Nick and I just got back from our Colorado trip, so here are some vacation shots for anyone interested. Enjoy.
Last week Nick and I went to my friend Erin's wedding in Atlanta. It was beautiful and perfect, but what I really want to talk about is the Kansas City airport, because that's where we spent a great deal of our time during the trip. You see, we had originally planned to fly out Thursday at about 4 o'clock, but that morning we got an automated message from Delta telling us that our flight had been cancelled. "We have protected you," the voice said, "on Flight Blah Blah Blah departing Friday at 7:10. Sorry for the inconvenience." First of all, I love that they used the term "protected," like we were surrounded by wild dingoes and then Delta the Barbarian came charging in with his gleaming deltoids and Austrian accent, wrapped us in a non-flammable blanket, and carried us to safety. Yeah, thanks for protecting us on a flight that leaves at 7 o'clock in the freakin' morning. We really appreciate that.
They Did, They Did
The last weekend of October, I flew to Philadelphia for a close friend's wedding. Everything went well until Hester Prynne announced that she was pregnant with Reverend Dimmesdale's baby. Oh man, was that awkward. Seriously, though, the ceremony itself went smoothly and the bride was beautiful. There was an open bar at the reception, and the flower girls performed some traditional Irish dances. Oh, and there was a swan sculpted from potato salad, which I thought was neat. All in all a lovely event.
Maybe you'd like to know what kind of bra I wore with my dress? Well you see, the bridesmaid dresses were sleek and fitted (with spaghetti straps and a fairly low back), so it was a bit of a challenge to find something that provided support without being too obvious. (In my opinion, if your bra is showing at all, you might as well be wearing it over your clothing like that woman from Splash.) Originally, I was planning to wear one of those Nu-bra things with the self-adhesive cups, but I didn't like the way it looked under the dress. And besides, I was worried it would come unstuck during a critical part of the ceremony and slingshot across the room, perhaps landing on a statue of the Blessed Mother. That would have been bad. In the end, I opted for the standard strapless bra and left it at that.
Will somebody please finance a trip for me to Antarctica? I've been wanting to go there for years, but my interest has recently been rekindled after reading "At the Mountains of Madness," a campy yet engrossing H.P. Lovecraft story set at the astral pole. Basically, some scientists conducting research in Antarctica run across relics of an ancient civilization. Some of them get munched on by primordial baddies, and one of them is driven out of his mind by the horror of it all. The horror! It's awesome. And it makes me want to visit Antarctica more than ever.
My recent flight to Atlanta was an uneventful one. However, when I reached my destination, threw off my pants, and exhaustedly opened my suitcase to retrieve my jammies, there was a small innocuous-looking piece of paper on top. It was a note from the Transportation Security Administration telling me they'd just been looking through all my personal belongings. And laughing. "Man, I didn't know anyone used conditioner anymore," they were saying. "And what is up with that sweater? Could she be any more of a fashion victim?" I've never gotten one of these notices before, so I read it thoroughly and tried to figure out what they had moved around. (Honestly, they did a good job of replacing things as they had been.)
One afternoon, Erin and I hiked around Fort Mountain park. The mountains are certainly different from the ones I'm accustomed to (think Rockies), but they're pretty beautiful just the same. Halfway up the mountain, we saw something burning in the distance and snapped this picture. Someone must have been trying to boil water.
As Nick pointed out, I've been missing for the past five days. I flew to Atlanta last Thursday for my friend Erin's birthday and didn't get back until Monday. Erin and Wende live in a small town called Tallapoosa (formerly known as Possum Snout), which is about an hour out of Atlanta. During my visit, we dined, we attended an opera (La Boheme), and we had a lot of organic food. For your edification and enjoyment, here are some pictures of the trip.
Okay, America, I'm begging you. Please vote for Kerry this Tuesday. We can't afford another four years under Bush. All that has been accomplished with Bush's preemptive war is that the terrorists have been energized to greater hatred and violence than before. We're less safe now than we were four years ago.
Four-way stops.
This morning as I was crossing town, I happened to stop at a four-way stop. A pick-up was on my right, and he had reached the intersection first (by several seconds), so I sat back and waited for him to go. Then I waited some more, but he just sat there. Finally, he made one of those exaggerated "well, go ahead" arm gestures, followed by a rather obscene one. I drove through, made some gestures of my own, and considered following the guy to his destination so I could politely explain to him about the rules of the road. Okay, so first thing. What's the rule when you are at a four-way stop? The person who reaches the intersection first goes through before everyone else. Second, if there is a stalemate, the driver on the right has the right of way. So there are two reasons, right there, why he should have driven through ahead of me. Karen: 2; Idiot: 0.
Our friends Ron and Brandi were great hosts. They showed us the sights and walked us around downtown Denver. And we spent a lot of time just hanging out with them and their two kids: Mikey, 6, and Maddi, 5 months. This was our first time seeing Maddi, and she was appropriately adorable. She has very blue eyes.
Confession Time: I've always been tentative about holding babies. I suspect that long ago, when the earth was much younger, somebody asked me to hold their colicky baby. I further suspect that the baby instantly began to scream bloody murder upon being placed in my arms, and that I was impressionable enough to take this personally. This would explain why I'm mortified that somehow I will break babies, just by holding them. Sort of like Lennie in Of Mice and Men. ("Tell me about the rabbits, George.") Little Maddi, however, seemed perfectly satisfied with me holding her, and there were no screams or secretions issuing forth, so the event was a brilliant success.
Nick and I drove to Colorado last Thursday. Lawrence is about nine hours away from Denver, and a large portion of the drive is comprised of the brown, flat stretches of Western Kansas. The eastern half of Kansas is actually fairly hilly, but by the time you get to Abilene, it's as if an overindustrious giantess has taken a rolling pin to the countryside. There are a few Points of Interest along I-70, such as the enormous replica of Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" that can be seen from the highway in Goodland. The painting is on a huge easel that is taller than the surrounding buildings, and its presence completely throws off the scale of things, much as if you were to look into an ant farm and see a fingernail-sized Margaret Thatcher. There is also the World's Largest Prairie Dog, which is actually an enormous cement statue in a barn. As if that were not enough, this roadside attraction also boasts a living six-legged steer and a shop selling homemade rattlesnake jewelry.
This past weekend we journeyed to Ute, Iowa (population: 500) to visit Nick's extended family. Several amusing things occurred.
ONE. The outfit I had picked out for Saturday was a white, sleeveless blouse and a peach silk skirt. It was a pretty outfit, and I felt good in it. The problem was, I somehow forgot to pack ANY undergarments whatsoever, a fact that occurred to me in the car about halfway to our destination.