There are gators.  On walk about.  In Houston.  I thought gators were conscious of not crossing state lions with illegal porpoises (that’s punch line of a terrible joke I once heard, I’ll spare you…) and mindfully kept to Florida.  Not so. Our accommodations in Houston boasted one benefit, and pulling the kayaks out to paddle about the non-swimming hole (aka “the lake” as in the Willow Lake RV Resort) was not it.  I took a stroll around the lake and learned it was not a place to kayak or swim.

Duly noted.

What was befuddling, was the use of the additional signage about a quarter mile down:

I though maybe posting a “Beware of Gators – Please do not feed the wildlife” sign would have been sufficient because the unwritten follow on “with yourself” immediately came to mind. But perhaps the lawyers were unwilling to allow Darwinism to potentially streamline our gene pool, lest any hypothetical survivors of any alleged gator attacks try to sue.

In preparation for our stop at the Houston Space Center, Flight watched Apollo 13 with the kids while I was in DC for my Navy Reserve work.  As we rolled into the RV resort, Firebolt sidled up to the driver’s seat and offered up, “Houston, we have a problem.  We are out of toilet paper.”  I turned around to ask, “Seriously?” when she giggled and said, “Just kidding! I just wanted to say ‘Houston, we have a problem.’”

That kid is as witty as they come.  Meanwhile, her jesting brought about immediate flashbacks to last August when liberal use of that precious resource (specifically created for rapid decomposition in marine and RV usage) had temporarily clogged our black water tank and we had to creatively flush it using a dump station hose fed through the window above Woodsprite’s bed and into the open commode to force out the lingering clumps of yet-to-deteriorate TP.  Fortunately, we were able to unclog the mass of tissue collecting in the tank, which necessitated implementing the general* rule “No more than six squares per visit.  Total.”  (*Okay, okay, wipe until you’re clean, but please don’t us half a roll in the process as you might break our house…)

I had known our RV-specific TP supply was running low and already briefed the kids that we were on ration status until we could procure more, but didn’t think we were yet at General Quarters.  I have come to learn that lack of TP is nearly as mission critical as a free-flowing black water tank.  I wonder how they handle that at the International Space Station.  Do they use Charmin?  Never mind, I saw The Martian…

Our only full day in Houston was spent paying homage to NASA’s efforts, which was the singular benefit to staying here as it was nearby:

Although entry to the museum is free, the thing to do is the 90-minute tram tour that has three stops across the NASA Houston complex and that thing, sadly, is not free, not even for Navy Space Cadre personnel (Flight suggested it’s because I haven’t yet learned the secret handshake).

Before we jumped on the sightseeing tram, we spent some time touring the museum.  We practiced our docking skills at the International Space Station.

We had a physics discussion and practiced weightlifting on different planets of varying gravitational pull.

We saw where they faked the moon landing.

Kidding! Everyone knows they used a sound stage in Area 51.

We counted our blessings that my Naval Flight Officer path was cut short before entertaining getting into any of these tiny capsules.

Okay, maybe that was only me.

When I saw the below mockup of a space station, all I could think about was how vertigo inducing space travel would be for me and how it would be about two hours sans gravity before I went cray-cray.

I’m happy to know two astronauts, am glad they are excited about what they do, and even more delighted to know my Space Cadre role relegates me to a desk (I think).

Our budding scientist was equally excited (can’t you tell?) to see the elemental breakdown of the moon’s soil composition.

Once we’d canvassed the museum, we made our way to the tram-line and waited through innumerable games of “Cowboys” before we boarded our chariot.

Our first stop was at Mission Control Center.  Firebolt was pretty stoked to see Mission Control, and upon entering immediately observed, “Wait, I’ve seen this before – this was in Apollo 13!”  WoodSprite was less excited about all the stairs and waiting.

After leaving Mission Control, we were taken to see the astronaut training center full of stationary mock-ups of all sorts of space gear.

Center front was this contraption, which I was pleased to see was named for the mighty hunter, Orion.

The woman who briefed us at Mission Control told us that the Orion was bound for Mars in a few decades and that would be piloted by astronauts who are now six to eight years old (that got our girls’ attention!), whereas the future Mission Commander is probably now 12. Keeper perked up at that tidbit as well. Always keen to support STEM activities, I was delighted to see that NASA was hosting a FIRST Robotics competition at the other end of the training facility.

The last stop on the tour was to see the rocket hangar.

It’s tricky to truly understand the magnitude of these beasts until one actually sees them, and especially mind-blowing to note how small the actual vessels are compared to the engines and fuel tanks that serve to propel them into space.  Firebolt posed with one like the five engines that were used in stage one to get SATURN V into orbit.

Each engine fires for only 2.5 minutes before burning through all the accompanying fuel and separates from the main pod.  !!!

To put it in perspective…  These things are ginormous.

Through our time at NASA’s Houston Complex, I was reassured that I am not a good candidate for exploring the final frontier, as neither an astronaut nor a rocket scientist. Once we got to the car, our kids enjoyed sharing a package of Astronaut Ice Cream and I had a few moments to reflect on our brief peek behind the outer space curtain.  Listening to the kids compare taste sensations while savoring their freeze-dried morsels and wonder aloud about potential culinary choices during space travel, I recognized how happy I am to instead cultivate the grass right here.

The Texas landscape subtly shifted as we drove east from Guadalupe Mountains National Park, from the open desert into the lusher Hill Country.  I hadn’t really been focusing on our overnight in the Hill Country or the following stretch in Austin, because I would be gone for four days of our Texas time to return only to tag out with Flight so he could go on a trip.

After our departure from GMNP, we stayed in Pedernales Falls State Park for just one night.  We explored the local Pedernales River before grabbing one of our only dinners all together at The Salt Lick.  I was happy to stay dry, maybe dipping my toes in the river, while the rest of the family went all in.  Almost literally.

Flight and Keeper found the perfect rock from which to experience the newly popular spa treatment of having fish eat dead skin from their feet.  I was able to try this out while we were in Cabo just after New Year’s and, frankly, it weirded me out.

I did okay with the experience until the wee fish swam in between my toes and then I had to resist the urge to yank my feet out of the buffet line.

Flight and Keeper almost giggled in response to that same sensation with their feet dangling in the river.  I shook off the willies as I remembered that feeling as it most certainly exceeded my comfort level.  At least they weren’t paying to be weirded out…

After a relaxing afternoon spent by the river, we packed up and returned to the campsite to change out of swimsuits before grabbing our first Texas BBQ.  This well-worn menu captures The Salt Lick’s uncomplicated essence.

Two things this menu doesn’t mention: they were out of bison (bummer) and you have to specify what variety of BBQ you’d prefer from burnt, lean, and moist.  We ordered some of each among Keeper, Flight, and me, and I preferred the burnt offerings.

The moist was too much and the lean simply wasn’t enough.  Just what quality I’m describing, I’m sure I don’t know.  Nor do I speak the technical jargon, but I preferred the crispy burnt morsels the best.

The next morning, the family ran me over to the Austin airport and I flew back to DC for my Navy drill weekend.  My drill weekend last fall had most certainly thrown me for a loop and I was curious to see if I would have a similar visceral reaction to being back in the house. I knew I wouldn’t be there too much longer than the hours I would be sleeping, and made the opportunity to see family and a friend or two during my few unscheduled waking hours.

Fortunately my time in Maryland wasn’t nearly as traumatic as the last go around and I think that can mostly be attributed to our collective understanding that we would not be returning to resume our lives there.  I was able to collect a few wayward items forgotten in our hasty departure and return outgrown clothes, completed books, and other superfluous items.

Drill weekend passed uneventfully, although I had a general pit in my stomach while away from my family.  I attribute my unease to missing three sizable appendages. I have easily become accustomed to being around my kids 24/7 and felt their absence most acutely.  I know that despite sometimes longing for some alone time I will look back on our travels as a sweet spot in our growth as a family.

While I was in Maryland, I made it a point to visit with my Academy roommate and her family.  Lunch with her was one of the appointments I had to cancel to depart our house earlier than anticipated as we redeployed to Davista.  Their teenage son is a budding chef and I got to watch him make Phad Thai for our dinner, which was exceptional.  I also popped over to visit our cousins and our Aunt who was in town visiting them.

My last day in Maryland was actually pretty exciting as I got to cross something off my bucket list when I climbed the Naval Academy Chapel Dome.

The climb mostly involved crawling though the bowels of the magnificent Chapel dome, which is really a dome within a dome and at one point I felt as though I was scaling the interior of a chimney.

Seriously.

Intently ignoring the odd ways I contorted myself along the trek, I was rewarded with a most spectacular view at the top.

I was thrilled to have made the climb with a dear friend from my Academy teaching days.

I popped into the Midshipman Store before leaving the Yard and ran into a friend and classmate from back in the day.

Her husband had just taken orders to teach at the Academy and their son is getting ready to graduate next month before going to nuclear power school to become a submariner. As our oldest is in 6^thgrade, contemplating his college graduation is pretty mind blowing.  I dashed off to one more meeting at the Acupuncture Clinic at Joint Base Andrews (they have one – how cool is that?!) before sprinting to catch my flight.

And then I was back home with my family.  The unease I felt during my absence instantly melted away once I rejoined them outside the Austin airport.  As Flight would need to commute to Boston the next night, we made plans to enjoy our one full day in Austin en famille.

The day started with road-schooling activities while camping outside of Franklin BBQ.

In the middle of our schooling, a kind fellow from Franklin’s came down the line asking for general orders to ensure there would be enough of the BBQ to go around.  Although I do not claim to be a BBQ aficionado, Franklin’s was, hands-down, the very best I have ever eaten.  It was crazy good.  Perfectly tender, flavorful, every variety (moist, lean, and crispy) was scrumptious.

Happily sated stuffed, we drove to Barton Springs to while away the afternoon perched on the banks of a local swimming hole.

One of the things I enjoy most about our travels is seeing how locals take advantage of where they live to recreate.  Arriving in the early afternoon, Barton Springs was populated with a wide range of bathers.  The spring fed lagoon was awash with a handful of serious swimmers, identifiable by their sleek caps and goggles, mechanically churning out lap after lap in the elongated pool.

Throughout the pool there were also plenty of waders, like our family, whose intent was far less measured and simply delighted in the refreshing cold water.

Keeper even dove off the diving board a few times.  That’s my son!

All said, it was a perfect Austin day, sadly without any bats.  Because we had to run Flight to the airport to commute to Boston, we saved witnessing the bat exodus from the Congress St. Bridge for another night. Sorry, Flight, no bats for you.

Our first day in Texas sans Flight was actually spent in San Antonio (and you can read all about that experience here), which meant we didn’t see the bats until our last night in Austin.  Everyone talks about seeing the bats, so we put that on our Austin to do list.  While I was in Maryland, Flight moved campgrounds twice, the first of which I never even laid eyes on.  The second was in McKinney Falls State Park, which was a quiet place tucked into the south side of Austin, very near the airport.  We spent our morning schooling at the campsite and then made the pilgrimage to the Congress Street Bridge in time to see the bats take flight.

The BatCon (that’s actually a thing) website suggested viewing times between 7 and 8:15 pm. Because I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, we showed just before 7 and claimed a spot on the south side of the river with our well-traveled blanket.  Since I didn’t know how long the bats would take to launch or when they might begin, I was happy to let the kids pass the time playing on their respective screens while I retreated to reading a book.

As much as I prefer to feel the crisp pages of books as I read, I have to say it is very convenient, especially given our space and weight limitations, to be able to carry my current reading library on my iPhone.

The bats didn’t make their appearance until 8:13 pm.  They emerged in a steady stream of spastic wings, incredibly without a single midair collision. I was reminded of a video I had seen of an enormous flock of starlings turning about in the sky.  At least they could see.  !!!  That the 1.5 million fruit bats were able to accomplish the same close formations without the benefit of visual cuing was incredible to witness.  A perfect manifestation of swarm theory and, clearly, WoodSprite thought the same.

Kidding!  She did watch the bats take flight.  I wasn’t able to get a good picture of their departure, but found this spectacular shot online.

Keeper and Firebolt both made the observation that it was not unlike waiting for the total eclipse to happen, maybe a little uninspiring during the anticipation of the experience, but, once manifested, well worth our time.  Similarly, I wasn’t sure what to expect with our time in the Lone Star State, but found that, in retrospect, it heartily exceeded our (my?) expectations.

The last time I was in San Antonio was almost 23 years ago when I was in the midst of Advanced Flight Training held at Randolph Air Force Base, and, at the end of which, I earned my Wings of Gold. As we were fond of saying then, it was six weeks of Navy training crammed into six months of Army Air Force training, SIR!, which left plenty of time to explore the area.  All the military services have good-natured (mostly) rivalry that often points to the subtle differences among them and this cartoon I found online pretty much sums it up.

To distinguish how the Navy and the Air Force operate differently, our class was briefed by one of our Navy instructors on day one at Randolph.  He said something to the effect of “The Air Force tends to provide you a well-indexed, voluminous tome that in great detail defines what you can and cannot do whereas the Navy will toss you a pamphlet listing in bullet format what’s really unacceptable and then gives you the freedom to sort how to best accomplish the task at hand.”  My brief time in Air Force Training Land demonstrated the veracity of that assessment time and time again, which often translated to considerably less pressure while learning the art of long-range navigation by air.  Almost unimaginably, this skill set included learning how to take sextant shots, both day and night, from a moving aircraft to practice celestial navigation, which, sadly, has become a lost art.  After the intensity of Navy Primary Flight School in Pensacola, my whole class of fellow Navy Ensigns was thrilled to throttle back a little and luxuriate in the Air Force way.

With relatively more down time, many of our class stepped out a few times together to check out the Alamo and eat along The Riverwalk, because that’s what you do in San Antonio. Impish at heart, I rather enjoyed rattling some of my classmates, especially those who espoused local history (some almost religiously), by feigning my ignorance of key events that transpired south of the Mason-Dixon Line, “The Alamo?  Wait, wasn’t there, like, a big fight there?  And I think John Wayne was there…”   In response, one of my classmates from the heart of Georgia observed, “Aw, (TACCO), you’re all ate up with the Yank, aintcha?”  Not sure what to make of that, I said, “Um, thank you?” He imperceptibly shook his head, paused before answering and gently said, “Uh.  Naw,” letting me know that his assessment of me had dropped yet another notch by failing to comprehend the depth of the southern insult.

Frankly, more than twenty some odd years later, I’m still not quite sure what that turn of phrase means, but I’m fairly certain it’s not good.

I was adopted by my first dog (a German Shepherd puppy named Lancelot) half way through my training at Randolph, which meant I “stayed in” for most of my later months as most of my free time was consumed by logging countless hours walking Lancelot to ensure I had relatively uninterrupted sleep or chasing him down as he tried to eat my navigation charts.  Lancelot had this weird thing for paper – and eating rocks. But I digress…

While my time in San Antonio wasn’t particularly memorable, aside from getting winged and collecting fodder for future dog shaming posts, I thought it important to share at least The Alamo and The Riverwalk with our kids.  Flight, having been wholly underwhelmed by his few visits to San Antonio during his stint in Corpus Christi for his own Advanced Flight Training, assured me he was just fine missing that particular pilgrimage so we planned for it while he was on a trip.

After a solid Wednesday morning of homeschooling, the kids and I loaded into the car and drove the 90 minutes to San Antonio.  Before we got on our way, I learned that, as the nickname would suggest, the “Mission City” boasts an extensive mission network that has been turned over to the care of the National Park Service.  While I had known what had led to the rallying cry of “Remember the Alamo!” I hadn’t realized that what remains today of the Alamo was originally built as a Spanish stronghold, a presidio, to support further colonization.

When our nation was still just a collection of European colonies, each trying to outpace the others in expansion efforts, the Spanish crown was interested in growing their empire in both population and property and came up with an ingenious plan. Recognizing that these symbiotic efforts were best accomplished together, they first acquired new citizens who would then lay claim to (and pay taxes on!) land that broadened Spain’s boundaries. In order to become a Spanish citizen, there were three main hoops through which the native population had to jump: 1) learn enough Spanish and Latin to effectively communicate and observe Mass; 2) convert to Catholicism, a requisite for Spanish citizenship; and 3) learn a trade to contribute to society at the lowest level of the Spanish caste system.  Before these potential citizens could be so transformed, it was necessary to establish a local military stronghold to protect the crown’s investments.  In 1718, what is now The Alamo was the initial presidio from which the massive conversion campaign was launched through now central Texas, and four other mission sites branched out along the San Antonio River.

We spent most of our time at the San José Mission, which is where the National Park Service has their Visitor Center.

After picking up Junior Ranger books for the girls there, we emerged from the introductory film just in time to join a Ranger-led tour, which was especially noteworthy.  We were led about the compound on an hour-long journey where we were introduced to the initial various inhabitants of the mission and their respective roles therein.

The tour was very well done and I especially appreciated hearing both the European and the native population’s sides on how it all went down in the early 1700s.  The native hunting and gathering tribes throughout what is now Southern Texas and Northeastern Mexico were collectively known as the Coahuiltecans.  These nomadic people had struggled with warring tribes to the north and fell prey to European diseases to which they had no immunity.  The provisions and protection offered by the missions (minus the diseases) and this new way of life may have appeared the lesser of two evils.

The native people were welcomed into these compounds and offered two solid rooms for each extended family, who then took a weekly delivery of beef and corn rations and had access to several shared wells and outdoor ovens, all in exchange for making progress on becoming Spanish subjects.

On the other side of the compound lived the next higher up on the social ladder, Spanish merchants hailing from all over the world.  In addition to learning foreign languages and adopting new religious beliefs, the converts were educated on the arts of agriculture and other crafts practiced in the far-reaching corners of the Spanish Empire. Once these skills were mastered and the new citizens baptized, they were turned outside the protection of the mission walls to fend for themselves in this new way of life (and to free up new rooms for the next family).  It was quite an assembly line the Spanish crown developed to further the Empire.

It goes without saying that the focal point for any mission compound is the church, and this one was simple, but lovely on the inside.

I was captivated by the two-story gallery running the length of the building and was surprised to learn that only three religious leaders were in residence here: a priest and two laypeople.

Just beyond the arch on the far right is a personal garden and well.  Apparently there was sharing of neither wells nor veggies with the commoners. !!!  I guess it was good to be at the top of the social ladder.

After our tour, the girls brought their completed Junior Ranger books into the Visitor Center to receive another badge.

More so than the other two, Firebolt was stoked about the Ranger-let tour and she gushed, “I really liked the tour – the Ranger made it all come alive, it was like I was watching a movie in my head.” And then she tentatively added on, “I think maybe I want to be a Ranger.”  High praise indeed.

From the San José Mission we headed into downtown proper to see The Alamo.  By then the kids were just about historied-out, so it was okay that we arrived only half an hour before The Alamo closed.  We saw the main museum exhibit, moving through it with a purpose lest we get locked in.  More interesting than the folks involved in or the details surrounding the legendary standoff, our kids couldn’t get enough of the enormous koi, making wishes in the fountain, or trying on coonskin hats.

Apparently equally underwhelmed by The Alamo, maybe our kids, too, are all ate up with the Yank?  At least they come by it honestly…

The closing of the Alamo signaled the start of a search for a dinner venue, hopefully located somewhere along the Riverwalk, and we popped into several interesting stores along the way.  Check out the Nacho Libre fans below.

After stopping in a store that must be a cousin to IT’SUGAR where we found scrumptious birthday treats for our cousins, we identified the perfect San Antonio place to eat.

I thought Casa Rio was nothing to write home about, but the kids were thrilled with their dinner choices and gleefully observed, “Mom, they have HORCHATA!” before each ordered some of their favorite beverage.

We dined leisurely, watching tour boats cruise by, all aboard delighted by the unfailing smiles and enthusiastic waves from our girls, and then we meandered along the river to see what we could see.

In the waning sunlight, we retraced our steps to the Subaru.  Our drive back to Austin was uneventful and the perfect ending to seeing the best of San Antonio in six hours or less, making for a healthy amble down memory lane.  Not bad for a gaggle of Yanks…

Flight’s ER doc friend had to go to work, so we made a caravan trip up to Sedona with his wife and their four kids.  I had never been to Sedona, but had seen many references to this piece of paradise where the Earth’s energy wells up definitively.  After my recent journey down the past life road, I was eager to see if I might recognize any rock formations and/or if the Sedona energy resonated with my own. 

We caught lunch at a Mexican restaurant, although it was a rather frenetic dining experience as seven of the party of 10 were 12 and under.  We emerged from the restaurant and took in a rather commercialized pass through town before making our way to the Crescent Moon Ranch.  Our friend let us know that these particular rock formations were perhaps the most photographed in all of Arizona, and I could see why…

I was especially enraptured when the sun came out and the rocks appeared to illuminate from within.  We snapped a few family pics and made our way to Oak Creek, one of the tributaries that feeds the Verde River. 

As we approached the Creek, we came across a battalion of rock cairns.  Rock cairns have been used for many purposes across the years, mostly for land navigation and burial purposes, but also for giving thanks and/or honoring loved ones. Curious as to why this place in particular had gathered so many monuments, I took off my shoes and stood amidst the precariously balanced towers, momentarily feeling the Earth’s deeply pulsating hum snaking her way into my feet.  With seven children in tow, I knew I wouldn’t be able to tarry and mindfully soaked in the energy for a few moments until I was “hey, momma”-ed away from this magical experience.  

I had heard that the land surrounding Sedona was riddled with energetic vortices and/or ley lines and, as I put my socks and shoes back on my tingling feet, I promised myself – and the vibrant energy – that I would come back, next time far savvier on how to explore and (hopefully?) less encumbered.  Perhaps as a means of honoring my commitment to return, I felt compelled to build my own rock cairn, mine to recognize our four children I only briefly knew.

Giving thanks for the three who continue to bless our existence, our gaggle moved from this space down to the river where we enjoyed periodic sun breaks. Our family has always enjoyed riparian ecosystems, as we’re reminded with each visit to any such moving water, yet this one spoke to my soul. 

As the sun parried with the evolving cloud masses, the alternating flat light and brilliance underscored the beauty of this space.  Flight found the perfect seat with an easy path across stepping stones. WoodSprite mindfully made her way out to this energetic oasis and back, and spent only a few moments relaxing on the sunning rock before her equally mindful return.

Our friends helped us find our way from Crescent Moon Ranch to this delightful swimming hole.  Not to be swayed from his intent to dunk himself in every body of water we encounter, Keeper vowed to submerge himself in the chilly waters.  While Flight accompanied Keeper to the water’s edge, the rest of our Flight of Five observed from afar – and donned fleece jackets as the sun stretched to meet the last of its journey to the horizon. 

We parted ways with our friends and journeyed the 45 minutes to meet my Mom’s sister and her husband.  It had been ages since I had last seen my Aunt and Uncle and, once again, I marveled at the blessings this trip has provided.  Despite how long it had been since our last visit, we settled easily into the business of catching up on family doings. 

Although not surprising in retrospect, I was caught off guard by seeing a myriad of expressions I had only ever seen on my mother’s countenance move fluidly through my Aunt’s features.  While the two sisters had grown up seven years apart and haven’t lived in the same place since 1961, they are very clearly cut from the same cloth. 

All told, it was a lovely day.  Yet, as is often the case with our journey, I’m left with the knowing that I need to return, for these rocks have much to tell me…

When we got to Seal Beach RV Storage, I was stoked to see that Davista was just as we’d left her last December.  Flight and I had estimated at least a day’s worth of tasks to complete before redeploying in our house on wheels, so we planned to spend a couple of days at the Seal Beach RV campground before getting underway in earnest.  First and foremost was getting the water tanks sanitized for our return to traveling.  That process involved plenty of bleach, repeated filling and dumping of tanks, and patience.  I’m not so good with the latter, so it was good that Flight led the charge there.

I spent some solid time meal planning and, frankly, felt a little out of practice.  How lovely it was to be back in a small space that required solid advanced planning and no waste! WOO HOO! I couldn’t help but wonder why we have so much stuff in a sticks and bricks house…  Within 30 minutes of our relocating Davista to the campground, I felt a great rush of being welcomed home and gushed to Flight, “I am so happy to be back here!”

As we got reacquainted with Davista, Flight and I were both surprised to find the stash of clothes we had left here to overwinter was more plentiful than we had remembered, meaning we were, ahem, overstocked to some degree.  Firebolt had the greatest number of outgrown clothes awaiting our return, which we stashed in Davista’s underbelly until I could take them to rejoin their friends in Maryland a few weeks hence.  We had also sent six boxes to our friends’ house, much of which were filled with homeschool books and all contents needed to find homes somewhere in Davista.  The kids were happy to postpone schooling as long as possible and weren’t disappointed that we couldn’t collect the packages until the following day when we planned to grab dinner with our friends and make the drop.

While Flight ran to Trader Joe’s to refill our larder, the girls and I went for a bike ride. Actually, they were on their bikes and I was walking at a brisk clip and loving every minute of it.  Having narrowly escaped the latest Nor’easter, it felt decadent to be out again in my standard deployment uniform of t-shirt and exercise skort.  Our excursion halted abruptly at the gated entrance to the Weapons Depot, where this ship was loading up, and we turned back.

As my ability to identify ships is rather dated, I am unable to classify this one more specifically than, “Um, Warship?”

More interesting than those pointy grey things that float on the water (Sorry, Papa), we saw a few signs of wildlife. The last time we were in Seal Beach I was so focused on lamenting the closeout of phase one of our travels that I paid no attention to the fact that the Naval Weapons Station partially shares a footprint with the Seal Beach National Wildlife Refuge.  While the girls were thrilled to be reunited with their bikes, I was surprised to see how much had escaped my notice here last go around. On our hike/bike we found a sizable discarded snakeskin (don’t care to wonder where that larger creature went), a salamander whose tail may or may not have been made shorter by Firebolt’s bike tire (she wasn’t sure), and a host of heron nests (as impressive in size as the winged creatures themselves!).  I have indeed missed our travels.

It took us less than 48 hours in Seal Beach to regain confidence in our gear and we managed an early launch Friday morning for Joshua Tree National Park.  This was the first (and likely only) place we would be revisiting on the next installment of our trek and the kids were beside themselves excited to return to the Park.  I was curious to see how well I’d be received as the last time around it didn’t go so well for me.

Prior to leaving Maryland last week, I had read Many Lives, Many Masters by Dr. Brian Weiss, a Yale-trained psychiatrist who stumbled upon an interesting premise while regressing patients in therapeutic sessions, inadvertently seemingly into past lives.  Dr. Weiss has found that unexplained phobias can sometimes be traced back to a time that predates our current life experiences.  While the jury is still out on all that I read, I was curious to learn more about his process.  My angel again suggested Google and I discovered that, while he would be speaking in Japan the following month and somewhere in Europe after that, Dr. Weiss was scheduled for a conference in Phoenix the day before we arrived in town.  !!!

Curious timing, I thought, and felt compelled to go.  I told Flight there was a speaker I wanted to go see in Phoenix on the day we were rolling from Joshua Tree and he said, “Go for it!  Take the Subaru and we’ll follow either that afternoon or Sunday, depending on whether or not they have room for us.”  Perfect – I love how a plan comes together!

That afternoon we hiked about near our campsite and Flight and the kids climbed as many rocks as they were able to.  Keeper was wearing a skeleton mask/neck guard that he had received as a party favor before we departed Maryland.

I found his ensemble a little disconcerting, but he was keen to keep the sun off his neck.  I deferred to my vertigo’s dictated demands and didn’t venture terribly high, again happy to assume the role of the photographer.  As we were getting dinner ready, the girls were busy playing and dancing on nearby rocks.

Firebolt was stoked to begin a new whittling project and WoodSprite just wanted to dance.  On the rocks.  Better than on tables or a bar, I suppose…

While the girls were jamming to music only they could hear, I was unable to ignore Joshua Tree’s continuous unspoken invitation to depart, which again left me on edge.  Apparently, the arrival of 2018 has rendered me no less repellant to the quiet energy at home here.  After a fitful sleep (no kidding, the worst slumber I’d had in a long time), I woke up for the final time to dress and got on the road by 4:57 am.  It was just over a four-hour drive to Phoenix and the conference started at 10 am.  Despite being so discombobulated by my return to Joshua Tree, I was on time. Early, even.  Yay, me!

Intrigued by what I might learn at the conference, I let my thoughts meander while the sunrise burst forth.

It was a lovely display, and I contemplated life’s mysteries, potential past lives and stewed prunes. I rolled into Phoenix and pulled into the parking lot of the hotel hosting the conference.  Time check, 9:22 am.  Check me out – I am NEVER early.  Permit me a little backstory to explain.

When I was pregnant with Keeper, my initial gestational diabetes test results came back questionably high and it was recommended that I do a more extensive test.  This particular test requires fasting and, after an initial blood test, begins with ingesting a nasty sugary concoction (sadly, they were out of jelly beans) to see how your system handles the sudden glucose spike.  Following consuming this vile drink, you provide blood samples at intervals of 30 minutes, one, two, and three hours post consumption. After I provided the initial sample and drank sugar, I pulled out my knitting and a woman having the same test done, hers to evaluate hypoglycemia, said, “You know we can leave between the blood tests, right?”

I thanked her for the reminder and told her I was aware we could leave, but it probably wasn’t wise for me to do so.  I admitted to her that I feared I would get busy doing something else and wouldn’t get back at the appropriate time, meaning I would have to redo the test.  I assured her it was much wiser for me to stay here and knit for the three hours instead of running the risk of being late. She chuckled and, apparently not suffering the same time vortex issues, went about her day easily popping back in at the appropriate times.

There was a crotchety older gentleman a few chairs down who followed our exchange and gruffly noted, “You sound like my daughter-in-law.  She’s late to EVERYTHING.  It’s very rude.”

“Um, wow, sounds like you’ve got some family stuff to work out,” I thought before benignly commenting, “Well, I certainly don’t mean to be rude, I just try to do as much as I can and that sometimes means I run later than I’d like.”  He loftily proclaimed, “It sounds like you need some military training.”  I momentarily entertained the idea of sharing with him my military pedigree, but thought better of it and simply stated, “I’m not sure that would help.”

The additional 13 years since hasn’t helped me hone my concept of time.  Flight maintains that while I am not quite as bad as P-3 Maintenance Time, which required automatically tripling any forecasted repair times, I do tend to constantly underestimate how long things should take, often by as much as half.  I looked on the positive side of my sleeping so poorly – Thank you, Joshua Tree, for ensuring I was out Davista’s door in plenty of time.

Upon arrival, I wandered into the hotel and looked around for the conference.  Because I knew it wasn’t planned to be a small, intimate affair, I was a little perplexed by not immediately locating the venue, so I asked at the front desk where I might find the conference.  The woman behind the desk looked in her huge scheduling binder and informed me that the conference I was looking for was actually on tap for tomorrow.

Unable to comprehend what I just heard, I said, “I’m sorry, um, what?  I thought it was scheduled for Saturday, March 25^th.”  And, as she was confirming that today was actually Saturday, March 24^th, my brain slowly caught up.  I belatedly realized that if you were to look at any calendar, iPhone, or conference confirmation email, you’d see that March 25^th is, in fact, a Sunday and that today is not yet that day.

Strong work, TACCO, strong work.

While 38 minutes early was a certainly noteworthy given my history, 24 hours and 38 minutes early was (thankfully) truly unheard of.   I wandered back out to the car, wracking my brain on how I managed the scheduling SNAFU. I blame Joshua Tree’s understated yet very clear eviction notice.  After I texted Flight and sheepishly confessed my calendar mix-up, I holed up in a fantastic local Scottsdale eatery (Modern Market) and tackled writing about some of our last travel phase.

Admittedly, I am woefully behind on our blog.  It’s tricky business when every day is a big day.  I might have caught up some while back in Maryland, but found myself consumed by intermittent travels bookended by house projects.  I can’t help but apply an observation Flight has made regarding my admitted knitting problem: “I think there’s a calculus equation that proves that the rate at which you acquire yarn will never be overtaken by the rate that you complete projects.”   While I didn’t at all appreciate his blunt estimation, most frustratingly, he’s dead on.  Similarly, I’m sure the rate at which we enjoy our experiences on the road will continue to exceed my ability to capture them in a timely manner. Sigh…

In addition to affording me some quiet alone time to write, I was able to reflect on how our redeployment is very different from our initial departure.  The biggest difference is that we now have an ultimate destination and end time.  That and our lessons learned thus far really only need to be dusted off instead of, well, learned.  Resuming this lifestyle has been far easier than either Flight or I had anticipated and I am delighted to be back underway.

Gathering that comforting observation around me, I again tried to unpack how I could have gotten my days so confused.  I kept coming back to Joshua Tree really wanting me gone.  Why was that so? I wondered.  Perhaps I had set fire to that parcel of land in a previous life?  I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out…