Vintonville

At the strike of a road-hypnotized hour eight, this journey was ALL about the destination.

If you’ve been reading the Twitter feeds there in the upper right, you know what I’m talking about: a butt-clobbering 16 hours from point A (Logan– or, as they say in Danglish: “Too Damn Cold“) to point B (San Diego– or, as they say in German: “Whale’s Vagina“). Since the last two days have been nothing but traveling, this is all we’ve got to show for it:

It’s been $100+ in itunes since I’ve thrown one of these up, so here you go. I can’t promise you’ll like it. In fact, you’ll probably hate it. At least I tried to expand your horizons via a musical batch of eclecticism with a penchant for indie 80’s revival… and BONUS! It doesn’t auto-play.

Little Dude is stoked for Christmas. Lady-Friend and I are inexplicably uncommitted.  I’m not sure where our enthusiasm met with the brick wall of indifference, but here we are.

Luckily, Little Dude is keeping the dream alive with his lists, impromptu Christmas caroling and pride-inspiring pre-school craft projects. We’re betting Santa will return the favor.

Not that I’m bragging. It’s not my fault.

Having two ladies interested in taking pics can be self-servingly beneficial. It’s called photo-swapping: “I’ll practice taking pics of your family if you’ll practice with mine”. Done and done.

As it happens, I think this one turned out pretty decently with “blow out” snow and no post-processing… and if your turn your head a little (big winks, Jenny– thank you!). If we look cold, that’s because we were. Happily, blood flow was restored to extremities a few hours later.

Lady-Friend’s taken up learning photography. I’m glad.

Little Dude’s got a new obsession. One guess as to what it is (the hint isn’t in the shirt):

While we were in Colorado over the Thanksgiving holiday, we took a hike with my Uncle Doug and Aunt Layne. They live on the frontier– IE, a place where people still chase bears out of their yard. On the way, Uncle Doug mentioned he knew where some deer bones were. Little Dude flipped because bones are AWESOME. Sure enough, true to “Papa’s Uncle’s” word and hidden in a network of scrub juniper: a mother lode of bones. Little Dude scored the skull, which had just enough gristle and fur stuck to it to leave lady-Friend a little unsettled.

We brought Dead Bambi Head home and just got around to cleaning (IE: boiling) it yesterday. As a bonus, our home smelled like a Sunday roast. And by “Sunday Roast” I mean death. Apparently, there’s a reason Glade Plugins don’t come in “Oily Venison and Skunk”.