Whelp, here it is, the middle of July. It's the annual summer malaise, and I have been truly and awfully bad about blogging lately. I did post a couple of Roadkill recipes, so I wasn't completely negligent, but those don't really count. There's just something about the good ol' summertime that brings out the lazy, hazy, crazy side of me. On second thought, eliminate crazy. It's just lazy and hazy around here.
I wish I could say we've spent the past month traveling in Europe or cruising the Mediterranean, but we've been sticking close to home. Come August, we will hit the ground running, and it will be a busier than usual fall.
Our daughter is home from college, of course. She wasn't home five minutes when she announced that she wished she was back in Lubbock. After spending the better part of a week trying to assimilate her junk into the general ebb and flow of the house, I was ready for her to leave, too.
Our younger son graduates from Texas A&M next month. He also commissions as a 2nd lieutenant on the same day, so we are headed en masse to College Station in a few weeks. For reasons I'm not very clear on (and it's probably best it stays that way), he has to move out of the house he's renting at the end of this month to go live in an RV until graduation. Trust me, after seeing the house, living in an RV will be a step up.
My only experience with RV'ing dates back to a ninth grade trip to New Orleans and a speech and debate tournament. The father of one of the girls owned an RV and generously offered to help caravan our nerd troop to NOLA. Naturally, EVERYONE wanted to ride in the RV, but there were too many of us to fit, so we had to take turns. I remember us kids sitting in the back around a large table, our adult chaperones in the captains chairs up front. To coin a pun, we drove Mr. Haggard (I kid you not, that was his name, and by the time the trip was over, he looked it, too), owner and chauffeur, crazy with our requests for pit stops. He would point out that there was a fully rigged bathroom on board and to use it, but there was no way we were going to use the onboard facilities. What if, despite the roar of the engine and the thrum of the tires, your friends could hear the tinkle in the bowl? What if, God forbid, you had to go number 2 and the smell escaped? One boy, Ted, finally did muster up the courage to use the toilet, and I remember we sat and giggled, guys and girls alike, while Ted did his business (or pretended to) just behind the accordion door. We were SO mature. (Ted, bless his heart, was working as a roughneck on an oil derrick one summer between college semesters, when he was accidentally struck in the head and killed. It was my first time ever to attend a funeral. It was an open casket and I remember being upset because his hair wasn't "right".)
As I type this, the older kiddo is 35,000 miles up in the sky on his way to Denver to visit his girlfriend. They met at a wedding in March, exactly four months and three days ago; he was a groomsman, she was a bridesmaid. They dated for two months until she graduated from SMU and had to head back home for an internship. This will be the first time they've seen each other, and I kidded him that I hoped the reunion goes well, that after two months apart, they aren't both going to go "OMG, what was I thinking?"
I will try to be better about blogging. No promises, tho'.
Lazily and hazily,
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