Home is Where You Hang Your Pants

{I have had every good intention of capturing my time at home through the magic of the digital camera. So here are some recycled photos from years and months gone by because of the failure of that intention.}

I escaped Happy Valley last Friday in a runaway Toyota with a curly-haired fellow BYU refugee. After ten hours of delightful detours, we made it back home to where the wind blows, the sun burns, the ground is dry, the scenery is brown, and the sprinklers are always on.

And then the family was off again to the Valley de Gila for Easter, where pancakes, Just Dance 2, dollar hot dogs, "Oh Heck", ice cream cones, and corny jokes were our game.

On Wednesday, I laced up my Nikes and went for a late-morning run. I was ready to hitchhike home about a half a mile in, but I dug down deep and dragged myself the rest of the way. I came home took a shower {after laying on the floor for an hour will-powering, bribing, and daring myself to do some sit-ups} and then promptly caught THE QUINSY. Alright, so it's not the quinsy, but it's nasty, and I don't like it a bit. Ask my mom, I didn't make it up, my temperature was 101 yesterday. To celebrate, I took a bubble bath, and nearly froze to death.

Today, an early afternoon excursion took Karen, Linz, and I to Snowflake to visit ol' Elder D. who just got home yesterday from his mission to Louisiana. We kept the conversation nice and awkward for a good hour or so. If the conversation ever strained, my kleenexes, hand-sanitizer, and I made sure to liven it up a bit.

Being home in Arizona is wonderful. Sickness or not. So I'm going to end my day with some more orange juice and How to Train Your Dragon with Mi Padre.

Happy Springtime to All and to All a Goodnight!