Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Meemaw and the Rocks

In July 2006, I took a train trip to Glacier National Park with my mother and my grandmother.  I'd like to start telling you a series of stories about this trip.  I'll start with the only one for which I was not present, as I had acquired an epic sunburn on my face the day before.  Every time my face gets sunburned, my lips swell to twice their normal size and I lose my already-minimal desire for human contact.

While I wallowed at the hotel room, Mom and Meemaw drove to the south side of the park and hiked to Running Eagle Falls.  It was an easy-to-moderate trail, and Meemaw has always been in excellent shape.

So imagine Mom's surprise, and concern, when Meemaw started lagging behind and appearing short of breath.

Although Meemaw insisted vehemently that she was fine, Mom thought the problem might be that her backpack was too heavy, so she offered (several times) to carry it for her.  Each time, her offer was rebuffed with increasing zeal.

They kept hiking.

Exasperated, Mom finally wrested the backpack from Meemaw.

She was shocked to discover that it weighed at least ten pounds.


It was full of rocks.

Rocks that Meemaw wanted to take home to Alabama as souvenirs of our trip.

I don't remember what they did with the rocks, but since taking specimens from national parks is illegal, and even if it weren't, there was a weight limit on our train luggage, I'm pretty sure Meemaw was forced to abandon her cargo.

Before you start feeling too sorry for Meemaw, though, I should tell you she already has an extensive collection of rocks from places she's traveled over the years.  A lot of them are from the summer she, Mom, and my Aunt Angela spent in Colorado while Pappaw took a training course there.  Others are from South Alabama, where she and Pappaw met.  And every once in a while when I'm at their house, she'll take me aside and slip me a (reasonably small) rock, whispering, "This one's from Montana."

Tuesday, March 20, 2012


When we go hiking, Hubs loves to find the most dangerous-looking ledge possible and go scampering across it like a nimble mountain goat.

During a hike yesterday, I asked Hubs what he honestly thought would happen if, you know, just theoretically, he lost his footing on a slippery precipice and fell several hundred feet onto a jagged bed of rocks.

This was his response.

First of all, I wouldn't fall.  Second of all, even if I did fall, I wouldn't die, because of my sheer awesomeness.  At worst, I'd probably break a couple of bones.

As I was lying there unable to move, a bear might come by and be like

and I'd be like

and then I'd cook it with my laser vision.

Needless to say, my fears are alleviated.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Clean a Reasonable Number of the Things!

And that's why I never do any chores.