oranges and lemons

So, our yearly migration ended last weekend (finally) and now I’m back in the comfort (um, relative comfort, I might say instead– as I survey the disarrayed dishes hither and everywhere) of home.

Poncho: “I want a man-sized hobbit house. Like, to legitly live in.”
Me: “Legitly? Legitly is not a word. ‘Legit’ comes from legitimate, so you’d say ‘legitimately’.”
Poncho: *blank stare*
Me: “Yeah, I know, no one cares.”
Poncho: “Nope.”

So now I am trying to think of all the things I wanted to write a blog about since Thanksgiving– but yep, the ideas have flitted into my brain and right back out again. Or, as Dad said tonight to me (as he demonstrated proper shoe-shining technique), “You have all these good ideas, and you end up dead.”
Me: “Thanks for that inspirational quote, there.”
Dodge: “That’s how he always ends his stories. ‘…Well, that guy’s dead now.'”
Dad: “It happens to everyone, eventually.”

A never-ending fount of optimism, my dad is.

Last night we ate dinner with the grandparents, and Mom started reminiscing about staying over there during the Migration.
Me: “I liked how when Poncho started watching Dr. Who over here, Grandpa said, ‘This is the weirdest movie I’ve ever seen’.”
Dodge: “And it’s not even a movie.”
Grandpa: “What movie?”
Me: “TV show. Dr. Who.”
Grandpa: “Dr. Who?”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Grandpa: “Well, what’s his name?”
Poncho: “That is the name! That is the point of the show!”
Grandpa: “I dunno. That’s some weird kinda movie.”

And then there’s “Dr. Nope”, the phrase that Dodge coined and has now become somewhat infamous among people who hear me say it too much. Any time that Dodge or I use this phrase, Mom is bound to ask what we mean. Francis always says, “I don’t get this Dr. Nope.”
The other day was no different, except that the fabulous Marie was there to explain it all.
Francis: “What does this ‘Dr. Nope’ mean? I just don’t get this Dr Nope.”
Marie: “It’s an expression. Right? It means, like, something’s just not gonna happen. Dr. Nope.”
When I told this to Dodge, he said, “Finally! Someone understands me!”

What? I don’t count as someone? Lest it be forgotten, I was the first adopter of “Dr. Nope” (and everyone smacks me upside the head and asks me why I follow in Dodge’s annoying footsteps). (Although, I might add that Dodge has started calling me “Nachos”, which I don’t think I will ever understand.)

Something else I allegedly don’t understand: 1984. I finally read it, gave it another shot… And I’m glad I did. Not because it’s my new favorite book or anything, but it was interesting and it definitely made me think. Actually, you know what, I think I did understand it (mostly… I just finished it yesterday, so I’m still kind of mulling it over). The truth is, though, that both 1984 and Fahrenheit 451, in their own ways, made me vaguely depressed about life and about the future in general. Oh, not because of the state of the world, not because of the dystopian stuff– but because of the majorly messed-up relationships these characters have. I mean, come on, you guys! Some of us are young and trying to not panic.

I should go re-read Jane Eyre to cleanse my mind. Good grief.

But still. If a book has the power to draw me in to the point where, upon a big revelation, I repeatedly throw it against the couch, it must be pretty good.

One more thing… Snow! Glorious snow! And bad driving conditions, and scraping windshields, and that pale grime on everything, and cold hands while typing this. Yay, winter. (Oh, but outdoor skating! And ice! and salt and rolling in snow and every shade of brown and all the woods and soft as chalk and an excuse to drink excessive amounts of various hot beverages! Yay, winter!)

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sewn in a sweater you can wear when it gets colder

Recently I found myself in the midst of a conversation about 3-D printers (and also Oxford commas– always use Oxford commas!) and I said how it seems so weird, like they’re making something out of nothing. Even though, obviously, that’s not what they do. It still seemed too magical, or sci-fi, or something. But then today I was knitting and I realized that knitting is a very similar process. You take a very very very long piece of string and shape it into a garment? What? Knitting is kind of like making something out of nothing, too. So 3-D printers are like machines that can knit plastic and metal. Or… Whatever. Maybe that comparison only works in my head.

In other news: it snowed! And it looked messy and weird clinging to trees which are still clinging to leaves, and coating the leaf piles on the curbs.
(Bug: “Our leaf pile looks like the exact shape of a crocodile.”
Me: “What if leaf piles were like the Sandman and they could shape themselves into different creatures, and they came to eat you?”
Bug: “Woah.”)
I woke up on the snowy morning singing “White Winter Hymnal”. And the night before, as I came out of work, I already knew it would be snowing because I had seen it through the windows. But apparently the lady who stepped out of the doorway before me didn’t. “Aughhh!” she cried. I ran out laughing.

Well, yesterday was Poncho’s birthday… So we all went out to dinner. This is how that went…
Grandpa (as soon as we sat down): “Elvis was a drug addict. Did you know that?”
Me: “Why….”
Grandpa: “Looooove me tender, you ain’t nothing but a hound dog.”
Dodge: “I don’t think those are in the same song.”
Grandpa: “Yeah they are!” *plays air guitar* “The girls went crazy.”
Me: “Oh-kaaaay, new topic.”
Dodge: “Hey Grandpa, who’s your favorite Browns player?” *evil grin* “Brandon Weedon?”
Grandma, overhearing this, glared daggers at our end of the table.
Dodge: (snickering, aside, to me): “Look what I did.”
Mom: “Kick Dodge under the table.”
Me: *kicks Dodge under the table.*
Dodge: “Stop it!”
Grandpa: “Hey, be nice to your sister.”
Dodge: “What? She’s the one kicking me…”
Grandpa: “You gotta be a man and take it!”
At this point Dodge and I fell over ourselves laughing… Then all was normal (ha-ha, riiiiiiight) for a bit until Dodge started playing with his knife, spinning it on the table.
Grandma: “Just wait till you cut your finger off, and I have to drive you to the emergency room.”
Dodge: *pretending to saw his hand* “Grandma, in about five minutes I need to go to the hospital. Go warm up the car.”
Grandma: “You better watch out, that’s all I’m saying.”
Dodge pulled his hand inside his sleeve and waved his knife in the air. “AAAAHHHHH! My hand!”
I took the knife from him and dipped it in salsa. “There, it makes it more realistic.”
Dodge: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

Also, I got Poncho a sonic screwdriver, and I have no regrets. Even though he shined it in my eyes (probably trying to verify that I am, in fact, an alien) and pretended to sonic every closed door. I don’t think it has left his person since he got it out of the box.

I guess that’s all for now… Happy 13th birthday to Poncho, and I am off to make something out of nothing (which is to say, I am going to work on some writing).

a miscellany

Six.
Days.

That ticking sound you hear? (Or are now pretending to hear?) That’s the sound of me mentally counting down the days until I will be leaving for Kentucky. (Hopefully with Dodge in tow… I mean, no pressure, bro. But PLEASE COME PLEASE PLEASE -pleeeee-heeeease. ) I can’t wait! It’s so, so, fun and cool and awesomesauce, as Poncho would say.

Oh, and speaking of things Poncho would say, this is how my conversations have been going with him lately:

Me: “Hey, Ponch, where are your glasses?”
Poncho: “IDK.”
Me: “Well, Mom called and said she’s on her way home with groceries, so get upstairs to help me unload them.”
Poncho: “BRB.”
Me: “Hurry up, will you? I hate unloading.”
Poncho: “IKR.”
Me: “All right, that’s it. Get AFK now, kid.”For the blissfully unaware, those abbreviations mean, in order of appearance: I don’t know, Be right back, I know right?!, and Away from keyboard. The only reason I know some of these is because either Dodge or Poncho explained them to me. Because I’ve had texting for maybe a year and have only been using the interwebs (Poncho has also started saying “interwebs”; I have created a monster) for things other than school projects since… I don’t know. Back then it was a happy time of sending “ship log” emails to Eliza. (Do you remember those, Eliza?)

In other news… I’m sick with a cold today. Hence the blogging. I’m resting, trying to get better before we leave for Kentucky, but resting is boring. Of course, yesterday– when the cold was worse– was even more boring. All I did was sit in my room under a pile of blankets/shawls/tissues/crumbs from my nth slice of nutella-coated toast, slowly sipping orange juice (every sip goes like this: Ick! But vitamins. It’s icky! But vita– Eurgh! Take it away! But vitamins…) and wasting away between doses of medicine. I tried to distract myself by checking email (I had none), texting everyone I know (OK, actually it was just Bug and Eliza, but same thing), starting to knit a cuff and then unraveling it, drooling over an Irish-pub-food cookbook, and making up a personality quiz. It’s a good thing I don’t have the face-books, is all I can say. Luckily, since then I have done some creative things… I practiced watercolors, which I haven’t done in a while and am kind of terrible at. I’m great at making different colors– I made five different shades of turquoise last night– but it’s the actual painting that needs work.
Like, a lot.

And I don’t really know why I care about my painting skills, seeing as my life is not a Jane Austen (or even Elizabeth Gaskell) novel,  but oh well, I don’t care to contemplate the meaning of life/art/human experience when my sore throat makes the air feel like dust and sand.

Speaking of Elizabeth Gaskell (yeah, okay, sometimes I mention things on purpose just to lead into what I’m going to say next, so sue me), I finally got Mom to watch North and South. North and South: Movie that I thought, after she was so into Little Dorrit, that Mom would love.

Yeah, well, she hated it.
Her comments were:
(imitating the girl) “Oh, no, please do not continue… Because we still have two more episodes before we’ll finally get together!”
“I mean, what is her problem?”
“I can’t read her facial expressions. Or expression. Does she have any others?”
Which was kind of how Dodge reacted to Mr. Thornton:
“Grr. Angry face.”
“Nope, nope, don’t smile… Uh-oh… Good job. Same face. All the time.”
“I bet if he smiled, he would die instantly.”
Me: “You know that’s Thorin Oakenshield, right?”
Dodge: “It IS?” (squints at the screen) “…I liked him better as a dwarf.”
I kind of did, too. You see, until that point, I had only seen the movie once, during which I spent more time trying to understand what the heck people were saying and how that related to the plot, rather than evaluating their facial expressions. The second time around, I couldn’t stand them.

Also, the first time I saw North and South, I had not yet seen Little Dorrit.
Little Dorrit changes everything, you guys.
You can never look at BBC movies, potential suitors, top hats, chicken, French people, prunes (or prisms), watches– your life! the same way again. If your feet are cold inside your shoes, your heart melts into little pieces (at least mine does; maybe I should get that looked at).

Then again, I have not yet seen Little Dorrit for a second time.
Maybe I shouldn’t, much as I want to.
I don’t think I will ever recover if I un-like that one. It’s already too ingrained in my psyche…! If you strung together all the times I’ve talked about it, you could build a raft out of them and sail to Timbuktu. You could also become famous for stringing together invisible things such as time, and then build a time machine, and then–

Oh-kay! That train of thought got a little out of hand… Anyway. I suppose I should go now, and get ready to go to the local public high school on some GED business.

Oh dear.

Yours till the teacups,
Pen

“Double bunny ears! Double bunny ears!”

I usually don’t watch the Olympics when they come around, but this year it’s different. I was initially enthralled by it– I mean genuinely glued to the TV and reveling in the glories of victory and the agony of defeat, et cetera.

Then… Dodge started watching it with me.

During swimming: “Just to troll, I’d start doggie paddling.”
(later during swimming): “How come when they guys win it’s like ‘YEAH! EAT IT, LOSERS!’ And when the girls win they’re like, ‘Hug, hug, oh, you guys all did great, hehe, I win.'”

During the men’s running–
Dodge: “Where’s our guy? Oh, he’s so short! Why did they put a short guy in there? He’s gonna lose. Look, Kenya’s guy is just going for a jog.”
Dad: “Yeah, he could stop and tie his shoe and he’d still win at this point.”
[Actually, he didn’t end up winning, but only because, according to Dodge, our guy “ran under everyone else’s legs”.]
Dodge: “Yeah, just to troll, stop to tie your shoe… No, wait, they have to have pit stops– And a bunch of guys run out with a new pair of shoes– ‘Double bunny ears, double bunny ears!’ And they have to make the noises– Vrrp, vrrp, vrrp! ‘Come on, come on! Tie quicker! What do you want me to do, run on my hands?!'”

So I just laugh through the entire Games now. (Also, thank you, Hunger Games, for making that word sound so sinister.)

And on a side note, watching the runners makes me want to take up running. I keep trying to remind myself that running is not fun, but I actually might try it. Once it stops feeling like the tropics outside.

Anyway, I don’t think it is humanly possible for Dodge to not make commentary while watching something. (Except Back to the Future. Somehow he was silent during that. Oh, except–
Me: “Dad, did you ever say ‘heavy’ like that?”
Dad: “Uh, I actually don’t remember.”
Dodge: “That means yes.”)

But back to the Olympics.

Now Dodge and I have comandeered the couch, remote, TV and refrigerator (Me to the DHFs: “How come you guys don’t watch the Olypics?” DHFs: “We hate the commercials.” Me: “Oh, you mean the snack breaks?”) all through primetime. Then we go to bed way too late, and wake up the next afternoon. Repeat.

I find it ironic that watching the Olympics is making me lazy. I mean, amazing athletes performing their utmost– and then there’s me, still in my pajamas until noon, and only moving to change seats during the day as I read Jane Eyre for the fifth time.

Going for the gold, baby.

Halalala

Dodge: “What was that country? It was on TV last night. Something with an H…”
Poncho: “Halalala?”
Dodge: “You should never be allowed to name a country.”

Well, I am having terrible allergic reactions, or it might be a cold. Not really sure of anything except the fact that I can’t breathe properly, and my head feels like it weighs a ton. Last night I was sitting in the dining room with a headache and I felt like my forehead must have become like Poe’s in “The Exiles”, overly huge and faintly glowing. Plus, I think my subconscious has been affected because I had a dream that involved Lady Gaga, my new Irish dance steps, and a yellow ceramic chicken.

And a few nights ago I had a dream that I was reciting Lincoln’s Gettysburg address in the rain, in the middle of a strip-mall parking lot, in order to convince someone to lend me their cell phone because I was lost. Weirdly, my tactics worked and I got the phone. Unfortunately, I realized I didn’t know the number. Then I said, “What the heck? I can memorize the Gettyburg address, but not my best friend’s phone number?”

Maybe the point of the dream was that I need to rethink my memorizational priorities. However, there was also a sinister pumpkin-murder scene, so… what? ‘By the way, be on the lookout for vengeful jack-o-lanterns?’ Thanks, Subconscious. Very helpful.

Anyway… Randomness commence!

I am turning into a squirrel… I am harvesting things madly and storing them away in all manner of ways. My bedroom (or should I say nest?) smells “earthy” as Mom says. Also, I ran into the road and was nearly hit by a car.

This weekend I am going to see “The Taming of the Shrew” with Mom. (Hopefully I will not cough/sneeze in the middle of it.) Yay, Shakespeare! And here is the illustrious Bard himself, on my closet door, helpfully saying one of his best quotes.

"If words be wind, then break them in your face!"

That, my friends, is why Shakespeare is classic. Sure, his language is different, but the main points are things we all experience. (Also: proof that boys never change.)

The cricket outside my window just made a depressed little “crick-crick” noise. Usually he is enthusiastic to the point of almost becoming obnoxious, but now I feel bad for the poor guy. “Crick-crick”, there he goes again, slow and quiet. I know, little guy, summer is o-ver.
Mom: “Remember just a few weeks ago, it was so hot we couldn’t stay at our house?”
Me: “Remember how I had a mental breakdown like every five minutes?”
Mom: (with a pained look) “Yes.”
Me: “I think my brain cells were getting baked or something.”
Mom: just sips her Coke knowingly.
Me: “I’m going to say I’m sad summer’s over. But I’m really not.”

(Augh! A gnat was flying at me so I waved it away, and touched it by accident! Gross.)

Well, I think I shall bid thee good day…

~Pen

Poncho’s Diner

My little bro Poncho just got his own blog! It’s called Poncho’s Diner, and he’ll be posting things that he writes, which includes stories such as the very renouned (in our house) one titled “Submarine”, which he already posted! Go check it out, seriously, because:
1) he’s quite a budding writer
2) he uses the phrase “we’re going in the drink”
3) If he gets no views he will totally blame me, and by extension, readers of my blog. Just saying… ;)

I’m sticking the link on my blogroll as well, but you could also click HERE.

So excited to see what he will come up with…
~Pen

Men of the House

I went out to water the garden this morning. Unrolled the hose, watered, started walking back to turn off the water. That was when I saw it.

A clump of feathers lying in the middle of our driveway. I peered closer. It was a dead sparrow, looked like it might have been there since yesterday morning (when I didn’t water), ants all over the place. I turned to the dogs.

Me: “Lily! Daisy! Come!”
Them: come over and sit.
Me: (pointing to the bird) “Did you do this?”
Daisy: slinks off
Lily: looks away guiltily
Me: sigh.

Dad, our designated picker-upper of dead things, squisher of bugs, etc, had just left the house and was expected to be gone for any length of time. So I found Mom and informed her of the problem.

Mom: “Have the boys do it. It’s a man job.”

I found my brothers playing a video game upstairs…
Me: “Hey guys… Mom has a quick job for you to do.”
Dodge: “Oh great.”
Poncho: “Me too??? She said ME??” He jumpes up. “Are you sure she said Poncho???”
Me: “Both of you.”
Dodge: “Okay, fine, what is it?”
Me: “Go outside and get the flat shovel–”
Dodge: “Already not quick.”
Me: “–and pick up the dead bird lying in our driveway.”
Dodge: “Are you serious?”
Poncho: “Eww!”
Dodge: “Why did they have to kill a bird again? Why?”

I think it was last summer that there was a smiliar incident where Mom saw Lily tossing around a dead bird, got it from her, then said, “oh, where’s the bird?” and Lily ran off and returned three seconds later with a second dead one. Don’t ask me how they do it– kill birds like that. Although Daisy is a good stalker, and Lily likes to snatch things out of the air (she eats butterflies!). It was after that first incident that Dodge took this picture:

in case you can't make it out, the sign on the fence reads: "Instant Disposal-- DANGER!" which is apt.

So anyway. I followed the boys out to the back yard where Poncho strugged with getting the bird onto the shovel, succeeding only in pushing it (and the ginat crowd of ants) halfway around the yard. Finally, the bird was shoveled into a plastic bag, which Dodge used to transport the bird out front, where he dumped it into the sewer drain.

Mom: “Why the sewer?”
Dodge: “That’s what Dad does!”
Because everything Dad does is a good idea. But I digress.

I am so, so glad I have brothers. They shoot thousand-leggers and clean up half-eaten sparrows. Thanks for being guys, guys. :)

Awake, My Soul

[Poncho just came in and singing, “Greeeen Giant, Yum!” which I am not even sure is their slogan, but whatever. Now he is jumping around going “In the face, in the face” about something. Brothers are so… I don’t know. Half annoying, and half awesome.]

Anyway… what was I going to talk about? Originally I was going to write about Easter, but I don’t much feel like it anymore. My brain dies on inspiration whenever it comes to writing about holidays, I think. I mean, I really like Easter, but it’s un-blog-ish. So I will take the related topic of joy and talk about that instead.

Because yesterday, oh my. It was 80-some degrees in the midafternoon, and never got below mid-70’s as far as I know. I transplanted strawberries from the front flowerbed into a nice pot, and then I got the great idea to go get some lemon balm. I’d found a patch of it growing right near my church. So I dashed across the street and went right up to the church, thinking no one would be there on a Tuesday afternoon. But there were hordes of cars there! So I kind of had a freak-out moment, and felt the Panopticon pressuring me, so I grabbed two plants in haste and ran out of there. I may have to go back because I don’t know if these hurriedly-grabbed plants are going to make it. We’ll see. Darn Panopticon. I felt like the whatever-director lady was going to randomly appear beside me and be like “YOU! PLANT STEALER!” I mean, I can’t even imagine trying to explain responsible foraging to her.
So. Then I went for a long walk to the library. To the library is not a long walk, but I went the long way home for reasons that I care not to admit. (“Blind puppy!” as Jane Eyre would say.) I found some pretty epic patches of purple dead nettle by the abandoned school. Actually, there is a ton of purple dead nettle everywhere around the neighborhood. Now whenever I see it, I laugh, because my herb book says it grows in “wasteland”.
I also found a feather, a flower to press, weird parsely-looking plants, and some blueish flowers growing wild in a field. I was going to transplant one and take it home before the field is cut and the flowers detstroyed. Maybe I’ll make a mini woodland garden, full of transplanted flowers/weeds/plants that I come across in the wild. After I identify them, of course.

I can’t believe I used to not like spring. Everyone makes it seem cheesy, but it’s really not. Usually people describe the flowers, or the tra-la-la stuff like cherry blossoms. And I mean, that stuff’s nice and all, but the real heart of spring is when you go outside and you take a deep breath and you feel like you’ve just awakened. 

I felt so alive yesterday. I felt like I could run and run and never stop. Then I went to bed and dreamed that every lawn was taken over by wildflowers.

OK, so I did end up talking about Easter. That’s how it felt, too, to be in the church as the light in the tomb came on and revealed it to be empty… 

~Pen

Spring Break

Yesterday, it being spring break and all, my family drove down to Columbus so we could go to Cosi. Poncho was there in November with Mom and Dad, and they thought we would all like to see it. So we got up early and packed into the car to set off on our journey.

Usually I like long drives. I like looking out the window at the woody scenes passing silently by, at the farm houses and tumbledown sheds and old barns, at the spreading fields and thickly forested hillsides.
Instead, the ride was not so peaceful.
Dad blasted the music and “put the pedal to the metal” (as Grandpa Vegas would say… he would have also remarked that we “musta been flyin'” and then probably made some car noises… vrrrrrrrrrrrr….). I watched the spedometer and found that we were going 90 mph!
Me: (clenching my teeth and bracing for my surely inevitable death) “Slow down, man!”
Dad: “I’m going with the flow of traffic, see? I wanna catch up with that horse trailer up there, he’s making good time.”
I tried not to watch the road.
Apparently, so did Dad.
Dad: “Hey, look, deer!”
Dodge: “Keep your eyes on the road!”
Dad: “That wouldn’t last long. Shreds your eyeballs right up.”
Yep, that’s my dad. Always has a smarty-pants answer.

Every once in a while, though, we did manage to slow down…
Dad: “There’s a snake in the grass!”
Me: “Huh?”
Dad: “Hey, Smoky, get off the road! Look at him, he’s causing a hazardous scenario.”
I noticed the state trooper car Dad was pointing at. All around us, the drivers were slowing down to the actual speed limit– which now felt like a crawl– and everyone was getting cramped.
Dad: “There’s a snake in the grass! There’s a bear in the air!”

We finally did make it to Columbus unharmed. Well, my eardrums may have suffered some damage. But oh well. I was just happy to see Columbus. I really want to spend more time in the actual city, rather than some attraction such as Cosi, next time we go down. I want to see if it really is better than Cleveland (which is how it seems, but who knows? Maybe it’s full of snotty people like in Lakewood, or maybe its public transportation is just as crappy as RTA, or maybe it’s insipid and fakey. Only one way to find out). 
We got into Cosi and there was a huge line of people wrapping around the entrance area. Luckily, we got to skip it since Mom and Dad bought a membership last time they went.
We went up to the members desk, where a guy greeted us with “How are you folks today?”
Dad: “Horrible, thank you.”
And the guy didn’t even notice.

Thus began our Cosi adventure. The boys and Dad and I did the Adventure exhibit, which is an interactive thing where you go into this big setup that looks like caverns, and you have to solve puzzles and go through mazes and such to find clues and get into this Observatory thing. When we got out, we found Mom and set off looking at all the other exhibits. My favorite was Progress, which is a set that you can roam around on. It’s supposed to be the same street but at different time periods. One was “Dr Quinn time” as we called it, and the other was the 60’s.
Near lunchtime, Dad and the boys decided they were going to go outside into the science park thing. There was a tiny green house out there. When they came back in, they told me that it was a Pod, an super-efficient eco house. Of course I had to go see it. Dodge came with me, and as we gazed into the tiny dwelling, we were both struck with what shall be heretofore referred to as Obsessive-ComPodsiveness. We started dreaming up Pods for ourselves. Single-person Pods, family Pods, Pod villages.

Dad and Poncho hung out at the oceans exhibit for a while as Mom took Dodge and I through the whole museum in search of more information on the Pod. She’d seen it while we were in Adventure, but she couldn’t remember where it was. Along the way, we ended up stopping to play with a voice changer, a metal dinosaur, a slow-mo video thing, optical illusions, and a wheel race thing (where I tripped over a metal post and got a nasty bruise). We finally found the Pod information after meeting up with Dad and Poncho again. Dodge and I swore we would build a Pod this summer.

When we finally left, hungry and tired, it was snowing. We stopped at the Scariest Fakeworld EVER, and then we went all the way home. Dad drove the speed limit on the way back, although this time I thought he would fall asleep, which was just as scary. And the roads were not too good from all the snow.
Before we got home we stopped at Grandma and Grandpa Vegas’ house, where Mom told me to tell them about the ride to Columbus.
Me: “Dad was going 90! I was so scared! And then he was getting all hyper, he kept saying stuff like ‘there’s a snake in the grass! There’s a bear in the air!'”
Grandpa: “Oh yeah, Smoky.”

So that was our grand adventure for the week. Dodge is as we speak drawing plans for the Pod he is going to build, and he’s even got Dad thinking about where we can get materials… So, things are interesting around here. :)

Peace,
Pen

Photographic Memory

A picture is worth a thousand words…. But I can’t seem to resist captions.

Owen-ito El Burrito!
ripping up carpet. My bedroom looks much better now.
Dodge, Mom, and I all went to the Lego Store on the way to the Columbus Feis. The Lego store was located in...
...the scariest Fakeworld EVER.
Driving to Queen Right Colonies with Dad. Now you have proof of my city-slicker-ness.
Poncho is the family food critic. Five stars for my pasta dinner!
Speaking of food... apple scone = YUM.
Daisy wanted a taste.
It looks like snow. But its actually fluff from the dogwood/cottonwood trees.

 

clover for drying.
My fleet of sprouts, most of which have since ventured bravely into the out-of-doors.
Daisy, with her "Please? / "It wasn't me" face.
Fond "Lost" memories...
This is what it's like to live with boys.
My first spinach crop!!!
Dodge took this picture of "the accidental strawberry".
The strawberries came up because Dodge threw some moldy strawberries in here last fall. We were surprised come spring! Unfortunately, the slugs had a picnic.
That is our yard. How do you like me now, Mr Perfect Lawn? Dodge took this picture, too, btw.

Tis all for now.

Love,
Pen