Davey Jones's ... pool?

Scott was certain that I was leading him to certain death when we first got in the pool. Here he is learning to tread water, which - he has informed me in no uncertain terms and in all seriousness - is "too hard". He got out of the pool when the buzzards started circling.

Critters

The obligatory bird shot:


Scott's little buddy:

La Soda Ericka!

Ooh, and look what we saw on the way:


We didn't go in, though. It was kinda creepy.

Feliz Navidad

Spanish lessons

Banana Split - La Banana Split
Pineapple - Pin~a (I can't figure out how to get the tilde to work on this computer, sorry)
Watermelon - Sandia
Six hour drive from hell - Solo' dos horas, faci'l

Bridges? We don't need no stinking bridges.

We took our trusty Suzuki down to Corcovado National Park yesterday - out on the Osa Peninsula, which is in the southwest of Costa Rica. We passed through Puerto Jimenez and travelled on to Carate - a distance of about 300 kilometers, round trip. We left at 8 in the morning and returned.... at 8 in the evening. We stopped for lunch and for gas. That was it. And here's why:


The Costa Ricans value many things more than the quality of their highways. When they're in good shape, they're in great shape; but when they're not...


Luckily, it was an astonishingly beautiful drive. The sun was out and the sky was clear (until dark, natch, when the rainforest really earned its name). And Corcovado, or the 200 sq meters of it that we had time to look at, was brilliant. And green.

Part of the problem in getting to the park was the recent (?) decision of the Costa Rican board of Transportation to renovate all of their old bridges. Which, all in all, was a good idea:


We drove over several of these on the way south, and let me tell you, I thought the bones were going to pop out of my knuckles I was holding on the steering wheel so tightly. You could hear the steel slats twang under the tires. And some of those holes looked plenty big enough for a little Suzuki Jimmy to fall right through.
And somewhere around Puerto Jimenez, they just decided: "Screw it."

Corcovado

And see, it was all worth it:

Hi, honey!

And I was so sad to leave Erin in the United States, but here she is on our patio!

Like, whoa.

What you are about to see is real.


That is actually Scott, and he is actually in the ocean. Granted, he's only toe-deep in a receding tide, but it's a start.

Spoiled Brats

Frog poop?! This is awesome!

Some things you should know about Costa Rica:

1. It's freaking hot here.
2. The tiny green frog that met us at the front door has enough poison in him to kill eight grown men.
3. The proprietor of the Soda La Unica has informed me that it has indeed snowed here. Twice. Which I am inclined to disbelieve (see #1), but he has kindly taken to speaking Spanish to me as one might speak to a small and mentally challenged child, which has allowed me to understand about half of what he says. So, sure, it's snowed here. Dos vezes.
4. The bullfrogs are in their mating season. And they're nocturnal. And very, very noisy.
5. When the sign says that the road is "en mal estado", they are SO NOT KIDDING.
6. Shouting "Vamos, Guatemala!" at the international - but mostly Costa Rican - bike racers is not in your best interests.
7. My Spanish sucks. (See #3)
8. There are bugs, bugs, bugs, and more bugs. Did I mention that there are bugs here? Tiny little bugs that you have to rinse off of your toothbrush in the morning, bugs in your bed, bugs in the sink, bugs on the walls, and the hammock, and in the pool; there are also huge giant moths that can cover up an entire light bulb. Ants that can strip an entire palm tree in a day. Medium sized bugs that bite. And weird little palm-sized beetles that Scott likes to fling at the frogs. The frogs like Scott. Which does not stop them from pooping all over the patio.
9. When it decides to rain here, it does not screw around. Seek cover.
10. We may not come home. This place is amazing.

Strap on those bags and get to work!

Scott decided today that we didn't have enough to do at home. So we went up to help out Bill and Chad and the boys on their project up in Northwoods. It was exhausting - but very fun. Except the part where I had to use the Sawzall. And maybe when the grinder got away from me and tried to take my leg off. But other than that, a great (and productive!) day was had by all.

..for those embarrassing moments.

Most commonly asked question at our dinner party last night:

"Why do you keep tongs in your bathroom?"

Well...

Life is not fair.

Why does Scott have the shapeliest ankles in our family? Harumph.

Why I Love My Husband

Reason #143: Such a good sport.

Smell My Feet

Thanks Grandma Beth for keeping us in the height of footwear fashion. (Hopkins, though not participating in the socky goodness, is fond of showing off his new winter snow-pants-furry-butt.)

Baby steps, Bob - baby steps.

Since you haven't seen any home improvement updates in approximately two years, you may be thinking to yourself, "Self," you might say, "Those darn clever kids must have finished that house."

Boy, would you be wrong.

Our bathroom no longer looks like a WonderBoard dungeon, mostly:


There was a frightening moment where we thought that we had ruined our ridiculously expensive natural stone tile with the dark brown grout. We did the necessary sealing and re-sealing prior to grouting, but immediately post-grouting our "natural variations in stone color" had become mostly "dark brown grout color". They have, with much scrubbing and cursing, returned to their naturally varying state.

This did, however, require Scott to spend the better part of two days in this position (which - needless to say - has left all of his various bits and pieces grumbly and unpleasant to be around):


He does have an awfully cute little bum, though, sore or not.

Pushover, etc.

We're doing everything we can to teach Hopkins not to jump on people (including us) when he's excited and wants attention. He jumps, puts his paws on your chest, wiggles his butt, looks longingly in to your eyes ... sure, it's all very cute, but someone like, say, my Grandma Marg might not be so enthusiastic about his enthusiasm. So we correct him, tell him to sit quietly next to us, and shower him with affection.

So he jumps up, and I look sternly and say, "Hopkins. What are you supposed to do when you want love?"

And he jumps off and runs to Scott.

I see how it is.

Brace Face

What kind of parent signs you up to get braces on Picture Day?

The evil kind, apparently.

Why I Love My Husband

Reason #76: The Cleverness.

Just a little creepiness to start the day

Me: "Did you know you're the best thing that ever happened to me?"
Scott: "Lady, as far as I'm concerned, I'm the ONLY thing that ever happened to you."
Me: "Yeah, but... I was born. I grew up."
Scott: "Not without me around."

Twilight Prince...ss?

Me: "They keep calling me Mister Kate."
Scott: "Who is 'they'?"
Me: "The people in town."
Scott: "Why are they calling you Mr. Kate?"
Me: "Because I had my shirt off earlier, and ... apparently I'm a man."
Scott: "Is there something you aren't telling me?"
Me: "I spent all afternoon playing Legend of Zelda."

Raw Nerve

It's been a rough week. Erin and I are trying to get back in the swing of school and homework and responsibilities, she had braces installed on Thursday, I have PMS, the weather is unpredictable, the dog smells like fish oil, and Scott has had evil noxious gas for a week running. I thought to myself, "Self," I thought, "You should do something special for dinner tonight."

So I went to the bookstore and picked out a cookbook for something special. Something that Erin and I both love (not Scott, but really, he can suck it up). Something that takes time and love and artistic intuition. Something raw and spicy.

Then, of course, because it's necessary to do these things right, I had to buy a fancy (read: sharp) new knife. (A certain Nepali who shall remain unnamed used my 8" Santoru as a cleaver and knocked giant chunks out of the previous fancy sharp knife. I also bought a cleaver so that won't happen again.) Also, a bamboo rolling mat. Some new chopsticks. Some soy dipping trays. And a few grocery bags full of weird veggies, fish parts, dried fish parts, pureed fish parts, and seaweed.

I babysat the rice. (No one thought to mention to me that sushi rice takes TWO HOURS TO COOK PROPERLY? THAT'S INSANE.) I boiled fish flakes and shiitake mushrooms in sweet cooking vinegar. I carved cucumbers into exactly equal spears. I peeled avocados. I sliced and diced and steamed and mixed and squeezed and boiled and stirred and dipped and rolled and garnished and arranged and rearranged and arranged again. I was awfully proud. It was awfully pretty.



And Erin? ... spent the night at a friend's house.

Mmm, dal bhat.

Krishna whipped us up another Nepali feast yesterday. I was temporarily assigned Assistant Chef duties, until Krishna actually witnessed how I chopped his vegetables. Then I was promptly laid off. Damn this economy.

Chipper!

Hopkins's brother Chipper came over to play yesterday. They haven't been together since they were five weeks old, but it seemed like they hadn't missed a day. They played for HOURS, while Chipper's buddy Lola stood guard and made sure the boys didn't get too rowdy.

I tried to get a picture of the two of them together - but they're all blurry with the frantic jumping and panting and teeth. Hopkins is bigger, all around - longer, leggier, taller; but Chipper is waaaaaay fluffier. Also, eyebrows. It makes up for a lot.

ScottArt

Scott was waxing creative yesterday with light. And, yes, we all agree: lovely.

The Lord and Master (and Camp Cook)

Does this make them flapScotts?

Reservoir Dog

Keeping up with the Joneses

Scott: The neighbors are peeping toms.
Kate: You don't think they're just looking at the rain?
Scott: No, they have big windows for that. They were watching me.
Kate: Did they catch you picking your nose?
Scott: Maybe.
Kate: Did you get a good one?
Scott: I was going to, but they were looking at me. It ruined the mood.
Kate: You'll get your mojo back, just wait.

By any other name...

Les Fleurs

A short list of projects needed to complete our home

Range vent hood
Garage door openers (2)
Gutters (?)
Master bathroom/closet
Servants' quarters
S&M dungeon
Holo-deck

I may have been improvising a bit there towards the end.

Obsession for Dogs

Blueberry?

Kate: You wash the windows and re-trim the door and weed the flower beds and water the lawn and work and I sit on my ass and read books.
Scott: I don't have a problem with that; just you do.
Kate: Yes, I do. And I'm growing into a giant frantic guilt-muffin.
Erin: Mmmm, muffin.

Veni Legi Vici Scholarship Foundation Annual Book Sale

The book sale this year was a tremendous success! Huge thank yous to all of those who donated books, hauled books, packed books, sold books, watched my nephews, and fed me during three days of book insanity. We did it!

Henry, of course, was a HUGE help. He counted books, made change, sold a book for A BILLION DOLLARS!, and was an all around sweet guy all weekend. Good job, buddy.

Photo credit goes to Kyle, brother-in-law extraordinaire. Thanks, man, for all your help.

Pedicure, doggy-style

Kate: "Scott, stop it. That's disgusting."
Scott: "It's only gross when he sticks his tongue between my toes."
Kate: "Not when he's chewing on your toenails?"
Scott: "No. But I wish he'd get his fangs under 'em and clean some of that junk out of there. Good boy, Hopkins."

A very, very, very fine house

So, I've had a few days off, and I needed a project.

Building this doghouse began as a very simple project, necessitating the use of very simple tools. Then Scott got involved (does this sound familiar?), and it became far more complicated (I'm talking to you, DAD). Then we had to insulate, and use the table saw, and fashion outlookers and fascia and drip edge. Then it had to match the house. These boys and their T&A. It's just a damn doghouse.

So here it is. Mr. Hopkins's house. He's been in it for a grand total of fifteen seconds. But it was a great fifteen seconds, let me tell you.

Not tutored?

The vet told us to restrict Mr. Hopkins's activity for 5-7 days. Right. Notice how crunched up and filthy his collar is - and this picture was taken two hours after we left the vet's office. "Oh, I just had major surgery? Really? Why haven't you thrown that ball yet? Play? Play?! PLAY, DAMN YOU!"

Five to seven days? Not on your life.

Masochism, defined

When in areas to which you are not native, or with which your digestive system is not thoroughly acquainted, it is in your best interests to order your meat products medium-cooked, if not well-done. However, when the meat product in question is a bacon-wrapped tenderloin with potato pie and spiced spinach, and you have already consumed more than your fair share of $15 glasses of sangiovese, it is understandably hard to resist ordering it bloody. Not rare, bloody.

In the car yesterday, between bouts of stomach cramps and vile asphyxiating gas (I was not driving because it was imperative for me to concentrate on not crapping my pants), I suggested to Scott that I would happily undergo another four days of this torture for just a few more bites of that delicious steak. God, it was good.

A short list of things Hopkins ate while on vacation in Arizona:

a pen
a stick
several rocks of varying sizes
a small notebook with "Red Feather Lodge" letterhead
a cigar butt (short, but not too big around)
several cigarette butts
a medium-sized piece of discarded drywall
dog poop
several of his own puppy teeth
a prickly pear cactus
Erin
an apple
half of a package of fig newtons (original flavor)

Oh my heck!

When I'm in Utah, I have a compulsion to drop the f-bomb more than usual. Also, "Goddamnit!" and "Shitballs!"

Dog Park!

We took Mr. H. to the dog park in Heritage Park today - and he loved it! I didn't think that he could be so well behaved off-leash, but he acted like a shy little boy the whole time we were there. He came when we called, he fetched, he didn't jump on small children. So proud.

Boob Tube

In our hotel room here in Prescott, AZ, we have two televisions. Two. Why they would ever think that two televisions are necessary in a room smaller than my kitchen is beyond me. We've been stuck here for four days and Scott doesn't want to drive the rental car because he's afraid that the wheels are going to fall off (which is not an unfounded fear, let me tell you - we actually stopped between Tusayan and Prescott to have the front tires put on the back just in case they decided to blow up in the middle of the highway); Erin doesn't want to leave the hotel room because, well, she's twelve, and there are TWO TELEVISIONS, for the love of God. Oak Creek Canyon is just down the road, and a ghost-town called Jerome, as well as the gimp zoo, and a whole slew of museums. But, no. We must stay here. With the televisions.

I've tried to hide from them. I tried taking a long bath, because the bathtub in this hotel is not scary like the one at the Red Feather *shudder*, but the tub here is very shallow and once I've gotten into a comfortable position, I'm mostly just soaking my butt while everything else freezes. I've tried to ignore it. I've tried reading my book under a pillow. Nothing works.

Erin has watched the same episode of The Penguins of Madagascar at least six times in the last three days. Also Sponge Bob and Homeward Bound (with the talking dogs), in addition to a bunch of ultra-snotty teeny-bopper shows on Nick. And Scott, my wonderful husband who I thought would be immune to its evil snare, must have the television on. Today he is watching golf. GOLF. There is no love for golf in our home. None of us have ever played golf, or will ever play golf, or watch golf, or read about golf, or care about golf. When I asked why in the hell he was watching golf, Scott said: "But there's nothing else on."

So, um, turn it off?

Gimpy Easter Bunny

Arizona has a zoo for gimpy creatures, too, the Heritage Park Sanctuary - which is shockingly similar to the Alaska Zoo (for gimpy creatures). There were three-legged foxes and one-winged birds, blind badgers and not a few exhibits with signs along the lines of "This exhibit is currently unoccupied as [insert gimpy animal's name here] recently died of renal failure/was euthanized/was eaten by the rabid boar in the next habitat." The cameras were both charging, so you don't get to see any depressing pictures. Sorry.

We are still stuck in Prescott while the VW service guys take the weekend off. If we don't murder each other after two weeks in close quarters, we should be home next week sometime. I'm crossing my fingers (while loading the shotgun).

We hope the Easter Bunny gimped through your house this morning and left you more than just poop!

Old West Weird Jeep Tours

We took a weird Jeep tour into the Canyon through the Hualapai Indian Reservation. They drove us down a big road through the desert and to the Colorado River, where there were ham sandwiches and port-a-potties. We rode with a Mexican family from Mexicali, who I think spoke more English than they let on. But I tried out my poor Spanish anyway. Una manzana por el burro está debaja de su silla.


Es un arból de matar... the Hangin' Tree. Apparently this is where the Hole in the Wall Gang hung out. The driver was a little shocked that I hadn't seen Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but what can I say? I was born in the '80s. I can only picture Robert Redford as a creepy wrinkly old guy.


And here's the Hole in the Wall itself. I didn't know how to say that in Spanish. What can I say? I was born in the U.S.

Grand Canyon Caverns

Part of the weird Jeep tour was a tour of the Grand Canyon Caverns - dry caves apparently discovered by a drunk gambler who fell in a hole on his way home from a poker game. A stifling elevator ride down through 21 stories worth of rock brought us to the caverns themselves, which had been stocked for a while for use as a fallout shelter. I was feeling a little claustrophobic, but was certainly reassured by the fact that I would have enough water and fallout crackers to last me into the 22nd century, if necessary.


When I ran out of crackers, I could probably gnaw on this guy. Mmmm, mummified bobcat jerky.


Because of the dry nature of the caves, there were no stalagmites or stalactites. Instead there were these bizarre calcium formations that made me feel like I was inside a melting bag of marshmallows. Didn't help the claustrophobia, not at all. I was pretty sure that I was going to end up like the bobcat.

Paco

Él se llama Paco. Es un burro del cañon. No huele mal: es limpio y lindo.

Intrepid Explorer

Hopkins took a long hike on the Rim Trail today (It was apparently not as difficult to find as we thought. Hmm.) I think about halfway through he decided that he was never going to leave the Grand Canyon: every pretty Belgian girl who passed gave him love and he would forget that he was wearing his backpack and show his tummy and wiggle around like an upside-down turtle.


Six miles and hundreds of tummy rubs later he decided that a nap was in order.