Photojournaling: a small trip and a few thoughts

Yesterday I was going to clean house. I didn’t. Instead Jeff and I took a nice drive into the hill country toward Fredericksburg. Aside from my family living in Texas, the hill country is what has made me return to Texas more times than I’m really comfortable with (is that an accent creeping in?). It’s rocky, half-arid and hilly, with lots of limestone and some seriously hot weather. This time of year, the wildflowers are just starting to bloom, the land is thinking about going nuts for 2-3 weeks of riotous spring before summertime hits.

A consequence of having the flu (twice), going to a conference and having a busy workplace is that it’s easy to get seriously behind at home. I’m struggling to catch up to myself, and as I’m still under the weather I’m finding it pretty difficult to keep up with my normal pace. But really, it’s too soon to play catch up. I still don’t feel like myself at all. I haven’t been this run down in a long, long time.

I found a real live antique store yesterday. You know, the kind that hasn’t renamed all its old stuff “vintage,” started a hipster tea shop in one corner and marked up all its merchandise 300%. This is the kind that has booths from different people, sections of random cast-off miscellany of unknown lives. Each booth is different. I found a lot of glassware I liked, a whole array of crochet and a little bird fluttering about building nests from pieces of old clothes.

Outside there were the smells of barbeque in the air - the smell of mesquite smoke on the air, a faint vinegar tang and the unmistakable aroma of large amounts of brisket. This particular little town believes in things that large cities are trying to push with limited success … local business and homegrown food. I really liked seeing a reminder what these things were before all the ad campaigns got hold of them.

Lately I’ve been going a lot more off of main roads to the point of getting lost. I may not be sure of where I’m going, but I think I may be feeling less urban, which is rather surprising if you’re me. Meanwhile, you see that sky there? I like western states because of skies like that. One of my very favorite things is traveling states like Wyoming, Montana and Kansas where the land is so empty you can watch the shadows of the clouds racing across the ground.

That picture (above) reminds me of opening a door very much like this one at camp when I was about 12 and getting stung three times by yellow jackets. Heat index that summer (temp in the shade) was 120 degrees.

So my cousin Chelsea, who’s in that mid-teenage, low-effort (dare I say lazy?), I’m-trying-to-be-a-pain-in-everyone’s-a$$ stage, told my grandmother this past weekend that she couldn’t help her sign up to receive my blog by email. Her reason? She made something up about how I had to do it. I’m rather irritated. Chelsea, should you ever read this, gee thanks for the help. And after that lovely long email I wrote you about how to help grandma and your mom with signing up? Was I difficult like this when I was 14? I was, wasn’t I? I apologize to the whole world who knew me.

When Jeff and I are tired, we tend not to eat at home. This is bad for the pocketbook and the health. So part of my process of getting back into life after the flu has been cooking, which has essentially involved the crock pot. I was really quite nervous about leaving it on all day to cook like that.  However, I have done so three times now and my house is still standing. I’m still not convinced, but dinner was so very nice, as was coming home to find it done. I have also long been sketchy about the crockpot as an evil tendril of Suburbia creeping into my urban life, but I give up. I grew up in Suburbia, and I have Major Issues with it and its evil domestic minions, but the crockpot is certainly heckuva lot easier than standing at the stove at 7 wishing I could just sit down.

Well, keep your fingers crossed for me and my flu, folks. I’m hoping one of these years I’ll start feeling like a human again instead of a well-worn rug.