With 450 miles left until we reach home, three of the five members of my family ate a sandwich called the big nasty. Y’all pray for me.
I haven’t blogged in over a year. Sometimes I hear music when none is playing. I stopped writing because I stopped hearing that music. But after time spent with the people I love the most, I can hear it again.
There’s good stuff to share. Some things have changed though. My kids are older, and the experiences, well, they’re a little more personal than that of when they were babies. And as you know, I don’t do censorship very well. So instead of not telling it exactly as it went down, I default to not telling it at all. Disappointing, I know. But imma try it. Just know that i’m afraid it may be like eating toast sans the jelly.
It’s that time of year when Clarke loads us up and we galavant across the country in search of something to calm our unsettled souls. It works. The mountains of the San Juan National Forest have that effect on us.
Clark and I are getting older. While the kids watched their DVDs, we scribbled a list of collected state license plates. Clark almost had a panic attack when we rolled into Colorado and I couldn’t find our handwritten list. It was wedged in between the roll of toilet paper and the aspirin bottle in my purse. Lordy.
He’s going for an eye exam when we get home. He had convinced himself that the California truckers’ license plates said “California Porn Trailer.” Thank you google for the clarification.
We almost made it to Dallas before Cam asked if we were there yet. That was two seconds before he screamed that his butt was about to explode. Doodie called.
Along the way we checked in with my mom and the Bryans. Clark talked them into making the trek with us, and he had a list of middle-aged family man tasks for them to check off along the way. They humored him—bless it.
We crashed for the night in the Comfort Inn of Las Vegas. New Mexico. After being misdirected to the wrong room, the front desk attendant ushered us into a room with the wet floor sign ajar in the door. Clark raised an eyebrow, nodded at the clerk, and kicked open the door like Wyatt Earp—gun drawn. The kids bounced past him—nothing out of the ordinary for us. Daddy’s odd. After checking for cameras and fiddling the lock four times, he finally relaxed and came to bed. Flopping onto the white sheets, he and I rolled to the middle of our sloping mattress. We can do anything for one night.
The next day we Arrived in Pagosa. The other travelers made it safely too. It was time to party. And we did. I’m pretty sure that the only thing better than time spent in the mountains is time spent in the mountains with cousins.
We woke up to a winter wonderland. A very cold winter wonderland. It was awesome.
On the last day, mom treked out into the snow and we captured this.
I haven’t seen her that happy in a long time. And i’m Pretty sure that something magical happened for the Bryan family on this trip too. God lives in the mountains. He shows up for me in a big way each year on this trip. And any time sissy can make it through a road trip with her brothers without inflicting them any bodily harm, we’re winning.
Though it may have crossed her mind a time or two.
Clark had a surprise for the kids on the way home. He drove us two hours off track to tour Carlsbad Caverns.
As we walked along in the silent, majestic caves, my breath caught in my throat several times. The caverns were formed by a reef and an ocean—and it’s not on the coast. Sooo at one time the land as we stood upon it was underwater.
And just as I was sinking in all of that fabulous beautiful miraculous American history, my attention was diverted by Koko’s voice, “Guys, guys, look at that huge boobie!”
Even nature has a sense of humor. Nothing was broken by anyone who shares my DNA. Score one for the Denneys.
And so, we’re heading home. My current prayer is for safe travels, a sustained renewed spirit in the months to come, and that methane gas does not cause brain damage.