concert…selfishly I start having visions of bed…only to then comment, “But tonight, just for you all, we have two extra pieces we’re going to sing for you.” I managed to stay awake and still got to bed at a pretty early hour.
Oh, and also on the way back to the cabin we stopped by to borrow “National Park Monopoly” from the YMCA. Mostly just to accumulate a couple more dice so we have enough to play Farkel, but we also found it interesting to peruse the properties on the game board. While waiting for the employee to tape up the dilapidated Monopoly box, we found this sign:
Good to know. You know, in case the fire wood doesn’t burn the way we think it should, we’re stuck with it. Or if we don’t use all of it we’re just going to have to eat that $2 and leave some “free” firewood for the next cabin occupants.And just to make everybody down in the Southern U.S. jealous: it’s in the 70’s here, and that’s about 30 degrees cooler than current Texas weather.
And here’s some of what we get to look at:
Thursday, July 17, 2008
[Insert Interesting Title Here]
This morning the kitchen sink broke.
Of course it broke. We’re about to leave on a vacation. The house knows when we’re preparing to travel because it seems to always choose those inopportune times to quit working in some way.
Sometimes the house knows before we even know. For instance, the year my grandfather died, the water heater started leaking all over the place about one day before we received the sad news that Grandpa had died and we would need to leave the state within four days or so to attend the funeral. (And it all got resolved before we left town.)
John was rinsing out his bowl this morning after breakfast when suddenly the water ceased pouring out of the kitchen faucet. He tried the hot water. Still nothing. His first suspicion was that a water main broke, but upon examination every other faucet in the house worked.
It turned out that even the dishwasher right next to the sink and the sprayer in the sink worked.
After an early morning call to my dad, we felt confident the problem had to be with the faucet itself, not the pipes or the stems, or the shut-off valves.
Of course, the easiest solution (taking the aerator off the end of the faucet to see if it was clogged up) did not resolve the issue.
Can I also just say that I went to bed very late last night because I kept hearing “something” rattling around in our house? I was having flashbacks of mice in the kitchen in Amsterdam, but even though I made John get up, turn on all the lights in the house and search for critters, we were unable to find the source of the noise.
Then the lights went off again, John got back in bed, and I heard the noise…again. And I was almost certain I faintly smelled something burning. John said he did too, but he may have just been trying to make me feel a little less paranoid. (It didn’t work, by the way. I felt terribly paranoid and a bit crazy.) We couldn’t determine the origin of the smell either.
I think I fell asleep an hour later. Thus, I am not in the best of moods to deal with the broken kitchen sink faucet.
After John left for work I discovered the critter making all the noise last night.
Don’t worry, it’s not horrendous. It was some strange bug that I think is supposed to fly (thank goodness it was dying and incapable of soaring through the air around my head!), but was injured to such a degree that it was simply jumping around the hall bathroom. I smacked it with a shoe (John’s…ssshhhh, don’t tell him) and disposed of it.
And to my relief I finally got ahold of my in-laws’ “guy” to come fix the faucet this evening. Which he did, in a matter of ten minutes. The explanation I got was that the valve that lets water, hot or cold, into the faucet had a build-up of calcium and other debris preventing the water from getting through. It works now.
What with all the trip preparations, it may be a while until the next post. I know two of you may be disappointed, so I apologize.
Do have a nice weekend!
Of course it broke. We’re about to leave on a vacation. The house knows when we’re preparing to travel because it seems to always choose those inopportune times to quit working in some way.
Sometimes the house knows before we even know. For instance, the year my grandfather died, the water heater started leaking all over the place about one day before we received the sad news that Grandpa had died and we would need to leave the state within four days or so to attend the funeral. (And it all got resolved before we left town.)
John was rinsing out his bowl this morning after breakfast when suddenly the water ceased pouring out of the kitchen faucet. He tried the hot water. Still nothing. His first suspicion was that a water main broke, but upon examination every other faucet in the house worked.
It turned out that even the dishwasher right next to the sink and the sprayer in the sink worked.
After an early morning call to my dad, we felt confident the problem had to be with the faucet itself, not the pipes or the stems, or the shut-off valves.
Of course, the easiest solution (taking the aerator off the end of the faucet to see if it was clogged up) did not resolve the issue.
Can I also just say that I went to bed very late last night because I kept hearing “something” rattling around in our house? I was having flashbacks of mice in the kitchen in Amsterdam, but even though I made John get up, turn on all the lights in the house and search for critters, we were unable to find the source of the noise.
Then the lights went off again, John got back in bed, and I heard the noise…again. And I was almost certain I faintly smelled something burning. John said he did too, but he may have just been trying to make me feel a little less paranoid. (It didn’t work, by the way. I felt terribly paranoid and a bit crazy.) We couldn’t determine the origin of the smell either.
I think I fell asleep an hour later. Thus, I am not in the best of moods to deal with the broken kitchen sink faucet.
After John left for work I discovered the critter making all the noise last night.
Don’t worry, it’s not horrendous. It was some strange bug that I think is supposed to fly (thank goodness it was dying and incapable of soaring through the air around my head!), but was injured to such a degree that it was simply jumping around the hall bathroom. I smacked it with a shoe (John’s…ssshhhh, don’t tell him) and disposed of it.
And to my relief I finally got ahold of my in-laws’ “guy” to come fix the faucet this evening. Which he did, in a matter of ten minutes. The explanation I got was that the valve that lets water, hot or cold, into the faucet had a build-up of calcium and other debris preventing the water from getting through. It works now.
What with all the trip preparations, it may be a while until the next post. I know two of you may be disappointed, so I apologize.
Do have a nice weekend!
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