The Dust Bunnies Must Go!

Today, Alistaire and I took a little jaunt to school.

Lately, it seems that everything in my life has been about de-cluttering. At home, I harvested my closet for clothes I won't be using anymore and donated them to people who could really use them. Actually being able to walk into my closet and not feel claustrophobic? Pardon me, but I'm going to sound like a Mastercard commercial: it was priceless. It was a wonderful, freeing, cathartic moment.

Thus began the great cleansing of 2010. The closet cleansing simply seeped over into the rest of my home. Reorganization of misplaced or shoved items became priority one, and oddly, disposing of, finding a home for, or repositioning just a few items made my living room seem jarringly bigger. I won't say that my domain is showroom-worthy yet, but significant progress and improvements have been made, and I no longer fear the sudden stop-by from various friends. (You all know the feeling--you're totally cozy and happy in your clean but "lived-in" home, but you'd die of embarrassment if anyone ever saw it, right?)

The thing is, apparently home was not quite enough. Alistaire and I (with my aide of my awesome new colleague Mallory) decided to take on the ancient relics of the music department at my school. In showing my new colleague around the department's nooks and crannies, we found that long-forgotten bits of useless rubbish had been stashed here, shoved, over the years, into odd little conformities. The intention was, of course, (and I speak as a sometime "shover") to come back at a later date after the shoving, and purge the cupboard of all useless piffle. Except that, as every teacher of every age knows, often those organizational details of teaching may fall by the wayside in the interest of spending more time on what we really do--create relationships with and learn with students. (Forgive us this little oversight.) The stuff so often becomes secondary to the heart of our profession. I don't mean to use this as a disclaimer for sometimes being a pack rat, but it is true. I'd like to think that it's less important that I shoved the equipment for the antiquated (and unusable) midi-keyboard lab (that hooked up to something like a Comadore 64!) into the cupboard and more important that I focused my time instead on building curriculum, planning lessons, and helping kids.

I digress . . .

After yesterday, we had filled at least four of the regular trash bins and two recycling bins. Today, one of our custodians kindly lent me a large bin (on wheels) for the continued purging. :)

Today, slightly lighter in the dross department (though still a little . . . let's say "chubby"), Alistaire and I came armed with cleaning supplies--glass/surface cleaner, paper towel, and Swiffer duster cloths. And we attacked those dust bunnies, dust bears, and dust dragons with zest. Somehow, in my mind, my wiping cloth was really more of sword taking down the monstrous dust zombies as they raged their battle and tried to stake their claim on our space. But, ha! I would slay them all.

Quite frankly, I know that I teach in one of the driest non-desert locations of all time, and I am cognizant of the fact that the Dust Bunny Army is biding its time, strategically forming its plot to take over the music department again. But I too am armed (still with the better part of a spray cleaner!), and today . . . Today I am victorious!

British Llama

Now firmly back home in the St. Paul area, Alistaire and I ventured across the pond (you know--that little thing also known as the Mississippi River) for a taste of Minneapolis and a smashing good time at Brit's Pub.

If you live in or have visited the Twin Cities and have never been to Brit's, you really should go. It's quite a lively place, and it's got a little something for everyone. Standard British pub fare (fish and chips, chicken pot pie, bangers and mash), football games (or as we Americans call it, "soccer"), and a lawn bowling. (I've personally never tried it, but I have it on good authority that it's fun.) Oh--and for those so inclined--yup, it's got the alcohol.

Alistaire and I met up with my friend Becky for drinks and some much-needed single-gal talk. (I mean no offense to my married friends, but sometimes you just need to talk to someone else who lives in your same state of being; you don't spend all your time talking about being single or men, or anything that silly, but you do share a common perspective on some things without any necessary preamble.) Until today, I guess I had never known how many people venture out for happy hour after work in downtown. Brit's seemed to attract everyone, too. The up-and-comers were there in their suits that were fitted "just so," or their matching skirt-heels-purse combinations with perfect hair. Those who were further along the career path had already ditched their ties in briefcases, swilling the pint as though there were no tomorrow, glancing up at the golf scores every so often. The hipsters came in with their carefully planned "I-don't-care" layers of clothes perfectly mismatched enough to look cool, but enough to still be a look. (Mind, there were not many hipsters. This was downtown, Nicollet Mall, not UpTown.) The summer cargo-pant crew was there too, along with the cute summer dress posse.

Personally, I had dressed somewhere between the "summer dress posse" and the "up-and-comer." I actually had put a decent amount of thought (probably too much) into what I wore for this occasion simply because I wanted to blend in. Why? I guess I didn't want to look like the country bumpkin' cousin coming to play in the big city, even thought that's exactly what I was doing. I am the school teacher on summer break trying to blend into the fold of the working city. The coolest thing was, I did blend in. And I probably would have blended in no matter what I had worn because Brit's is a place that oozes comfort, charm, and a lack of prestige. That's one of my favorite things about this pub. It takes you as you are. Somehow, I'd forgotten that on any given night, Brit's is host to all walks of life. It's strategic location (and yes, this really is strategic, as opposed to Pie Town!) across from Orchestra Hall brings in concert-goers on performance nights, bachelor/bachelorette parties on the weekends, and hungry visitors looking for sturdy fare on any given night. Brit's is near several hotels and other dining/shopping establishments on Nicollet Mall, after all. (Ooh! A rhyme!)

There was a steady stream of people waltzing through the door. Becky and I seem to have timed it right--we got there and placed our drink and appetizer orders, were served in a very timely manner, and BAM! The people just kept coming through the door. I wondered how many of them made this their "regular place" after work. The whole idea of a daily happy hour still amuses me, as it's not something I do on a regular basis; for me it's more of a special event, a time to chill with friends, but it's not "just an ordinary day." For this teacher, an ordinary day of work includes finishing teaching at 2:25, working on projects, planning, or rehearsing until 3:30 or 4:00. Or 5:00. (Ick.) Then coming home, inhaling whatever edible thing I can find ("Broccoli? Yum!" or "Chicken--excellent." or "Um, bag of microwave popcorn--it's easy. Ok! It's dinner!"), and then collapsing in a heap. I'm lucky if I can find my way to my bed at the end of it all . . .

Perhaps that's why I'm extra-primed for adventure in the summer, even if it is just to one of my favorite low-key pubs, enjoying the company of a very good friend. Sometimes, low-key is exactly what the llama ordered.

There's no place like the land of 10,000 lakes

Leaving Nebraska was bittersweet. On the one hand, I had to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends, who I see far too infrequently. And my visit had been so brief . . .

On the other hand, I got to go HOME. There is something wonderfully welcoming about crossing the border from Iowa into Minnesota. Suddenly a few hills rise up, there are a few more trees . . . I know that southern Minnesota is similar in topography to Iowa, and compared to my driving in Denver and Albuquerque, it could be considered flat, but for me, crossing that border will always feel refreshing and welcoming. I don't consider myself an overly-anxious driver (unless I'm running late for something), but as I crossed the border and continued north to St. Paul, I couldn't help but inhale a breath of relaxation. I sensed my entire mind opening and clearing and simply feeling happy to be back in my homeland.

Dorothy said it--"There's no place like home." And I'd to add that there's no place quite like the land of 10,000 lakes. Yah sure you betcha'!

Nebraska--it's not that bad

I have long-suspected that I may have read too many romanticized books, and have watched far too many romantic comedy movies. (The worst are those made-for-t.v. movies that you don't want to watch, but somehow Lifetime or Hallmark sucks you in and you find that you've sat trough an entire movie despite your better intentions.)

I say this because I recently drove through Eastern Colorado and across Nebraska; despite my teen-action book-on-CD (I've been working my way through the Percy Jackson series, remember?), I found my my mind wandering instead to the rugged and restless hearts of ranches, to wind-swept prairie lands, skirts being picked up in the wind and fluttering around knees and ankles as you think about your devotion and love to the land . . . as well as to that brooding farmer down the road. Of all places, Nebraska had me completely enthralled with romantic notions that I have wanted to pretend I don't have. I couldn't stop thinking about all those wonderful works of fiction by Nebraska author Willa Cather. I went through a big Willa Cather phase in 8th and 9th grades. O Pioneers!, My Antonia, and especially The Song of the Lark came flooding back into my mind as I raced across Nebraska. I have a special love for The Song of the Lark. Although it has been a long time since I read that book, the protagonist, Thea, sticks with me. Perhaps it was that she was always seeking something but wasn't sure what, that she was different from her siblings simply because she sang (because even if your siblings are also musical, when you come from a stock of instrumentalists and you're the lone vocalist, you feel a bit like a fish out of water just because you're "the different one"), or simply because she was strong enough to do what she wanted, and although she loved sincerely, she didn't let her romantic disappointments ruin her. Whatever it is, that book has stuck with me, and it haunted me as I drove across Nebraska. I could almost picture myself in the hazy breeze with a more modern picture of romanticism, perhaps. Instead of long, pioneer skirts fluttering in the wind, I picture hair wisps flying about in the summer sun, blinking and squinting up at the treeless sky . . .

After hours of driving and daydreaming, I finally arrived in Omaha. This was not my first, nor my last, visit to Omaha. One of my best friends (Amy) lives there with her husband, so I usually visit at least once or twice a year. As with Denver, I was merely passing through, but this visit was one I looked forward to simply because I got to spend a day with Amy. After a delicious dinner at Lazlo's, a brewery and grill, Amy's husband met up with some of his friends to complete a beer tour at Old Chicago, and Amy and I had some girl time. (Yay!)

For years, Amy has tried to get me to consider moving to Omaha. (I, in turn, have consistently tried to get her to move back to the Twin Cities. It's that ploy we all use--we want all the people we love most to live near us. Nothing wrong with that!) Her rational explanations about the lower cost of living, deals, and the arts scene and history of Omaha always end with, "It's not that bad." Every time I visit Omaha, I do have a considerable amount of fun. Of course, I credit this with the company, though, not the city. I generally feel that the people you are with are more integral to enjoyment than the place being visited. I frequently love doing nothing with great company. In fact, that may rank among my favorite things. (I do have a penchant for "the little things," like great phone calls with friends, walks on a cool summer night, the crunch of leaves in the fall, the hush that falls on a busy city when it snows . . . )

I'm not looking to move--I do love living in the twin cities--but I must say I agree. Nebraska--it's not that bad. There is a certain appeal to all that open space, maybe a touch of romanticism tucked into those long grasses and tall cornstalks.

But . . . my heart still belongs to Minnesota.

Eastern Colorado has the juiciest bugs

Splat!

Splat!

Splat, splat, sploosh!

The bugs of Eastern Colorado were like a percussive song all to themselves. I don't know if it's all the ranching in Eastern Colorado, the clear skies that extend on forever east of Denver, or just a weird phenomenon, but Eastern Colorado has got some seriously juicy bugs. I knew that my car wouldn't look clean after all the driving. After all, this little road trip of mine clocked in at about 2600 miles. By the time I reached Albuquerque, there was some heavy-duty bug squashing going on all over the car. I thought about running my car through a car wash at that point, but decided I'd wait until I returned to the twin cities. Why wash it when it was quickly going to get covered in bug guts again?

Eastern Colorado brought a whole new bug massacre. I almost pulled over the first time one of those big bugs splattered against my wind shield. SPLAT! It's yellow guts spilled out over the windshield. "What in the . . .?" I thought. Then, realizing it was just a big Colorado bug, I sprayed my windshield with wiper fluid and gave it a rinse. Of course, this did smear the bug in a whole new way. It didn't really clean the windshield of my car, but I suppose it was a slight improvement. Instead of a smattering of yellow goo, I was left with an opaque smudge.

(On a completely geeky note, I would like to point out that smudge is a fantastic word! It sounds just like what it actually is. Smudge. The consonant cluster at the beginning of the word gives it a smacking, splattering sound, and the "dge" at the end makes it sound like it is simply sinking in, seeping in, rubbing. Try saying it: Smudge. Smudge, smudge, smudge. Smudge. What an oddly perfect combination of sounds. Smudge.)

So, here's my haiku to Eastern Colorado, home of the juiciest bugs ever:

Oh, Colorado,

Your bugs once so full of juice

Now rest on my car.

Ok. Maybe I shouldn't give up my day job just yet . . .

*I would like to note here that although I tease and make sarcastic jokes about Colorado's bugs, I really enjoyed my visit to Colorado in every aspect. I loved driving every part of the state that I visited, even the flatter eastern part of the state. My other thoughts on Colorado fit more thematically with my thoughts on Nebraska. Tune in to my next installment for something a little less silly** and a lot more thoughtful.

**Although the next installment isn't as silly as this bit about juicy bugs, I don't think I'll ever be so serious that all silliness will be gone. This is what happens when your parents bless you with a middle name like "Happy."

Denver, I barely knew ye

If you've never driven north from Albuquerque (or Santa Fe, for that matter) to Denver, I highly recommend that you try it at some point. Without a doubt, this 6.5 hour trek was the best stretch of driving I covered during the entire trip. From start to finish, it was breathtaking.

Of course, there were moments when the drive literally stole my breath. Driving through the mountains north of Santa Fe, I found myself constantly holding my breath. I wasn't driving overly fast, my car was not out of control, and the weather was extremely cooperative; and yet, even as I was consumed by the visual feast on all sides of my car, I experienced an irrational fear that my car would suddenly careen over the edge of the mountain and fall into oblivion below. Thankfully, I didn't hyperventilate whilst driving, and the actual driving in the mountains ended shortly.

(Alistaire would like to point out that llama trekking would have saved me from a whole host of irrational worries.)

The remainder of the drive was still quite gorgeous. Rolling hills and mountains rose on all sides, and as I rolled into Denver, I could see the mountain ranges growing bigger and bigger and becoming more distinct with every spin of my wheels. Finally, I was in Denver.

Denver! I was finally in a city I had dreamed of visiting for years. I will confess that this dream started about 3-4 years ago. My Amazonian friend from Chicago and I had long-discussed the merits of Denver--it's a good hub of arts and culture, yet has access to the outdoor activities we like. Plus, Denver has consistently landed itself on the list of "best cities for singles" for the past several years. Sometimes, it's nice to know that you can go somewhere and not feel like a pariah because you're not part of a duo.

Denver didn't disappoint. I only wish that I could have spent more time there, and another trip to Denver is DEFINITELY on my list of "musts" for the next few years. I had less than 24 hours, and there were too many neighborhoods to explore, too many places to go, and too much to take in to do it all in such a short amount of time.

Denver, I barely knew ye, but I know that I'll see you again before too long. :)

Apparently Santa does not live in Santa Fe

Thursday: my last day in Albuquerque.

So naturally, I spent it in Santa Fe!

Dan and Mary suggested we go to Santa Fe for several reasons. First, we could actually ALL go out together with ALL the kids because we could take the bus to the train. (Dan and Mary only have 5 seats in their car, which did limit us a bit earlier in the week.) Second, it is apparently the cultural and artistic hub of New Mexico. They assumed that I would dig Santa Fe because I am so heavily immersed in the arts. I think that's a pretty good assumption--I teach choir, I sing in a choir, I work with kids in the theatre, and I like art museums . . .

(Plus, I secretly suspect that Santa lives in Santa Fe. Isn't it obvious? North Pole, Schmorth Pole--Santa needs a little more arts and culture than the elves can provide year round. He must at least have a summer home here . . .)

The train, it turns out, is a brilliant way to travel with young kids. You can bring snacks for the kids, books and toys, and they don't have to be solely responsible for entertaining themselves. Instead of being stuck in the back seat, they can sit with you. Even better? On a train, they can get up and wiggle about, which, for the kiddos, is really the best part. Lizzy, Emily, and Alex spent most of the train ride to Santa Fe bopping from seat to seat, walking, crawling, toddling, and scooting wherever fancy took them.

Once in Santa Fe, we saw a lot of really interesting things. Santa Fe is a really neat city. It capitalizes on the tourist industry with artisans pedaling their wares up and down every nook and cranny of the city. There are stores upon stores upon stores with jewelry, paintings, sculptures, and pottery and hand-blown glass (admittedly my two favorite artistic weaknesses). I think my pocketbook was spared a thorough cleansing only because we had small children with us. We wisely decided that any store that prominently featured or specialized in too many breakables should be looked at from outside, not from within. Given the children's penchant for shiny objects, I don't think we could have made a better choice.

(Plus, with all honesty, anyone who knows me knows that I am an absolute klutz, and although I'd had a good record so far on this trip, I didn't want to tempt fate by stepping into a store full of breakables. Kudos to the kids for keeping my record in tact!)

We did see two churches--one was the oldest church built, which was impressively old and solid. There was something very solemn about that church--it smelled of ancient incense, had floorboards that creaked underfoot. In the daylight, it was a beautiful place to reflect and meditate for a moment. However, I admit that the thought of being in that very tight, cramped church, wreaking of incense and creaking at the joints at night scares the bejeezus out of me.

The second church we visited (which, chronologically speaking, we actually visited first . . .) was home to the Immaculate Staircase. Being the matter-of-factly sarcastic person I am (who knew nothing of the staircase's history), when we first saw the stairs, Dan said, "Well?"

"It's a staircase," I responded dryly.

Dan shook his head in dismay and made me sit down and listen to the history of the staircase, which the church loops on an audio track over and over throughout the day. I was inclined to ignore the speaker at first--I couldn't help it. They had laid the speaker's voice over early music sung by the Santa Fe Chorale, and I immediately started playing, "Name that Early Choral Music Composer" out of habit. (I'm sure all my grad. school buddies can relate . . .) However, the story truly is quite fascinating, and the staircase is truly beautiful. It almost appears to be made of one solid piece of wood that curves around with the stairs. I didn't actually take any pictures of the staircase--the one I included in this post was a better picture than I could have possibly taken (courtesy of el internet-o). If you ever find yourself in Santa Fe, I think this chapel and staircase are worth the $3 . . .

Santa Fe's plaza is a picturesque little square in the heart of the downtown area. I now wish I had taken more pictures in Santa Fe so I could share some of the scenery with you. I did take quite a few pictures that day, but they were all pictures of the kids. Since they are not my own children, I don't quite feel I should be posting pictures of them, but it should be noted that the kids are impossibly cute. We spent about an hour in the square. Mary and I took the girls through a narrow alley where artisans sold their wares. Emily, at age 1, was already eyeing all the shiny hand-crafted jewelry and hair accessories. (This is going to make it very easy to shop for my goddaughter . . . You know, once she gets past the phase where all items are likely to get shoved in the mouth and/or licked . . . And when she has hair for the hair accessories . . .) The plaza square was also a good place for the kids to run around and have downtime out of their carriers (the two baby backpacks and a stroller with some serious wheels). We did have to watch that they didn't eat things they found (twigs, rocks, tree bark, leaves), but they were pretty good. Lizzy, the oldest, likes to collect rocks--not eat them--and Emily and Alex seemed more intent on pushing the stroller that towered above them than on eating things from the ground. (Unless it was a stray cheerio. They recognized those cheerios . . . ) Lizzy also had fun dancing to the unicycle-riding guitarists music (but she seemed to agree with Mary, Dan, and I that his singing detracted from his performance, and that wearing a koala ear headband just made him look silly, not artistic) and chasing pigeons.

Now, should I ever go back to Santa Fe (which, given that I only had one day in a town with lots to see, I may), I think I will definitely have to investigate a fantastic little venture known as Llama Trekking. Alistaire seems to agree, and I know a certain theatre-directing friend of mine would think it fitting . . . Really, what more do you need to know? It's all there in the name--LLAMA TREKKING!

(If the name of the blog doesn't give it away, I do find llamas entertaining.)

Alas, I did not see Santa in Santa Fe. I think this means that I simply must go back to Santa Fe again and look. It was one short day, and there are lots of little burrows in which Santa could be hiding with a stash of New Mexican cookies and milk. Or maybe a sopapilla? And a llama. It's not quite the right climate for a reindeer after all . . .

Hightop Thoughts

Apparently summer in Albquerque also means monsoon season. I laughed when Dan first told me this, and was certainly quite skeptical every time the subject came up. Dan told me that the air was actually quite humid for New Mexico, at which I guffawed. Humid? Not by Minnesota standards!

The morning dawned quite sunny, so we took Lizzy, the oldest (at age 2) and went to see the petroglyphs. Seeing those ancient drawings was astounding--they were so primal, so raw. You could just imagine the native people chiseling their renderings of their surroundings into the rock. Some of the designs--spirals and the like--were simple to decipher. Others were more intricate--detailed drawings of people or beings. Although these drawings of people looked like the drawings a 3-year-old might create, you have to marvel at the handiwork. These were carved in rock! It was pretty amazing. Some things transcend time--for example, we saw two people drawn side by side. They looked very similar, but something about their appearance clearly indicated that the one on the right was male and the one on the left was female. I don't know why we knew this--both of them had box-like bodies, stick arms and legs, ornate headgear . . . But something was distinctly feminine about the drawing on the left, and likewise, something was distinctly male about the drawing on the right. Of course, the ancient Native Americans who drew these may be laughing from their afterlife right now, giggling at our assumptions, but I like to think that they'd agree and are happy that we understand at least a portion of what they left behind.

After lunch, we visited the Sandia Tramway. With the twins strapped on our backs, we marched up to the tram station at the base of the mountain. And then the rain hit. Buckets and buckets of water poured forth from the sky. The tram was, of course, delayed until the lightning stopped and the storm died down. So we waited. For the twins, this was one of best parts of the day. They toddled, waddled, and crawled about a waiting area, grabbing at the benches with wooden slats and wrought-iron decoration. Tiny holes for fingers? Check! Small spaces to crawl into? Check! People to coo over them and note how adorable they are? Check! (It turns out that twins draw quite a lot of attention--people can't get enough of them!)

The rain let up, as expected (New Mexico storms are not known to last long), and we made our way up the tram. Traveling a mile up the mountain, the temperature cooled. It was 47 degrees--definitely chilly, but not too cold for this upper Midwest girl. :) We had gorgeous views every which way up and down the mountain. As we wound our way through the trails through the trees and around the rocks, I almost felt as though I were back in the northwoods of Wisconsin where I'd grown up. The temperature was right, the trees were similar, there was that scent of pine permeating the air. The twins were enthralled for a bit, but naptime did take over fairly quickly. I could feel my goddaughter Emily burrowing her tiny little head into my back as we bounced about the trail.

*Attention Reader: The next paragraph contains an emotional outpouring that struck me at the top of the mountain. If you prefer the trite commentary, tales of the road trip, etc., skip ahead to the black text afterward. If you read the following, consider yourself duly warned.*

I don't know if it was the sudden cool of the temperature, if the thinness of the air affected my brain, or if the wilderness around me made me feel more relaxed and open, but I found myself thinking a lot about things that I had ignored for a long time. If you're not married, I think there comes a point in your mid-20's and early 30's where you start to put up a few protective walls. Since turning 30 a few months ago, I encountered more and more people who started asking me about my love life. When would I be "settling down?" Getting married? Those were issues I skirted for a while. I came up with stock answers in my 20's that I found myself regurgitating year after year. "I'm not there yet. I don't know if that's what I want. I teach kids all day, I don't know if I really want to have my own." Maybe it was something about the sleeping baby on my back, cozying up and providing that unmistakable sweet baby smell that is inescapable when you're in the presence of a baby, or spending two days with Dan and Mary's three ridiculously cute and energetic kids, but I think I was finally able to admit to myself that I still would like to have a whole passel of children myself. I would like to meet a man that I just want to spend all my time with without becoming exhausted of his personality because he's so much fun to be with, and is so easy to talk with. I think this admission had been coming for a while, and it's probably something that any one of my best friends could have called me out on for years, but I think it was important for me to have that moment of realization. This is what I want. I don't write that here to garner pity--I despise the sad head tilt, the "Aw, it's ok. You'll find someone, your time will come, blah, blah, blah," that people constantly spew to their single friends. I'm not looking for answers here, I'm simply stating a fact. I don't think I'll feel unfulfilled if these things never work themselves out for me--I can always be an aunt when my siblings have children and when friends' children adopt me as such, but it would be nice to have that in my life. It's something that I tried to deny to myself for the last several years; I don't know if it was absolutely necessary for me to stand on a mountain to discover the heart of the matter. But that's where I had the realization.

The twins woke up when we reached the stone house where stranded hikers have stayed in years past, and where teenagers paint graffiti messages. (We didn't hike the whole mountain--you can skip the tram altogether and hike up and down, or bike, but that's a good 26 miles round trip. Somehow, that was NOT going to happen without a significant amount of conditioning. I was fine with the hiking we did, which was not overly strenuous though we did get a few miles in, but 26? On an incline? Um . . . Give me a few months or years to prep for that, please!) This was a great place for a cheerio snack, which they happily shoveled into their mouths. Do you remember the days when you could shove your whole hand in your mouth? Yeah, I don't really remember being able to do it myself, but it's something that always amuses me about babies. Emily and Alex also love to "hoover," to simply suck cheerios or other small foods right out of your hand. I can't help but giggle when they do that--it's ridiculously funny, and they usually give you a big grin or make a goofy face of delight afterwards.

Down the tram again, and out for New Mexican food (which was very similar to Mexican cuisine . . . ) for dinner. The food was solid, but for me, the most amusing part was walking to the restaurant with Dan and Mary and their stroller for three, as well as learning Dan and Mary's take on eating out with the kids. There are rules. 1) The restaurant cannot be too stuffy, stodgy, or expensive. If it's too posh or formal, it's not a place for the kids. 2) The waitstaff MUST find the kids cute (which is ridiculously easy!) so that when they make a mess (which, inevitably, three kids 2 and under WILL do) they are forgiven. 3) Bonus points are given if the restaurant is within walking distance of their home. Dan and Mary are big-time walkers, and I think this is a wonderful habit for them to instill in the kids. All three of their children get really excited to go out with both Mom and Dad. They see the strollers or backpacks, they begin bouncing up and down, their eyes get big, and they reach up and gurgle, as if they are saying, "Please, please, please take me!!! Take me! Me!" Garcia's met all three of these requirements, and it was a wonderful way to wind down a lovely day.

Just one more day left in New Mexico . . .

But, . . . where's the pie?

I have a confession to make: I didn't plan very well for my trip.

For a lot of people, this may not be a big deal. However, pre-planning is practically my middle name. (I said practically . . . my middle name is actually "Happy.") I pre-plan almost everything--what time I'm getting up the next day, even though I have nothing going on, what I'm going to eat for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner the next day, what I'm doing in a month, two months, a year, . . . my mid-life crisis (when I'll either move to Canada, create and become the lead singer of the "I'm-not-Irish" Irish band in Ireland, become a hermit and live off tree bark and leaves, or some combination of all these things . . . I guess I'm still open to other suggestions too!). So, when I admit here that I didn't plan well for my trip, this should incite expressions of shock, awe, and general outcries of dismay.

(I'll give you time to gasp in shock.)

Alright--I DID map out directions to and from EVERY major stop on my trip (St. Paul to Wichita, Wichita to Albuquerque, Albuquerque to Denver, etc.). I DID buy a large pack of disposable water bottles at Target so I didn't have to purchase water en route, but simply rummage in my trunk for more water. I even brought a cooler along so I could keep fruits and veggies cool and have healthy road snacks. (I started eating more healthfully in January, and I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm now an official "health nut" in the eating category.) I researched the cities in which I'd be stopping overnight to find out what my dinner options would be, what else there was to do besides sleep, etc. But somehow, I missed a major part of my trip in my planning and was shocked when Dan asked me,

"So, what do you want to do while you're here?"

(A brief history: Dan is one of my oldest friends. We met in middle school--we sat across from each other in orchestra class where he played the cello and I played the violin, starting in 6th grade. Of course, being typical string instrument introverts, we didn't actually get to know one another much until we were shoved together at the back of the "tech ed." room in 8th grade. Being "end of the alphabet" types, and being seated in alphabetical order, we were naturally thrown together, and our common nerdy-leanings created a natural bond, despite the fact that he's really Mr. Science and I'm Little Miss Humanities. We were just getting to know one another when his parents moved to a town in southern Wisconsin; I randomly handed him my address and said, "Write to me," and shockingly, he did. In the days before email--remember those--we used to write long-hand letters back and forth, forging a very strong friendship that has held up all these years. Now, of course, we're more likely to email. And we don't write nearly as often as we used to--Dan is married and has three children who are 1, 1, and 2. But I still consider him among my best friends.)

I hadn't really given Albuquerque much thought, except that I needed to get there. My main goal in the trip was to visit Dan and his wife Mary, whom I hadn't actually physically seen since their wedding 5 years ago, and to meet their children. Dan seemed amused that I didn't really know anything about Albuquerque except that it was desert country and is known for its hot air-ballooning. (I fully intend to go back to Albuquerque and take a hot air balloon trip! It has been a life goal of mine to ride in a hot air balloon, and now that I've seen Albuquerque, it seems like an ideal place to do that.) Dan told me not to worry--apparently when he and Mary first moved out there, they didn't know anything about the area either, so he wasn't too surprised. So he made plans.

We piled the twins into the car, took baby snacks, bottles, and baby backpacks (the coolest baby- toting invention--you strap it on like a hiking pack, stick a baby in the carrier, and voila!), and took off for unknown (to me) territory. We drove off into the desert for a while. It was nice for me NOT to be driving so I could stare out the window the whole time, my mouth gaping at all the desert scenery. (This was my first trip to the desert.)

First stop, the VLA.

What? You don't know what the VLA is?

It's ok. I didn't know what the VLA was either. Dan, in all his scientific braniacn-ness, kept talking about the VLA as if it were a run-of-the-mill conversation topic that I should know all about. Rather embarrassed, I finally asked him, "What is the VLA?" He wouldn't tell me for a while, but finally, as we neared the entrance, he revealed that the VLA is the "Very Large Array." Still confused? Don't worry--I was too. I learned that it is a group of telescopes used to gather large amounts of information. (If you still need more information, I suggest going to the VLA website--it was cool to see and to learn about, but given that I'm certainly NOT an expert on this subject, I'll probably confuse you more if I try to go into more detail.)

After the VLA, Dan really didn't have a plan. However, he had heard of a place called "Pie Town" from a colleague, and the name sounded too good to pass up. So we aimed the car in the general direction we assumed Pie Town to be, and continued on into the desert. We drove through a national forest (or, more accurately, a national shrubbery, as really, those "trees" were far too short to be "real" trees), we saw rocks upon rocks upon rocks . . . the twins alternately cooed, napped, and snacked in the back seat. (They were extremely well-behaved!) Finally, when we'd just about given up hope, we found the promised land: Pie Town!

I couldn't believe that "Pie Town" was actually the name of the town. I thought it might be a nickname, the name of a cafe, or something similar, but, no. There really is a Pie Town, New Mexico, USA. Pie Town was . . . sad. As far as I can recall, there were just two buildings in the town, a place called "The Pie-o-neer" and "The Daily Pie Cafe." We were pretty excited to stop for pie in Pie Town, but apparently 3:30 p.m. is too late an hour to get pie in Pie Town on a Tuesday. The two restaurants, which claimed to be open until the late hour of 4:00 p.m. were both noticeably closed and vacant. On the "Pie-o-neer," we found a plaque that told us the history of Pie Town, noting its "strategic" location. This induced fits of giggling, as we weren't sure how Pie Town was in any sort of strategic location. Who would stop there? In total, we counted about 15 cars on the road in the nearby vicinity. It is on the Continental Divide (yippee??), but it didn't seem like there was much excitement or hullaballoo about the Continental Divide. Despite the pie-thwarting, we stopped and took some pictures, if only to prove that Pie Town does exist (lest it start seeming like a Yeti-like myth) . . .

We continued our adventure down the road. Dan is all for creating your own adventure as you go. He has a good sense of direction, so when he's got the time and no real goal, he likes to take the road and figure out the route as he drives, sort of like those old choose-your-own-adventure books. We wound up visiting "La Ventana," a beautiful archway that formed in the rocks, hiking up a small pathway with twins strapped to our backs. (The kids cooed appropriately at all the splendor. Alex, the male twin, sang his little "Do-do-do-do-do" song that I wound up singing to by the end of the week, and Emily, my little goddaughter, gave a few enthusiastic "mmm's.") We also used this as an opportunity to give the kids some peach puffs, cereal-like baby snacks that dissolve in the kids mouths to prevent choking (another brilliant innovation in baby-dom, if you ask me!). Although the twins were clearly sad that they did not get to make a mess with pie, they happily "mm'd" and "do-do-do'd" their way through their snacks.

We also drove past the "Malpais;" yup, Spanish for "The Badlands," though not THE Badlands from South Dakota. The Malpais is blackened rock, hardened lava from volcanoes that erupted ages ago and formed endless ridges through the desert. It looked like something from a Disney movie, like the dwelling of a villain.

Eventually, we headed back to Dan's house after a very nice day in the desert. Important lessons I learned that day include: 1) shiny objects can keep a baby entertained in the car for quite a while, (over the course of the week, all three kids showed immense fascination with the silver necklace I wear daily and my watch; bonuses were added when I wore shirts with tiny beading details; they were all surprisingly gentle with my necklace too, given that they are only 1 and 2--minimal licking and no tugging!), 2) VLA = Very Large Array, and will soon become the EVLA, 3) It's fun to sing "Do-do-do-do," 4) Baby backpacks are really handy and fun. But most importantly, I learned that it's quite difficult to get pie in Pie Town. :(