Burnt Verdure, among other things...

So the Dude and the oldest boy (Martin) are gone to a guy thing at church, and I've thrown the 3 Youngers outside to play before it's +100F for the day.  I'm sitting here thinking that you and I haven't had much time to talk, and it's about time we caught up.

Firstly, it's S*mmer (so euphemized because it's just plain dreadful.)  Morale has not been very high, and it's somewhat of a struggle to find joy and contentment in our situation.  T*xas (also euphemized, when the need arises) is wearing on us.  I mean, it's worn on me for like, ever, but the Dude is at last itching and forlorn for all the same things as I am.  Woohoo!  Being entirely unable to initiate an evacuation, we're simply praying...and waiting on the Lord to agree with us.  ;-)

Second, I've managed to form thoughts about my children's education into an actual method and approach.  (And the crowd goes wild.)  You may remember that we've been homeschooling for...wait, four years?  My word, it is four years!  It's taken reading, listening, watching, interacting with other families/kids in the community, speaking my own ideas aloud, doing school, and so on...and I'm feeling much more confident than I was.  The Four seem pretty well-rounded, after the emphases we've placed this year.  But I'm no longer fretting about it.  Besides, as with any branch of education, there's always a limitless amount to learn and discover.  Whatever we don't get around to now, we can do later.  (One of my favorite aspects of Homeschooling, that.)

Thirdly, a college-aged girl working in the kitchen at a camp center we were at recently accosted me as I was returning my dishes.  The purpose?  To ask me if I worked out.  paha!  That weekend was completely crazy, and at that particular moment in time, a comment like that was the least thing I was expecting.  Besides being pretty cool.  My innate vanity could have a party, if I allowed...*cough*...but in short, I'm more than happy to have tangible results after a year of Exercising For Real.

Fourth, you'd be shocked if you knew how many books I'd read in the last year or so.  I mean, I'm shocked.  It wasn't so long ago that I despaired of ever having time to read again.  *blink*  More on this later, but what started out as reading-ahead-for-Martin (11 now!) turned into a recommendation for the Kindle app by my brother, which turned into me having the entire world at my fingertips, despite being stuck in Smalltown, TX.  Who could've even predicted this?  Definitely not me -- sworn protestor of electronic "books".  Hum!

But I've got to keep this quick.  So let me at least leave you with a quote from one I've just started!

Brief background:  The BBC's recent version of Little Dorrit was recommended highly a couple years ago, and the Dude came across it just last week in our own Smalltown Library.  We're on episode 11...nearly finished.  It's not quite what I expected, even as a faithful Dickensian, but it's terrific and very well done.  Since I'd just finished Mary Barton on the Kindle app, I downloaded Little Dorrit for my new bedtime book.  (Mom read it to us ages ago, but I didn't remember the story.)  It opens simply and beautifully, and is going to be a great read.

 "A blazing sun upon a fierce August day was no greater rarity in southern France then, than at any other time, before or since.  Everything about Marseilles, and about Marseilles, had stared at the fervid sky, and been stared at in return, until a staring habit had become universal there.  Strangers were stared out of countenance by staring white houses, staring white walls, staring white streets, staring tracts of arid road, staring hills from which verdure was burnt away.  The only things to be seen not fixedly staring and glaring were the vines drooping under their load of grapes.  These did occasionally wink a little, as the hot air barely moved their faint leaves."

That it stirred within me memories of another place in which an August sun blazes, producing "hills from which verdure is burnt away" and "vines drooping under their load of grapes" is only somewhat nostalgic.  The fact remains that Dickens is a master.  His characters with their various layers and curved noses is just a bonus.

Hope to speak to you again soon, dahl-ing...

What happened when we loaded everyone up and headed out...

Week 1, Day 1:  Our self-imposed time of departure that morning was 4:30a.m.  Actual time of departure was 6:00a.m.  (No chortling, please!)  Part of this because I stayed up packing/cleaning like a maniac until after 2:00a.m. and the Dude thought I might travel better with a 2 hour nap than a 1-1/2 hour nap. Also partly because THERE WAS SO MUCH TO FINISH UP.  (And the day before we left would be a Sunday...)

So off went the alarm at 4:30a.m., and  It Began.

Personally, I think dragging little kids out of bed super-early in the mornings for a trip is exciting and fun.  We bustle about hugging and whispering "Goodmorning-night!" to each other.  The look of dawning realization on their faces when you wake them up in the dark is indescribably rewarding.  Like some sort of secret adventure you're in on together.

So we headed out, and drove north-er than we'd gone since driving into Texas that fateful...I mean...providential day we moved ourselves and our two babies to a previously unknown location to follow the Lord's leading of ministry, education, and, ministry education.

The sun came up.  I did my duties as Flight Attendant and served breakfast in plastic snack bowls:  Cinnamon Life and a dried cherry mix.  We drove and smiled (and felt nervous!!) and drove some more.  Only two stops that first day, in which we drove 9 hours total, and reached Tucumcari, New Mexico by mid-afternoon.  Plenty of time to swim, shower, and prowl around for a restaurant.  No one slept before 9:00p.m., mainly because it was so much cooler(!), and partly because I'd forgotten the fact that we'd be sleeping in one room.  Oh. My. Moon.  (Needless to say, we're not Dr.-Sears-loving, co-sleeping, family-bed folks.)

But we woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (tho my eyes might've been a bit crossed at this point), organized the troops, and pointed them in the general direction of the Breakfast Room of the hotel.  I'll spare the details, except to say that small-to-medium children experiencing their very first hotel stay are pricelessly hilarious.  Especially when they bellow out repeatedly "This is the best hotel EVER!"  *whimper*

We left only an hour past schedule and the extreme boringness of driving North Texas to the Panhandle (except for when we stood in line at the gas station behind a real gun-on-the-hip Texas Marshal) was quickly made up by the drive through northern New Mexico into Colorado....which was amazingly different.

My heart sobbed and soared when we drove through mountains into mountains.  But then it was pricked to discover that the children did not share my heritage of mountains-in-sight-always.  *blink*  Emily kept pointing, "water-mountains, mama!" (watermelon? mountains? or something), and hollering the clouds were making them messy.  By Colorado City, Laura had had enough, and was in glower-mode.  "I'm tired of all these hills.  If I live here when I'm big, I'll cut them down."  8-l

Moving on...

That evening we had dinner at the home of an old family friend of my mother's.  She is like an auntie to me, but moved to Denver nearly 15 years ago, so it was lovely to see her, her husband, and one of her grown-up sons.  After staying too late, visiting far too short, we piled back in the car and drove to the southeast of the Denver metro are to our hosts':  parents of our good friend Randy , who lives nearby with his wife and two girls.  Randy and Jess are dear friends who left us behind in Texas to follow his folks to Denver in 2004, meaning that we have 6 years of visiting to catch up on.  (And visit we did!)

But that's another post.  :-)


Pictures!

Philip, eagerly digging into his Wallace and Gromit 3D activity book

Emily and Martin, breaking out the little tea set I'd saved for the trip

"...and some sugar---!"

South of Amarillo, driving alongside a bit of the old Route 66

(see? nothing much out there except the occasional storm-beaten farm shack)

Train!  One of the first trains we've encountered traveling along with us.

At our first hotel!  La Quinta of Tucumcari, NM

The Four

(notice Philip, "in disguise")

Martin - reading! - and Emily

Phil-boy in the window, watching cars and people.

This is where he stayed most of the time in our room.

Philip quickly recruited Laura,

and they perched in the windowsill happily (and quietly!) all evening/morning.

"Just greenery and humid air"...

I'd almost despaired of my poor garden, but here I am, sitting in a quiet house, listening incredulously to the still-steady rain. A quiet house in itself is pretty good cause for incredulity (love that word), but calm rain and 78F/25C temps in the third week of July? Typically out of the question for even the most credulous.

Unlike my other 5 siblings, who grow beautiful, abundant things whenever they durn well please, I did not inherit my mother's green thumb. But I determined that this year would be My Year. This year, I would prove that certain scientific truths must prevail, regardless of thumb-color. Taking my British mother-in-law as my strength, I made the trip to Home Depot in April and purchased actual plants. Further, I planted them in the actual ground. But just a few, mind you. (Still planning ahead for mortality rates, you know.) A tomato, two squash, basil, rosemary, and some onions.

Hurdle 1: They lived for the entire month of May.
Hurdle 2: Early June brought heat and strong sun, and the things thrived. 8-l

My own naivete proved to be Hurdle 3, and that was supposing that plants which require "Full Sun" will do great no matter how much sun they get. (You know, because Full Sun means they should be in the sun. All the time. Right...?)

Not so.

Mid-June brought us consistent +100F temps, with a heat index of around 110F. (For all you Celsiu'ns, I'm not bothering to convert, because it's a temperature you'll probably never experience in your lifetime. Just think "really, unbelievably hot".) A month later, you can imagine my dismay when these (supposedly) Full Sun plants withered, shrunk, and did everything but thrive and produce...although being well-past their 60-day period till fruition.

Naturally, when daily watering and other care rendered no response, I hurried to conference with some of the Master Gardeners at church (like, the elderly organ player) and was shocked that my result is typical of everyone's about now. Huh? I'd always assumed that more heat = better tomatoes, but apparently that's not the case. Tomatoes have a hard time thriving in +95F temps, and ours have been well past that for an age already. *long Napolean breath*

A glimmer of hope shone through when, last week, the weatherman insisted we'd be seeing highs (or, lows, for this particular region of T*xas!) of 88F/31C over the weekend, and - thrilled out of my mind!! - I'd planned to make soup today. But then yesterday returned to +100F, so I watered my pitiful, nearly-dead garden once the sun relented at around 8pm, and reverted to mentally designing Madeover Leftovers for today's dinner.

My bad.

I should have gone with soup! But no worries. I'm wracking my brain for all the pent-up baking I've been putting off the last few weeks, so come this evening, the oven will be ON. And who knows? Maybe the plants will still produce. Perhaps if they can make it through August, they'll produce for me in September and October. I mean, summer doesn't end for us till at least October 1st, so...?