ROCKIN’ WITH PINA COLADAS

It’s been so long since I’ve written a blog post that I think I have blogger’s block.  Writing blogs can sometimes be very hard work.  I know, I know … I see the head-shaking and the eye-rolling while you’re thinking back to some of my blog posts and wondering how the pointless blathering I’ve written could in any way shape or form be considered hard work but I’m telling you that coming up with a senseless idea and then actually forming meaningless sentences about it – that’s work. 

Anyway, I’ve decided that I’m going unblock my blogger brain and let the words flow, no matter how meaningless and pointless and inane they are.   So….what to write about?  I know.  It’s eight degrees outside and snowing, so I’m going to think warm.   I’ll tell you about Ecuador.  Don’t worry.  I know looking at other people’s vacation photos and hearing their vacation stories is even more tortuous than reading all about my their home remodeling experiences so here is my plan. I am going to break this trip up into four posts.  Each post will have only one story with limited mind-numbing details and I will allow myself only four photos each.   Ready?  Here’s post one.

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The first stop on our trip was a hostel near Puerto Lopez where we sat on a beach with a backdrop of gorgeous flowering trees and bushes.  We drank the creamiest, most delectable piña colada ever blended up and poured into a glass.  Una más Señora snowflake-leg-white-haired gringa?  Si!  Si!  

Technically one photo.  Tricky eh?

The next day after we had recovered from our piña colada indulgence Abby and I trekked across the beach

in search of seashells.  Jorge performed his son-in-law duty with exemplary patience walking with Dean, conversing animatedly about geology, stopping every two feet and waiting while Dean took a photo of a geologic wonder, and searching alongside him for to-die-for rock specimens.  

Fortunately, when we flew home, Dean was in a different pat-down line at the Guayaquil airport when those “that was the best part of my time at the beach” rocks were taken from my backpack and thrown into the bin with all the other terrorist weapons which saved Abby from having to watch the “Crazed Geologist Begs For Rocks” video that would have gone viral.  Poor guy.  He deflated like a balloon when I gave him the bad news.  And there was less of him to deflate since he was still recovering from his “Ecuadorian Diet.” But that's a story for another post.  If you're in shock that I held to my four photos criteria and you're crying out for more  you can go here.  Just don't blame me if your eyes roll back into your head and you fall out of your chair mid-way through the slideshow.  I did give you the option of staying away.

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ROCKIN’ WITH PINA COLADAS

Feliz Navidad!

I’ve been gone.   Have you noticed?  We shared Thanksgiving with my family in Lincoln and extended the holiday by celebrating Dean’s mom’s 85^th birthday with his family before driving home, unpacking, packing again and leaving two days later for Ecuador where we spent 12 days with Abby and Jorge.  I have lots of stories and lots of photos.  What I haven’t had is time.  Time to share those stories and photos.  Heck I haven’t had time to LOOK at any photos we took.  I haven’t had time to bake one Christmas cookie or write a Christmas letter or even just sign my name to a Christmas card, slap a stamp on it and throw it in the mailbox.   (Don’t worry Dean, I did find time to shop – a little.)

I have only had time to unpack and make a list of things we need to bring to Leslie and Ryan’s before we pack again to spend Christmas with them in Sheridan.  We will be relaxing and napping  in front of their fireplace, playing with kids and pretty much just kicking back and being lazy.  (There ARE advantages to reaching this “golden age”!)   Abby and Jorge will be spending their Christmas with Jorge’s family at the beach dancing until dawn.   I wish we could all be together again like we were last year, but if Jorge’s Complicated/How Does Anybody Navigate This Process?/Really?  Immigration needs WHAT piece of paper now?!/Visa Process goes well, Abby and Jorge will be living here in the U.S. for next year’s holiday season (another story I haven’t had time to tell).  Cross your fingers!

When life slows down and I have put our suitcases away for longer than seven days, I will tell you stories about blue-footed boobies, pina coladas on the beach, a street filled with luminarias, lying in bed listening to the beautiful early morning singing flowing from the cathedral across the street from our hotel, walking on the paramo at 13,000 feet in El Cajas National Park  and listening to the deep sighs of  my head-holding sick husband as Jorge drove down winding mountain roads, brow wrinkled and tense with worry about his father-in-law, on our last day in Ecuador.

In the meantime, I wish you all a wonderful Christmas and Joyous New Year.   I hope you are all able to share it with someone you love.

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Feliz Navidad!

Sometimes You Just Have To Let It Slide

I'll bet you were hoping you wouldn’t have to read any more about boxelder bugs weren't you?  I'll bet you were hoping you wouldn't have to read any more about boxelder bugs as much as I hope I will never hear the words “fiscal cliff” again.   How about you?  Are you sick of hearing the words “fiscal cliff” on the radio and reading the words “fiscal cliff” in the paper?   Every.  Single. Day?  Me too.  I’m sick of boxelder bugs and fiscal cliffs.  I’m so sick of hearing about the fiscal cliff I’m afraid I’ll lose control and hurl myself off a real cliff.  Unfortunately for you, I haven't finished writing about boxelder bugs.  Wait!  Hello?  Come back.  I promise it’ll be entertaining.  Sigh 

Remember back here when I admitted that Dean and I were the cause of our own boxelder bug infestation and I swore Dean would cut those trees down as soon as I could convince him there is no greater joy in life than brandishing a brand new chain saw, slashing his way through a forest of trees swarming with repulsive insects and listening to the crashing sounds as giant trees topple to the ground in a thunderous roar  making his wife happy?  Turns out I was wrong.  We are not the only cause of our my anguish.   Ever since I’ve become obsessed interested in the boxelder species I’ve gotten pretty good at scoping out boxelder trees from afar and this weekend as we were driving along the highway, nearing the home my boxelder tree antennae started pulsing.  I sat up straighter, my head spun to the right and there they were — boxelder trees growing along the creek.  Females.  The BAD ones.  I felt a little deflated. 

Soon after we pulled into our driveway.  My boxelder antennae started vibrating and twisting and turning so fast I thought my head would lift off.

I looked toward our“next door” neighbors.  TWO boxelder trees.  In their front yard!  

Our neighbors across the highway.  Boxelder Tree.  In their yard!  

A bit down the creek.  Boxelder Trees!

My shoulders slumped.  How was I going to control this yearly infestation if everyone around us was thwarting me?  I was dejected but I wasn’t ready to give up hope because last week we’d made traps for the pests and for seven days I’d been dreaming of driving up to see mounds of brown husks stuck in gooey 

Vaseline.  What I saw, however, was bright yellow Vaseline-covered bug-free cardboard.  It turns out Vaseline isn’t sticky enough to hold them until their squirmy little legs permanently stop twitching.  They just skate right through it on their way to a better sunbathing spot on the outside of the house or to visit with their friends inside. 

As I was sucking up boxelder bugs with the shop vac I became more and more discouraged about the whole situation.   I really wanted to spend all day grimly pacing back and forth in front of the house with the shop vac nozzle at the ready but I didn’t want to be responsible for the neck injury Dean would get from  shaking his head over and over and over every time he looked at me.  Anyway there was half an acre of leaves waiting to be raked and gutters filled with sticks and leaf muck that needed to be removed so I reluctantly tore myself away from the shop vac.

 As I was raking, dragging and dumping sodden piles of leaves over the bank I tried to come up with creative ways to manage my boxelder bug nightmare. 

Once a week, in the middle of the night, we could quietly saw off a branch of a boxelder tree in our neighbors’ yards until one morning they woke up and realized they no longer had a tree.

We could build a big plastic dome over our property. 

We could cover the traps with double-sided tape or spray adhesive instead of Vaseline. 

We could cover our whole house with double-sided tape or spray adhesive.

Or we could accept the fact that we are surrounded by boxelder trees and the bugs are never going to leave, turn lemons into lemonade and become rich through marketing them.

Boxelder snacks:  toasted, salted or candied. 

Boxelder teas and coffees.  Roasted to perfection.

Eco-friendly boxelder fiber supplement.

Boxelder bug foot pumice/face cleanser.

Once I really started thinking about it, the possibilities were endless.  I began to cheer up.  I started thinking maybe things weren’t so bad after all.  Maybe there was hope.  Maybe I just needed to change my attitude and focus on the positive instead of the negative.  I decided not to let a little bug color my whole outlook on life.  After all, the skies were blue, Dean was getting the gutters cleaned, I was getting up most of the leaves, and Angus was being a perfect puppy lounging in the sun on the end of his rope taking it all in … Angus?  Angus! Angus!!

I’ve always wondered how people could be stupid enough to jump into a hot springs after their dog, or into a raging river after their dog, or participate in any risk-your-life-dog-saving act, but when I looked over and saw the leash stretched out over the edge of the bank and there was no barking or whining or movement on the rope*, without any thought other than “please don’t let there be 60 pounds of fur dangling from this leash” I ran toward the edge of the cliff  — and I went right over it after him.  Okay, it wasn’t technically a “cliff“ but it was a dang steep bank, it was a long way to the bottom, and it was covered in wet, slippery leaves. I slid down it right into Angus who had settled on the only somewhat level area below the bank and was looking at me with fear in his eyes.  Just as I was beginning to wonder how Angus and I were going to get back up that steep and slippery wall of leaves I looked up to see Dean looking over the side at us. Between the two of us we pushed and pulled Angus back up to the top, after which Dean grabbed my hand, did his best to  pull my arm out of its socket and dragged me up and over the top, barely bruising me.

Turns out my cliff-hurling fear was valid.  Sorta.  I just can’t blame politicians for it.  

*Of course that leash photo was staged!  I'm good but not good enough to unzip my camera case, grab my camera, turn it on and take a photo while I'm running and diving over a “cliff.“ 

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Sometimes You Just Have To Let It Slide