Mark me.

For the record:  We are not aiming for perfection here.  We're going to write about stuff we're interested in, whatever it may be, and maybe we won't edit everything perfectly,,, the most important thing is to show up and type.  I won't judge you if you don't judge me.  ;)

The night of the last day of vacation

There's a special time just after you get home from a vacation when you can remember every detail of where you were and what you did.  It doesn't last long and when it's gone it's gone forever. I'm trying to go over the details of my trip in my mind and want to write them down before they POOF!  There's something about the mundane details that make the entire experience of traveling seem more real and when you lose them, it's just a floating memory, untrustworthy and fuzzy around the edges.

We stayed at Lisa's (H's step mom) house, in Mark's (his half brother/her youngest son) old room.  I walk in my mind through the front door, hearing Molly's (11 year old Belgian Malinois) agitated bark, the click of the grated metal door, the hollow sound footsteps make on the wooden floor.  Tumbleweeds of dog fur in the corner.  The tiny window in the bathroom above the shower.  The rust colored towels in the bathroom and the plastic bag full of cd's on the kitchen counter.  The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles wrapping paper, blue handled scissors, and scotch tape on the kitchen table where I had wrapped Blake's 5th birthday present: Ninjago nightlight toy and two cups of play doh (orange and green).  Oh, and three eyeball shaped cotton candy flavored lollipops with glow-in-the-dark sticks.

The feel of the 6 month old - their perfect weight, their perfect softness - is such a treat.  That's Jacob, son of James, Lisa's oldest (with his long time girlfriend, Jenny).  I usually get annoyed by overly-explained relations but when you're trying to be clear it is kind of critical.   Jenny let me hold and kiss the baby but I'm pretty sure she kept wiping him down with a wet cloth after I held him each time.  She would whisk him away and he'd come back damp. Those perfect tiny ears, squeezy little fingies!  You can make him giggle by looking at him and opening your mouth wide. So I got my baby time in.

There were quails hopping around the gravel backyards, and road runners.  All the yards are just... gravel.  And cactus.  And fences, often chain link.  The blue-green lake in the distance, the skinny palms, the endless sky, the dry heat forcing you to use the AC at all times.  Everything is the color of sand and rock and gravel - beige overwhelms.

The casinos, walking through the garish rooms past endless clanging video-game electronic songs from the slot machines, a riot of colored lights, machines depicting whatever show movie fictional character etc you could think of.  Slot machines for Walking Dead and Breaking Bad and Simpsons and fucking Judge Judy!  Check it!  Older, sedentary type people park themselves up against these and push a button over and over and over.  I tried it.  It is NOT fun at all, I totally don't get it.  

The morning after the shooting, people were smoking, drinking coffee, gambling. It seemed relatively normal. (When we picked up our rental car later that morning I did see people crying).  I had my eye out for the best place to hurl myself if I heard shots.  When on the sidewalk, I wondered about someone using their car as a weapon.

The bright blue rental car blinding in the sun.  Rob curled upon the couch with the fuzzy brown blanket, Lisa watching Fox news next to her mug of tea, asking what we were doing that day.  

I. Fucking. Love. Vacation. They can even be good with shooting massacres close by. THAT"S how great they are.

We will not be eaten.