We have been so busy I can’t even TELL you. We returned from West Virginia to find that the kid had outgrown all of her clothes. This meant every closet and shelf in No. 6 had to be reorganized, a days-long job. We also found that the kid was compelled to work on her crawling at all times, making the organization overhaul a weeks-long process, instead. She must now be watched much more closely, both because she moves faster than we think she will and because she frequently wipes out and must be consoled. She’s still not crawling, but she finally figured out how to move forward some with a knee-scoot (she was stuck in reverse for weeks). She also does still revert to her on-the-back tripod maneuver, using her head and feet to push herself around, kind of like a squid, from time to time. But for the most part now she wants to be on her hands and knees as much as possible. This makes the following things unacceptable:

- being strapped into a stroller
- being strapped into a car seat
- sleeping without sometimes, IN HER SLEEP, rising to her hands and knees and then collapsing again
- remaining on her back on the changing table, making changing her a lot like trying to get into a moving car
- leaving the changing table without having stuck all four appendages in her own poop

She has also been working on her shriek volume. Yes, we are now “that family” in any restaurant. It’s a real problem for us, since we don’t make food in our house. We are soon going to starve, Violet, and it’s your fault. Actually, what we do right now is eat in shifts, or we do our best to keep her happy until the food comes, and then I swaddle her and eat with her on my lap—the swaddle is the only way to keep her from obsessively trying to grab my fork and food, and on-my-lap is the only place she seems to want to be quiet.

SHE is NOT going to starve, though. She’s happily taken to her gruel and is also eating jarred peas. We started with an attempt at jarred pears, but after she three times made the face you can’t help making when you do a shot of Jack at 8 o’clock in the morning—you know the one—we agreed to stop torturing her with pears.

Right now she’s sitting in her high chair at my desk, doing her “work.” This work involves sliding her toys one by one over the side of the desk until there is one toy left, which she bangs repeatedly with her super-muscle arms until I refill her inbox. If I do not, she grabs the mouse and tries to consume it. She tries to consume everything—her toys, electronics, my face—and is clearly working on the muscles she will need to eat more solid food and to talk. She already understands a little bit of what we say, I think, in an abstract way.

Vibble is a real people person. Everywhere we go, she charms cashiers and wait staff, strangers in line and bus drivers. Everyone. We kind of hold up the works while people lean into the stroller and talk like idiots. Vi eases into her big gorgeous grin, and the idiocy increases in intensity. It’s really something to see. When we got back from West Virginia, Stevel and I took her to the aquarium in Long Beach. We’d seen her enjoy the fish store around the corner and wanted to know if she would like the giant tanks. She seemed to enjoy it thoroughly, but in the end, she was much less into the tanks than the people—especially the kids. As Steve said, we could have just taken her to the grocery store.

In summary, six months is amazing. We’re having more fun with her than I even knew was possible. She’s a riot, extremely cute ALL THE TIME, and sweet sweet sweet.

Here are links to …
- a few new recent photos
- a little video of the first truly successful cereal meal

So that’s the Violet update. We had a great visit in West Virginia with so many wonderful friends and family joining us, including Bridget and Dave; Cindy and Matt; Tracey and her two kids; Kristen Russo; Emily, Elizandro and Jazlynn; my sister and her crew; my mom, Mike, and my grandparents; my dad and Pauline; and Mike’s sister Jane and her son and granddaughter. It was a real getaway in the woods, but with plenty of adventures in the local fun. We also got the chance to see Jitu and Reshma and their two kids on our way from the airport to the woods. Here are links to …
- photos from the trip
- a video of my niece Dani
- a video of my niece Erica

Now we are off (tomorrow) to Corvallis, Oregon, to spend some time with family and friends of Steve’s.

The trip was great. Violet is a dream on a plane at this age. When not asleep, she is grinning at the passengers around us until everyone is in love with her. She’s quite adaptable to eating and having her diaper changed on planes, on the floor in an airport terminal, anywhere. She sleeps soundly in the Baby Bjorn for hours. She did have some fussiness this weekend, but my sense was that she was pretty affected by changes in time and routine this trip. Jet Lag for Baby. She had trouble falling asleep a few times when she was clearly exhausted. But she’s recovering just fine here today.

I’m so happy I got to see my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Enjoyable visiting, couldn’t get enough. My grandparents look wonderful and are making progress on the final paring-down of all the stuff they’ve accumulated over the years to make their move into their retirement community in Florida complete. My cousin Elyse talked to me about how things are going with college and her boyfriend of four years. She’s content, enjoying her independence and future possibilities. Olivia is a graceful, intelligent, and observant beauty. Audrey Hepburn, minus any ambition to be noticed. Lillian is instant buddies with anyone who wants to GO OUTSIDE, for any reason. She entertains herself reading otherwise, and she, too, is intelligent and beautiful. Seth was off at Basketball Camp, so, regrettably, I missed seeing him. But we had a large group for Father’s Day, and I soaked in my family and enjoyed the small-town walkability of Howell. It was more than enough to balance the uncomfortable flights.

But enough about me, here are some photos!

We got back yesterday from three days in San Francisco. Violet’s first (and second) plane ride was a success. She was a dream. Really, there were only two things that affected us in any negative way with having her along:

[1] Carrying luggage and gear for a baby on a trip is sort of like that scene in “Spaceballs” where the guys are hauling the princess’ luggage across the desert.

[2] Violet dropped a massive diaper-bomb while we were on a walk, miles from our hotel. We managed to change it, employing teamwork and agreeing that her little outfit had taken one for the team and could not be salvaged. So Violet got a carefully orchestrated diaper change, wipe-down, and new outfit on a park bench. She was fairly agreeable.

The highlight of the trip was our hotel room, which ended up having a spectacular view of Union Square, the city beyond, and beyond that, the bay. The weather was gorgeous. We enjoyed a dinner the first night at the Cheesecake Factory, a restaurant I typically avoid because of its long lines and so-so dinner fare, but the SF one overlooks Union Square (and it was time for more Godiva cheesecake, it was JUST TIME).

We did a little shopping, a lot of walking, some hotel room hanging out and napping. I’m recharged, and just in time to turn around and fly to Michigan on the red-eye tonight with Violet … because once you’ve done Baby’s First Trip, you’re like, Baby’s SECOND TRIP, let’s get on that ASAP.

OK, here are Photos from the LaVietes Family Vacation to San Francisco 2008. Click on “View Slide Show.”

I’m traveling soon on your airline, because you alone had a direct flight to Detroit at a time that worked for me, and I’m bringing an infant. Most airlines want to know in advance about this sort of carry-on item. I assume you do, too.

But perhaps you don’t. I tried for three days to reach you via the phone number posted on your Web site. I tried every menu option but was always disconnected.

Undaunted, I decided to send a message through your Web site’s Contact page … to, as it were, “e-mail” you. Apparently, however, this option is much like the ole’ nickel-glued-to-the-ground trick. The drop-down menu for something called “Location” contains no options, and clicking on “Send” earns me a pop-up explaining that no, I may not send without choosing a Location.

Oh, Spirit Airlines, you can play hard to get, but I will persevere. As I persisted in tracking you down, I encountered tale after tale of woe on the Internet. You have been a bad, bad airline, it seems, and many broken-hearted ex-passengers in your wake have been compelled to blog of their anger. Despite all of these stories about what an awful airline you are, I persisted in tracking you down, plugging away with my searches until I located YOUR POSTAL ADDRESS, whereupon I SENT YOU A LETTER. It may be 2008, but perhaps you are an old-fashioned airline. I can respect that. And you are worth 42 cents in my book. Maybe not much more, but FORTY-TWO CENTS, YES.

So, again, please hear my heartfelt, feelingy feelings, which are these: I feel I must let you know I am traveling with an infant.

Looking forward to flying your unfriendly skies very soon,
Kristan LaVietes

So yes, the trip was wonderful. It was not, however, without incident. Our last day entailed a loooong drive home from Moab. Setting out from our hotel, I looked at the gas gauge (I can see you THINK you know where this is going, but oh, you have NO idea) … anyway, there was more than half a tank. Looking at the map, I saw that within an hour, we would be on major U.S. highways for the entire trip. (We would later learn that David took a peek at the gas gauge as well and had the same thought.)

So we drive along out of the boonies and onto I-70. Again, this is a MAJOR U.S. highway … with NO TOWNS on it. The only exits we pass are labeled Ranch Exits, which means they open onto rough, dirt roads that snake off into the Utah wilderness. We don’t worry until two hours into the trip, when the Gas Light comes on, and, looking at the map, we realize we are smack in the middle of NOTHINGNESS FOR MILES IN ALL DIRECTIONS. No need to panic: We have David’s GPS! GPS says the nearest gas station on I-70 is more than 45 miles away. We aren’t going to make that. BUT, says GPS, if we take the upcoming “Moore Cutoff” exit, we can be in the town of Emery in 17 miles. THIS we can do.

Here’s where I make my first poor decision. The options are these: [A] Pull over on I-70 and call AAA; wait an hour until a tow-truck brings us gas, or [B] Take an unknown dirt road into the hills of Utah with almost NO GAS in the tank.

“B” it is!

So we take Moore Cutoff. It is a dirt road. There are no other vehicles on it. Not one. We are nervous about being lost with no gas on this dirt road, so I am coasting down hills in Neutral.

Five miles into the road, we both lose cell phone service.

Eight miles into the road, we come over a hill, and I make my second poor decision. It is a split-second decision that goes like this: “Yikes! Those ruts in the mud at the bottom of this hill look very muddy. Mud is bad. But that gray stuff to the right of the ruts—that could be dry, right?”

Seconds later finds the Golfie stuck. In. The. Mud. People, I’m talking about some deep mud. Black Utah CLAY mud. It is up to the doors. It is up INTO the engine. “Sploogshe.” I can’t get the car to rock forward and back. We get out and, up to our shins in vacuum-sucking mud, attempt to push the car. No luck.

Did I mention it’s COLD? Did I mention we are eight to ten miles from the highway? Did I mention we are another eight to ten miles from the nearest TOWN? Did I mention there are NO OTHER CARS on this road?? How about that we haven’t eaten breakfast? Or that I am 18 weeks pregnant and can barely walk up the STAIRS IN MY HOUSE without feeling faint?

There is no point in belaboring these points, so David and I both get ready to hike the eight to ten miles into town. For me, this means grabbing a jacket, water, and some cereal bars. For David, this means loading himself up with his heavy camera gear and laptop bag, because all of these people we DON’T see driving down this road? Thieves. Thieves who are willing to slog through three feet of mud to boost our electronics. (I convinced him to put them back in the car, but poor David felt nervous the whole time about it. I think when faced with a situation this stressful, we all direct our anxieties to surprising places. I decided, of course, that the hike into town would cause severe damage to the fetus; my imagination was eating me alive.)

Before you go thinking we actually DID hike that eight to ten miles, let me introduce you to Dick Hancock, also known as The Man You Should All Ask God to Make Win the Lottery. Dick is a 72-year-old Ferron, Utah, resident. He smokes “Dean’s Lil Cigars.” And he likes to hunt Elk off Moore’s Cutoff.

Lucky thing number one is that David and I encounter Dick’s pickup just a quarter of a mile along the road.

Lucky thing number two is that Dick is NOT off hunting elk for hours, miles from his truck, but is dealing with a broken chain on his ATV, which has tracks instead of wheels, and which is stuck in the mud just a hundred feet or so down the trail. Dick is not a nice or not-nice guy. He is the kind of folks who just don’t think twice about helping a stranger. He’s not “happy” to do it, nor does it seem to put him out in any way. Two people arrive in front of him who are in a jam. What you do is, you help them; what else would you do, is Dick’s way of thinking.

Dick’s son, a wheelchair-bound also-hunter, is in the ATV, prepared to wait for Dick to fix the situation THEY are in. Dick’s on his way into town (Ferron, a little past Emery) to get another chain. I ask if he would mind carting one of us along, so we can get a tow truck.

“I dont know that there’s a tow truck IN town,” he says in his country accent. “But what’s your trouble?” I explain that we have a VW compact stuck in three feet of mud up the road.

“Well, I can probably get you out of that,” he says.

And he DOES! He backs up his truck to the mud-hole, gets out a handy hook-and-cable thing, and just like that, the Golfie is FREE. Then Dick leads us into town, keeping an eye on us in case we run out of gas … which we DO, right in front of a GAS STATION, and right in front of Dick’s house (and I have now mentioned 50 percent of the buildings in Ferron, Utah).

Dick lends us a gas can, which David walks over to a pump and fills so we can drive the Golfie the few remaining feet to fuel. I put 50 bucks in Dick’s pickup and tell him there’s something in there for his troubles, because I don’t want him to think we aren’t grateful … and because I think I have never BEEN more grateful. To ANYONE. He argues with me a lot about it, and demands I go get it, etc. Even though I explain that he has saved us an incredible amount in towing fees, not to mention TIME, not to MENTION DEATH IN THE UTAH WILDERNESS, he is adamant. I get the feeling that for him, it’s like being given money to take out the trash. Does not compute. But I’ve hidden it well, in his cigarette pack, and I distract him with questions about elk meat and how he will get his son out of the mud and about the many cars and ATVs on his property. He shows me a backhoe.

“If I can’t get him out with the right chain, I’ll get him out with this,” he says.

Then he says, “There is one thing you can do for me, I guess. I’ve been meaning to sell this car, and if you know of anyone down there who might want a car like this, you could give them my number.” With this, he leads me to a tarp-closed carport. Inside is a 1973 Buick Riviera, maroon, MINT CONDITION, all original everything. Looks like it has been kept in this vault lovingly since its day of purchase. Dick explains that he bought the car as part of his retirement projects “To Do” list ten years ago. He says he has no idea what it’s worth, but, Readers, if you want a stunning 1970s-era car, please let me know!

Meanwhile, say a word of thanks, in whatever way you do that, for this man who saved us more than a lot of time. I don’t know how that hike into town would have gone.

Also, know for your own reference that it’s very STRESSFUL to drive the rest of the way on a long trip with a car that has thick mud in the engine. Your clutch might not be happy, and you might get a speeding ticket trying to make it to Vegas while mechanics are still open, only to decide to push it the rest of the way home and then pay to have your engine steam-cleaned, which will solve the problem but not alleviate the stress-knot in your gut that persists well into Friday as you blog about your mishap. It’s just one possibility.

I leave you with these:

The Golfie after Dick rescued her from the mud (this photo does not convey the DEPTH of the mud or the amount of it smashed into the front of the car, but you get the idea)

The Angel Elk Hunter Dick Hancock lending me a gas can

Yeah, I threw away these shoes at the gas station

Click on “Start Slideshow.”

This morning we decided to explore Telluride. We took the free gondola down into town and walked around. It’s a gorgeous place. David took lots of great photos. Because it rained and then stopped, everything was clear and beautiful. My tagline for Telluride is this: Where the Other Half Skis.

We drove on to Utah and got to Arches National Park in the late afternoon. A lot of it can be seen from the car, which is good, since I was not up for any hiking. David did hike out and get close to one formation, and the light was lovely for pictures. Tonight we’re in a cabin on the Colorado River in Moab. We can hear the river, but otherwise, there are no sounds. Stars and moon above, crisp, clean air … when I re-read this blog entry in a few days from L.A., I will be jealous of my former self. But I do miss home and especially Stevel, and we are making the long (10+ hour) drive back tomorrow.

Hello from Telluride, Colorado, and David’s and my little trip out into the not-city. I can’t tell you much about this place. We arrived after dark and went right to bed. I CAN tell you we are staying in a fabulous hotel in the Mountain Village above the town. In the dark last night, I peeked out the balcony and saw two things: [1] Nearly silent gondolas whizzing by on a suspended cable overhead and [2] The hugest white mountain-face I have ever seen, and it was, like, RIGHT THERE. This morning the mountain is obscured by rain-clouds, so I’m happy I checked it out in the dark.

Friday we drove to Flagstaff, Arizona, a quaint town centered around a working train depot; being not far from the Grand Canyon, Flagstaff is a stop on the railroads that tourists take to experience the Grand Canyon “By steam train!” and stuff. No, we didn’t stop in the Grand Canyon. We’d both been before and have other foci and ambitions for this trip. Also, the Grand Canyon makes me kind of nauseous, and I’m not really into added nausea right now.

I did do a little shopping in Flagstaff. It’s a sweet mix of antique stores and shops full of Patagonia wardrobes and thousand-dollar skier sunglasses. I bought a purse and flip-flops on sale.

Yesterday we drove from Flagstaff north into Monument Valley. The lighting was lovely, and we took photos and made a leisurely pace. We headed northeast from there to Mesa Verde. We arrived too late to hike to any of the ruins, but that was OK—we drove to a lookout point where we could see all of them and quickly realized this girl is in no shape right now to do those strenuous hikes. I get exhausted quickly unless I take it slow. It was also raining. Anyway, the view was spectacular enough. I’d been wanting to see these things for a long time, and I look forward to coming back when I am NOT pregnant someday and hiking out to them.

Today we have plans to head over to Moab and Arches. Then it’s a long haul home to L.A. on Monday. I’m enjoying this trip for all the reasons I knew I would: Adventure, hanging out with David, and getting a break from the crowds. But I’m also feeling sad in a way I normally don’t when I travel. I miss Stevel, who had to stay home and work, terribly. I haven’t had good luck with the nausea on the trip, I think maybe because of the altitudes? And it’s raining in L.A., a brief happening I always enjoy. So while it’s nice to get away, I look forward to going home, too.

Stevel and I are off to Coronado Island for a few days tomorrow. Our very kind neighbors will be taking care of the cats, no small task: Mia still has to be medicated three times a day, once with food taken up an hour before and put back an hour after (=SIX trips to No. 6 every day). Thank goodness these people are so in love with Linus, and thank goodness I was finally able to give him a LONG OVERDUE bath today so he won’t be so super greasy for all their lovin’.

I have a couple of things to catch you up on, but first, here are some scenes around No. 6:

Romance:
Stevel brought these home last night. I said, “Are those for me?” He replied, “No, they’re for me. But I’ll share them with you.”

Oops:
Turns out there’s a good reason why the instructions on my new foot-spa advise against putting soap in the water.

Mia:
Aka “Boxy Brown,” now lives in this box on Stevel’s desk, which we installed to encourage her (successfully … mostly) NOT to sit on our keyboards and mice WHILE WE ARE USING THEM. She is doing incredibly well, btw, gaining weight and looking better and better in her test results. A really unexpected turn of events to have so much additional, healthy time with her. Although, right now she is digging hats and scarves out of a basket, GET OUT OF THE BASKET!

Game-lap Cat:
Here is what Linus does when Stevel plays with the DS. It’s the absolute cutest.

So, to update you! First, let me say we had a fun get-together Sunday night with pot-luck delicacies, an exchange of journals-with-inspirations/assignments-inside, and many creative activities, although I think only Sarah-Architect and I ended up with semi-permanent finger-paint stains on our hands (Yeah, thanks for your advice, guy at Blick, what are you, a stock-boy? No three-year-old is going to be allowed to finger-paint with this stuff more than once, bro). Anyway, my creative fire is relit, thanks to this Revival, and I’m looking forward to a follow-up event later in the summer, to show off what we have all been doing with our projects.

Second, I had the most relaxing and wonderful weekend in San Francisco last Thurs.-Sun. with Bridget, who was in town for a conference. Her conference ended Friday, and we shopped and walked around the city and toured the Scharffen Berger chocolate factory in Berkely. It was truly the sweetest weekend. I’ve posted some photos here. Enjoy! And eat more GOOD chocolate.

I remembered another cute moment in Pennsylvania. I had picked up Dani from daycare, and we were waiting in the rain in my rental car for Erica’s bus. The song “All You Need is Love” by the Beatles came on, and I asked Dani, “Is that true, Dani? Is love all you need?”

She smiled. “No,” she said, “I need stuff to play with.” Then she thought for a second and added, “I need Erica.”

Isn’t that, like, puke-yourself cute?

My friend Scrubbed Innocence recently wrote on her blog about kindness, and I just spent some time in the land of the kind, Western Pennsylvania, which is the land of many things, actually (and in many cases, unfortunately), but it is also the land of the kind. People say hello, they wave you in front of them in line or on the road, and they do really nice things for you, be you the friend of a friend, or a stranger, or even a stranger who doesn’t like George W. Bush and who is therefore bound for Hell for your hatred of America. I would like to publicly thank these people:

my sister, Cheryl, who sacrificed a half day’s work (and pay) to take me to the doctor’s office, where she filled out the forms for me, accompanied me into the examining room to help me, and even took care of the filling of my prescription

my mom, who called to get me a doctor’s appointment and kept an eye on me, despite everything going on for her at the time

Dr. Meyers, my family’s physician, who squeezed me in between appointments

the nice people in the phramacy at CVS in Latrobe, who made a lot of phone calls to sort out the misinformation I had given them regarding my pharmacy coverage

my good friend Tracey, who was kindly on standby to take me to a doctor and who offered her nursing expertise

and finally, my delightful nieces, who obediently washed their hands with soap every 15 to 30 minutes in my presence, and who i love despite their having smeared on me the toxic snot that made me so ill in the first place

We need your advice. Stevel and I are in the enviable position at this moment of having no children, a little disposable income, and vacation time aplenty. We need a vacation that …

- is a good getaway for the two of us to spend time alone together
- requires little in the way of serious travel or airplane travel, as we find its logistics drain our spirits (we’re thinking under three hours’ flight, if any)
- is just right for about a four-day stay in August
- offers opportunities for good (GOOD, delicious, high-end) dining for Stevel and some shopping for me (so nothing too out-of-the-way)
- balances these opportunities with a lack of crowds; while we don’t need to get out into nature, we do want to escape the city, and we’re not looking to relive Spring Break
- ideally (but not necessarily) offers warm sea-water
- offers some nice places to stay (e.g. we want to treat ourselves right)

Basically, we want to enjoy each other’s company for a few days in a place that feels like a getaway but that doesn’t require a lot of effort toward the getting away. We like to read by the pool or beach, explore a little, have a late dinner, and sleep. We’d like a light hike, maybe, but nothing super outdoorsy. We like a little culture, if it’s available, but mostly as a distraction, not as a destination. We want to be warm.

We went to Kuwaii in Hawaii, and it was nice, but too much of a flight and too sparse on the nice restaurants. Cabo San Lucas has been encouraged, but we’re not sure if we want to do the language-thing again like on our honeymoon in the Yucatan (yeah, I know some Spanish, but not a ton). We’re also looking at South Padre Island in Texas, a stay on Catalina (VERY nearby), and “the desert.” We’ve had some trouble finding vacation ideas that pan out into actual fun and relaxation, where we don’t start to feel “trapped” in the resort or on the island after a couple of days. Yeah, it’s nice to get away and to chill, but so far, our vacations have left us a little … disappointed. Do you have suggestions and/or feedback on any of these ideas?

I posted my photos from my visit to my family. You can see them here. Remember to click on “Start Slideshow.”

There are also some fantastic pics from our visit to the National Aviary on Dave’s Flickr site. You can see them here. Click on the photo thumbnails to the right to browse through the collection. (Dave takes great photos.)

And now, some highlights from my neices:

Erica (8) found my old acoustic guitar, the little one I begged my parents to buy me for some elementary-school-age birthday (I never learned to play it). I said, “Do you know who plays the guitar? Uncle Steve.”

“Is he good?” she said.

“Yeah, he’s real good.”

“Like rock-n-roll-good?”

Yeah. That good.

One morning I walked her up to the bus stop. She has particular “rules” about what her bus-stop chaperone may and may not do in order to maintain her cool status. No hugging, etc. So when we knew the bus would be coming pretty soon, I started teasing her. I wrapped her in a big, restraining hug and pinched her cheeks and said, “I wuv my wittle neicey!” She wiggled free, and the bus came around the corner. Just as it was approaching us, though, she turned and plowed into me with a hug so enormous, and so totally unexpected, we went right over backwards onto the driveway. The bus-driver opened the door, and there we are, looking up at him from the ground, where we are entangled and scraped up and laughing.

I was driving my nieces along in the car, and Dani (4) opened her window with the electronic button on her door. I told her to close it, since the AC was on. She put the window up.

“Is it locked?” she said. I hadn’t engaged the feature that lets the driver lock window-control.

“No,” I told her. “Do I need to lock it, or can I trust you to just be good?”

“Better lock it,” she said.

Another time, she was making a bunch of noise and running around when I had told her to take it easy.

“Dani,” I yelled, “are you being good?”

She stopped, paused, and shouted back, “I forgot!”

I’m in Western Pennsylvania. Been here a bit longer than planned. Here’s what happened:

We planned a trip here to celebrate my sister’s thirtieth birthday. My dad and stepmother, Pauline, planned a visit from their home in Atlanta at the same time.

The day before the trip was to begin, we learned that my stepfather, Mike, needed to have a sextuple bipass in five days. (Mike and my mom also live in Western Pennsylvania.) This was very unexpected, especially for Mike, who was feeling just fine, really, until when, during one of his routine procedures for ongoing heart troubles, the doctor found severe blockages throughout his heart. Mike lives a very healthy lifestyle, but heart disease runs in his family. The doctors also think he may be diabetic. This, too, was a surprise, since he’s never experienced any symptoms of diabetes.

We flew here. I changed my return-ticket so I could stay longer. We changed Stevel’s return-ticket, so he could stay shorter (Mia still requires a lot of medicating and care, and we don’t want the neighbors to have to attend to it for too long—or for Mia to be alone too much).

We all (ALL) celebrated my sister’s thirtieth birthday. She had a cookout at her new house (which is terrific), and my four (FOUR) parents attended. Mike was in good spirits, not too nervous at all.

I started to get kind of sick.

Mike went in for his surgery and came through it like a CHAMP. The surgeon was able to do only a quadruple bipass, due to some of the veins he needed to graft being too difficult to access. But he assures us it shouldn’t be a problem—that he got the four most in need, and Mike should be just fine. Mike’s not in a lot of pain, although he’s uncomfortable. For anyone out there who doesn’t know what’s involved in bipass surgery, he’s got a lot to recover from. Not only has his heart undergone major changes that require adjustment, but veins have been removed from his leg, and he has a big old broken bone in his chest. Ow. It’s going to take some time before he’s back up to speed, but he should be a new, improved model of his old self by the end of the summer. We’re hoping he can come home from the hospital tomorrow, but if not then, Monday.

In other news, my sickness got worse and worse, and by Tuesday—the day of Mike’s surgery, when I was planning to wait in the waiting room with my mom—I could barely stand up. My sister left work to be with my mom at the hospital, and my long-time friend, Tracey, who is a nurse now, was to take me to a doctor. But my mom insisted my sister do it, so Cheri came and got me. It turned out to be tonsilitis in the right tonsil, the result of (and in addition to) a severe sinus infection. The timing could not have possibly been more inconvenient. Here I was, wanting to be a help to my family, and instead needing help from them on the worst possible day for it! And no wonder it had been so painful to swallow. Madness. But I’m much better now.

I should mention that highlights of this trip have been seeing my sister and her family’s new house, hanging out with my neices a lot, and getting to see Tracey and the Deckers (including Leela!). Best of all, though, is seeing for myself today that Mike is doing fine, slowly improving and heading towards more improvement, and that my mom and family are all OK. So I can go back to California tomorrow knowing that.

Some great terms: Drapery Formation · Twilight Zone · Karst · Ice Age · Mescalero Apache · Pod Formation · Guano Miner · Dark Zone · Steleothem · Bat Pup · Underground · Cave Cricket · Bell Canopy Formation · Flowstone · Stalactite · Drip · Stalagmite · Helicite · Guano Bucket · Aragonite Crystals · Echolocation · Prehistoric Coral Reef · Gypsum · Column · Wingspan · Cave Pearl · Roost · Canyon · Spiral · Salt Flat · Rattlesnake · Mexican Free-tailed Bat · Grotto · Calcite …

This weekend was our adventurous trip to Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. We traveled with Sarah-Architect and Jeremy Sr., who had been before and were wonderful guides. Today I am aching from a lot of hiking around, but it was SO WORTH IT to see a completely different world underneath the one we see every day, one with insane formations—some of them 80 feet tall—sculpted over hundreds of thousands of years by water, all existing unseen in a surreal darkness until relatively recently. And to see thousands of bats spiral up from the cave at dusk to head out into the New Mexican desert-scape in search of moths. The cloud of them was seemingly endless and magically close overhead. Their little wings made a whisperish papery sound, and this was truly one of those inspirational nature moments in life. My imagination is fed fat by this whole experience.

We started our trip with a morning lantern tour of the Left Hand Tunnel. Why lanterns? Because this was how the caverns were first explored in the 1930s. Amazing. We took the elevator up from the Left Hand Tunnel, had some lunch, and then walked back in via the massive, natural entrance. Cave-swallows chirped, dove, and pooped overhead until we were out of the range of natural light and into the realm of the cave’s spectacular formations.

On Day 2, we trekked up a steep hillside trail to the entrance of Slaughter Canyon Cave (named after some guy whose last name was Slaughter). This cave is older and closer to the surface than the Main Cave, and our ranger-guide was spewing so much cave-knowledge, we were loaded up on facts. Although no bats have lived in this cave since it began actively dripping minerals into amazing formations, the floor of the cave is comprised of THIRTY FEET of prehistoric bat guano (poop). We were also treated to a special sight: 800-year-old charcoal and ocher drawings on the cave wall made by Mescalero Apache.

We finished our trip with lunch at Rattlesnake Springs and flew home exhausted and impressed.

I’ve posted my photos here.

Jeremy Sr. got some amazing shots of the cave’s formations, and I’ll give you the link when he’s posted his.

Since I highly recommend a trip like ours, here are some tips, aka …

“YOUR CARLSBAD CAVERNS TRAVEL GUIDE”

Things we did that I’m glad we did …

- went while the bats were there (they migrate South for the winter, and although there are perks to visiting in the winter, like more water in the caves, you just don’t want to miss these bats)
- planned our trip VERY EARLY and ordered tickets online to the tours we wanted (even so, some of the tours had already sold out, months in advance)
- flew into El Paso via Southwest, rented a car from Avis, drove about 2 1/2 hours, and stayed two nights at the Days Inn in Carlsbad—all good situations
- started with the Left Hand Tunnel tour, a great introduction to the history of the caverns
- thought ahead before starting any tour or hike, because bathrooms and food are in many places not available; this is a park in the desert, and parts of it are more “tourist friendly” than others, which are more rugged—it’s a good idea to know (a) how long a tour will be, (b) how far/difficult of a drive and/or hike it is to get there, and (c) what facilities are/are not available once you arrive; there’s no eating inside the caves
- picked up a picnic lunch at Subway/Wal-Mart (styrofoam cooler) before heading to Slaughter Canyon, for example
- wore layers: It was 90 degrees on the surface and less than 60 degrees inside the caves
- wore good sneakers or other hiking shoes with grippy soles
- saw Rattlesnake Springs
- did some geocaches along the drive

Things I didn’t do that I wish I had done …

- invested in MUCH brighter headlamps
- gotten in better shape before going, so I wasn’t so sore
- gotten up early to watch the bats come back into the cave before sunrise
- gotten gas in Carlsbad before heading back to El Paso (brings new definition to the word “boonies”)

Other thoughts …

The Main Cave visitor center has a lunchy place, and the main cave entrance and tour is subtly lit, with moderately easy (although still steep and long) trails, and with the alternate option of taking an elevator directly down to the Big Room tour (fairly flat). Anything else you do will be more difficult. A disabled person or someone a bit older would definitely still enjoy the experience, via the elevator, of seeing the Big Room (about a two-hour tour). However, we saw a number of (TOO MANY) crying little-ones. Their cries echoed around the cave, affecting the experience of every single person there. They were cold, hungry, bored, and stuck, and they had long ago seen their attention spans expire. While I’m sure the first 15 minutes was magical for each of them, after that they likely wanted to run free and couldn’t, and these tours and trails are TOO LONG—and many of them MUCH too dangerous—for little kids. A liberal estimate for a minimum age for a kid who is actually going to (a) enjoy the experience and (b) be able to follow the many rules meant to preserve the cave is, in my humble opinion, ten. AT LEAST ten. If you want to show this amazing place to your kids, wait until they are old enough so it’s going to be FUN for them. The kids I saw who were about sixth-grade level had just enough patience and curiosity to be totally into it, and still had plenty of imagination to be bewondered. I overheard two little girls chatting before the bat show. They were discussing not Barbie, not video games, but echolocation, how cool is that for variety?

Was that a rant? Ug. Moving on …

Know right now that Carlsbad is a small, desert town. It has your typical fast food joints, a Chili’s, a Wal-Mart, a bunch of motels, and some ratty looking restaurants. El Paso is also a pretty small city. There is nothing between El Paso and Carlsbad. Don’t expect resources or “entertainment” of the city kind. Bring what you need, and be ready to enjoy moments of complete silence, to see stars overhead, and to really commune with nature.

That said, the Days Inn has free wi-fi and a pool. The margaritas at Chili’s are nice and big. Although we didn’t do the Living Desert “zoo,” many people recommended it. In case you need some evening or alternative things to do.

You can’t talk or take photos during the bats’ exodus from the cave at dusk, and your cell phone has to be turned off. Electronics can mess with the bats’ echolocation.

And now this computer is messing with MY echolocation. It was fantastic (and so needed) to get away from the city and spend a little time out in the quiet. Stevel was glad to get back to tasty food, but today I can’t help continuing to imagine a life without the traffic, competitive pushing, and noise. I’ll have to ease back into it. Maybe I just need a little jaunt to the Third Street Promenade for some shopping—you know, to remind me why I like calling this place Home.

Support our National Parks!

Sunday we drove up to Las Vegas to see The Beatles “Love” Cirque du Soleil with Sarah-Architect and Jeremy Sr. Since Sr. was already in town for NAB, it was me, Stevel, and Sarah-Architect in the Golfie for the drive. All the way up to Vegas, Sarah-Architect and I shared our enthusiasm for the adventure (Steve contributed his ambivalence). Sarah-Architect had been to Vegas only once, and with family, so she was looking forward to an overnight of DEBAUCHERY. She had received a sign in the form of an unexpected $100 refund from her car insurance company and insisted repeatedly that we each put a quarter into the first slot machine we saw.

At the first slot machine, Stevel put in his dollar and won $37.50. WOOHOO! The first slot machine Sarah-Architect saw turned out to be broken.

I soon ditched my friends to shower and briefly enjoy our room in the MGM Grand West Wing. I just love this hotel, and a Sunday night stay is a great deal. Anyway, when I met up with Stevel and Sarah-Architect an hour later, they had had a couple of drinks; this exaggerated for them their senses of winning (Stevel had hit the slots-jackpot a few more times) and losing (Sarah-Architect was not “feeling the mojo”). We moved on to a DELICIOUS dinner at fin and then met up with Sr. for the show, which I cannot insist enough that you, dear reader, make an effort to get to Vegas to see. It was better than I could have imagined, and I could watch it again and again and again. Whether you love the Beatles, don’t care about the Beatles, love Vegas, loathe Vegas, whatever … you—whatever your age and entertainment bent—must see it!

On with our story …

After the show, we caffeinated and played some more slots. I won and lost and won and lost and came out ten bucks behind. Stevel slotted his way to low-roller happiness. Sarah-Architect lost almost half of her little refund.

In the morning, we breakfasted, said goodbyes to Sr., and hit the road in the Golfie. This time it was the four of us: Me, Stevel, Sarah-Architect, and Sarah-Architect’s streak of horrid luck:

12:30 p.m. We depart Vegas proper

12:45 p.m. We arrive at the outlet mall outside Vegas, where we spend nearly 30 minutes trying to figure out how to get from the parking lots to the stores we want to visit. In the stores, we find nothing—NOTHING!—to purchase. This is called An Omen.

1:45 p.m. The “Low Gas” light comes on, and the Golfie shrills its “LOW GAS!” indicator bell. Although we are passing the last of the exits on I-15 as we enter the desert, I pay it no mind. It’s 30 miles to Baker, and I know full well the Golfie can go up to 53 miles after the Low Gas indicator sounds.

1:45-2 p.m. It is strangley quiet inside the car.

2:00 p.m. Sarah-Architect says politely, “I don’t understand why we’re not getting gas.” This is called Foreshadowing. I say, “Are you both having anxiety about that? Is that why you’re so quiet? Because we are in great shape, no worries. I’ve got this.” This is called Hubris.

2:05 p.m. We encounter stopped traffic on I-15.

2:30 p.m. The backup continues. We are moving at an average speed of two miles an hour. There are no real exits until Baker. I have no idea how far “Low Gas” will take us in stop-and-idle traffic. Sarah-Architect has to pee bad enough that we are formulating plans for things she can pee in inside the car, there being no cover along the roadside in the desert.

3:30 p.m. We finally pass the former scene of an accident, which has been almost completely cleared from the road.

3:35 p.m. There is an exit with a ramshackle gas station, nothing else. Gas is $4.50 a gallon. This is called You Deserve It, Kristan. We buy 20 bucks worth. Sarah-Architect pees. I’m sure it’s not easy for her; she doesn’t use dirty potties. Or touch public doorknobs.

3:36-45 p.m. Sarah-Architect sanitizes her hands in the back seat with “Wet Ones.”

4 p.m. We arrive in Baker. We gas up affordably. Things are looking up. But speaking of looking up, we are sitting eating our greasy fried A&W burgers in a ramshackle fast-food joint with a gathering of toothless desert people when Sarah-Architect says she feels like something’s dripping on her. Milliseconds later, a gallon of brown water gushes from the ceiling an inch behind us. I jump up so fast I incur a serious bruise on my leg. We stand, stunned, looking at the brown pools on and around our seats. But we are so road-weary, we eventually just move to another table. Sarah-Architect throws away the top bun of her burger, in case it has been contaminated, and we finish eating. This is called Survival in the Desert. It is also called Acceptance that Luck is Beating the Crap Out of You Today.

4:25 p.m. We depart the A&W. I take a right onto the only road in Baker. I am watching for signs for which way I will need to go in order to get on I-15 SOUTH. But it turns out this road simply ENDS BY MERGING ONTO I-15 NORTH. We are headed back toward Vegas. This is called BITE ME, I-15 WITH YOUR LACKING DESERT EXITS!!!!

4:50 p.m. We pass Baker, again, now heading South.

5:20 p.m. We again encounter stopped traffic. Again, in the desert. Why does traffic want to stop in the desert? WHY!

5:20-6:05 p.m. We roll along at 4 miles an hour.

6:30 p.m. We finally encounter the outskirts of L.A. At least now the traffic issues HAVE A REASON.

7:30 p.m. We arrive in Santa Monica. A trip that should have taken a mere five hours has taken seven, not to mention its toll on our spirits, and the years it’s clipped off of the ends of our lives. We vow never to drive to Vegas again. This is called Crying on the Inside.

This week has been vacation week for David, which means it was vacation week for me, too, because it can be. So after the San Diego Zoo came a day of organizing David (complete with an IKEA trip), a picnic in Griffith Park with friends and a visit to the Griffith Observatory’s planetarium, and then yesterday, the grand finale: a morning at the spa. I had never been to a spa, so the protocol was all new and interesting to me. Since most of it was spent either facedown in the toilet-seat-like head rest of the massage table or with things laid over my eyes, I have to theorize about a lot of it. But here’s how it went:

1. First, they sent me to a Zenned out locker room to change into a karate uniform. It tied in the front, so it was more like a karate-peep-show outfit, I guess.

2. Next, I was led to the garden, where my therapist put my feet in a tepid soup with flowers floating on top. She added salt. Once my feet were sufficiently brothed, she put lotion all over them. Then she washed it off in the soup. I was directed to drink tea.

3. My therapist led me to the room where my massage would occur. She directed me to whisper. She instructed me to disrobe and put my head on the aforementioned toilet seat while she stepped out of the room.

4. She returned and laid something hot on my back. Judging by the weight of it, I debated whether it was a hot bag of flour or a freshly cooked whole piglet.

5. She did some crazy pinning-back of my hair, which I had to try not to fixate on, because I knew it must look BAD. Then she got to work kneading my shoulders and back. The determination in her hands made me think of army boot camp. This made me feel vulnerable. She told me I had nice skin and muscle tone. This made me feel even more vulnerable. I realized it was possible she could kill me with one snap of her crazy, determined hands.

6. She instructed me to turn over. For a brief second, I saw the dimly lit room with its candle shrine and soothing tones of adobe paint. She was quick, however, to snap some cottony stuff over my eyes with an elastic band. I suspect she didn’t want me to see what she kept in that toolbelt strapped to her waist.

7. At one point, I realized that the instrumental song that had just come on the new-age CD was actually a riff off “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

8. After some more rubbing, the stretching began. She took my arm and walked all around the room with it. She did it to my other arm, and to my legs. She tied my arms in a knot. She tied my legs in a knot. She yanked on everything. At one point, I could tell she had climbed on the table. It wasn’t painful, but even if it had been, I doubt she would have heard my voice from inside the table’s dry swirlie.

8. Once the massaging was over, she got out the liquid sand-paper and scrubbed and scrubbed. Then she used hot towels to beat the scrub off my skin. Then she made my skin gross again with oil.

9. Finally, she laid two slimy cold jellyfish over my eyes and instructed me to relax. She sprayed something lavender-patchouli-like into the fan. My nasal passages responded by twitching uncontrollably.

10. Here she left the room. I was alone with the jellyfish. I had to pee SO BAD.

11. Finally, after a loooong time, she returned to remove the jellyfish. She was quick to slip them out of sight. She led me by the hand back to the garden.

This was the conclusion of my spa experience. It was interesting. I guess it was relaxing. I’d say it was fun. The place we went to was lovely, the staff, professional. I don’t recommend the eye treatment. Or at least, pee first before the massage starts.

This weekend Stevel and I went to Las Vegas to meet up with Kelly and her boyfriend, Blake. We stayed in the very cool MGM Grand West Wing. This was a surprise to us, as I didn’t even realize this was what I had reserved. Contemporary rooms. Neat! One highlight of the trip was a visit to see the dolphins and big cats at the Mirage—well worth the entrance fee. Kelly seems to be doing really well. How wonderful to see her and to meet Blake. Overall, I think this was the most enjoyable time I’ve had in Vegas. Here are photos from the trip.

Yesterday David and I took advantage of some vacation time he had and headed down to the San Diego Zoo. No matter how many times I visit this place, I am never tired of it. We saw lots of baby animals, had an encounter with a playful jaguar, and walked our legs off. Here are photos from that trip. And a very special treat, my debut on YouTube: SWAMP MONKEYS!

My favorite Baba quote this year:

Anne: “He’ll be 14 by the time you’re finished knitting it.”

Baba: “Good. He can take it to college with him.”