Ooh - Is That A Reindeer?!

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas… there’s freezing rain coming down, a sheer layer of ice on the driveway, and moderately-large forest animals walking around on our roads. 

The moose are out, and when I say “out”, I mean absolutely everywhere.   

Do you ever have those late night drives when you know that you're going to need a serious jolt to stay alert?  You know, when twilight has faded and your heavy eyelids begin to droop?  When the car feels warm and cozy, and somehow your otherwise uncomfortable driver’s seat has miraculously converted into a plush recliner with proper lumbar support?  When you cover 10 miles of sharp S-turns only to notice that you can’t recall driving through them, much less how you avoided crashing through the side rail and careening off of a cliff into the river?  Well, I’ve got just the thing to wake you up, and it’s totally natural – no pills, no super high-test coffee, no drugs - just pure, old-fashioned, run-of-the-mill adrenaline. 

 source

You see, moose don’t really appear as concrete objects when they go strolling across the pavement at 8 o’clock on a moonless night.   They seem to be more the absence of something, like a large dark hole in the fabric of the world.  On rare occasions, you might be fortunate enough to glimpse your reflected headlights in a pair of big eyes, or spot a patch of lighter-colored fur on the back of a 6-foot calf, but the vast majority of sightings begin as a strange and blurry sci-fi wormhole hovering in the distance.  It goes like this: you think you might see something in the hazy blob ahead and take a second to squint and clear up the image, then - WHAM - it’s a moose.  The animal is unmistakable, and it's not because squinting enables you to see it more clearly (though it does seem to help when I forget my glasses at home), but is rather because in the three seconds it’s taken you to crane your neck forward like a kid in Driver’s Ed and scrunch up your face, you’ve traveled 200 feet and you’re suddenly a car’s length from what you now really wish was actually a hallucinogenic portal to 2nd century Egypt.  And you’re adrenal glands are buzzing like sugar-laden elves on December 24^th, because past experience tells you that these giant beasts don’t do the old "stare-and-run" act like other animals.  Wiser animals.

Instead, they stare, and then they chew on a little of what they’ve been keeping in their 4^th stomach.  And then they stare some more.  

No movement, whatsoever. That is, until you’ve sufficiently freaked out and are [probably] sideways in a ditch.

There is nothing going on in there.  Look at those eyes.

I don’t know if this news is coming across as fun and intriguing, or if it’s making you too nervous to ever leave your house in southern California.  Heck, those of you close enough might not even want to come visit after what you’ve read, but trust me - should conditions stay as they currently are – when you do come see us, you won’t need a third double espresso to stay awake, nor will you need to dump water on your face and roll the windows down.  The anticipation of a close encounter is almost as good as the jolt of energy you get after you slam on the brakes for a family of half-ton pedestrians. 

It’s really better than it sounds.  We’ll see you soon, I’m sure of it.

Hope Smells Like Smoked Meat

There’s hope for us, and we found it in an old bank.

C and I drive about an hour for church on Sundays, to another small town on another lake after another car ride littered with enough moose, deer, bear and small animals to both raise your blood pressure to an unhealthy level and draw out a very real fear of an automobile-accident related death.  The drive is usually followed by either attending church or going grocery shopping.  Fear of death, followed by God or food.  Huh.

Well, yesterday after said drive and said church service, we stuck around to have lunch with the church pastor.  He chose the restaurant, and I can tell you now, in hindsight, that it was undeniably the right choice.  You know the quote from Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken that says it was the decision of taking the less trodden path “that made all the difference”?  Well, we followed a new friend down an unknown trail, and when our path ended, there was pork.  Frost is a genius.

Meet Bacon, Ham Steak and Brisket.  Cute now, but extra yummy later.

They have a meat smoker at this particular establishment, and the juicy brisket to prove it.  To me, pig products are a crucial component of successful dining, so to understand my excitement, just imagine me rolling around on the hardwood restaurant floor, kicking my legs in the air and laughing hysterically, with dark barbeque sauce dripping from the corner of my mouth.   Or if you want to sleep tonight, go ahead and skip that.

I, of course, refrained from the above actions yesterday, due to the fact that we were in the company of someone who didn’t really know us yet, and well… I was wearing a skirt.  I’m not about to embarrass myself by giving the other diners a peek at my panties – I've got more class than that.

Here are some other signs that we found a promising restaurant:

• Liberal use of fresh jalapenos and a nice pico de gallo
• Cracked pepper on freshly fried kettle chips
• A Cuban sandwich, which is startling, because Dorothy, we're not in Miami anymore
• I can’t recall any that item on the menu had a moose theme
• Coleslaw served in the pulled pork sandwich, which means that someone did their homework 

In a world of meatloaf (albeit, good meatloaf) and baked chicken breasts, eating yesterday’s meal left me feeling like I was watching a new morning sun rise over the horizon.  In a land of snow and ice, it compares to catching a glimpse of the North Pole workshop.  In a lifeboat, it would be a white sand beach.  In our case, it’s just a little thing called hope, wrapped in prosciutto and drizzled with honey. 

Down the hatch, Hope.

Who Brought The Snacks?

Well, we flew into Salt Lake yesterday, and after a brief trip to REI for supplies and dinner/drinks at Squatter's downtown (and some gummy raspberries in honor of my sister), we've piled into our [awesome] burnt orange rental car, and are headed off into the dusty hills. Have I ever mentioned the love affair C and I have for burnt orange? Well, we do. If I can talk him into it, we'll take a picture of us with all of our burnt orange apparel and gear, leaning against our burnt orange Dodge Caliber. You'll like it, and it will affirm the idea that we're as un-trendy as two people could possibly be. This traveling roadshow likes us some burnt orange as well as some deep, satisfying 1991-era teal green. Yeah, we aren't just out of style, we're out of touch.

And It Was A Day That Lived On In Their Hearts And Minds

C and I are on the road today, traveling south for a work meeting plus some quality time with the family dentist, and something monumental just happened.

I looked up to see C pull off of the highway. He explained that he needed to stop and take a leak.

WHAT???

I can't remember the last time that C asked to use a bathroom. He never has to, because I need to pee the same way a mom of eight needs a moment of silence. One learns that you must take every available opportunity, because who knows when you will find yourself stuck on the George Washington Bridge in a van full of children with nary a public bathroom in sight. I once relieved myself in the JFK short-term parking lot, and ever since then I refuse to miss a potty stop (or wooded area).

So, I repeat, this is monumental. And I literally cannot remember the last time this happened. Probably, it never did.

Road Wars

www.veemoze.files.wordpress.com

I am a road warrior. 

Literally.

C and I have been away from home, traveling from one place to another for the last three weeks, which is not actually unusual for him during this time of year, or for his job.  His co-workers up here do basically the same thing during March and April (aka mud season).  This time is full of marketing events, staff hiring, speaking engagements, meetings, trainings, conferences, and in some years, a form of vacation.   Unfortunately, the latter isn’t true for us this year.  Yet.  

I’ve still got my fingers crossed.

Have you ever gone on a really long road trip with someone?  What I'm thinking of is not the kind of journey that brings you to Las Vegas or Disneyworld, or even to the beach.  It’s just a long ride in the car, like driving to Alaska.  At your best, it’s possible to sustain an adventurous spirit, or even a feeling of solitude while making the drive.  However, do you remember that feeling you get when you’re about half-way into your trip?  This is when the excitement has worn off, and you are ready to either 1) Be at your destination, 2) Turn around and go home, or 3) Stop altogether and go get a milkshake.

At this point, you’re also completely over the person you’re riding with.  Don’t get me wrong – I totally love my husband.  He likes the same music as me (Willie Nelson notwithstanding), lets me snort when I laugh, and does Chewbacca impressions when we’re driving through the city (think palms banging on the roof and short burst of guttural screaming).  He’s generally my favorite guy. 

www.blog.room34.com

Except when we’ve been together for 21 days straight.  Then I'm a monster, and no one is my favorite.  

This is when I every little movement or utterance becomes emotional shrapnel.  If he changes the music, I want to tear his fingernails out.  If I glance at the spedometer [again], he debates driving into the median.  When I gasp at a quick stop, he imagines tying me up and dangling me from a railroad trestle.  Heaven help him if he farts in the car – and this is the truth.  Each and every time until the day we die or lose our licenses, I will have him roll all of the windows down in whatever weather and rue the day he was offered his first French fry.  Snow?  Down it goes.  Hail?   You should have thought of that before you ate that fifth cheeseburger. 

Honestly, it’s amazing that we don’t arrive at our destination with our hair torn out, raspy voices, and some serious relational trauma from the hateful glances we’ve been shooting at each other for hours.  

Oh wait, that last part is true.

Perhaps you’ve made this kind of road trip.  If so, please share some survival tips so that we can live through next spring’s adventure.  The last three weeks have been a little like the circumstances above, but luckily we’re home now.  The sun is shining, it’s a remarkable 39 degrees already this morning, and we’ve each had a little time to ourselves, so we’re back in happy marriage-ville.

That is, until we get back in the car.