Christmas 2014 - Part 2

And so it continues . . . 

“. . . there's a light on this tree that won't light on one side. So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear. I'll fix it up there, then I'll bring it back here.”

Nope.  Never mind.  After some glitter-rain, it was determined the tree-topper was a goner.

Holiday merriment may now commence.

Christmas 2014 - Part 1

And so it begins . . .

Here's the result:

Next weekend . . . inside!

Chili-Cheese Dogs

Most days during high school, the days when I had to work, I would take the city bus from school along Woodruff Avenue, and get off at Harvey Way, and hit the Wienerschnitzel. Grama and me, we had a thing. We both loved chili dogs - the super cheap, greasy, messy kind you get for about 89₵.  

She lived just down Harvey Way from the bus stop, and I'd take the chili dogs to her house and spend a few hours with her until I needed to get back on the bus and head to work.  It was time I wouldn't have traded for anything.  I'm so grateful that we had the opportunity to share this special tradition together.

This summer, my kids and I went on a road trip to California (that's another post).  We like to do this every so often. After spending a few days in Hollywood with my sister, we headed to San Diego for some time with my brother.  Along the way, we stopped at Westminster Memorial Park and brought Grama some flowers, and a chili dog.

She knew we were there.

"You are my dragonfly"

Sarah gave me a bracelet for Christmas last year.  It was an Alex and Ani, and had a dragonfly charm on it. She enclosed this letter:

Mom,

            If someone were to ask me what reminds me of you, I would have no trouble thinking of something. For as long as I can remember, you’ve loved dragonflies. You’ve always thought they were so beautiful and intriguing, and you told me that when you died, you would come back to me as one. You will always be the first thing I think of when I see a dragonfly.

            I will forever remember what you taught me: that everything in this life happens for a reason. We’ve always found such simple and seemingly meaningless things to be repetitive, like how we both look at the clock at 4:44, every day. I couldn’t help but wonder, could the dragonfly be one of those things, too?  I decided to look for some ancient myths and stories containing dragonflies so that I could figure out their symbolism. 

“The dragonfly, in almost every part of the world, symbolizes change and change in the perspective of self-realization; the kind of change that has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life. It’s scurrying flight across water represents an act of going beyond what’s on the surface and looking into the deeper implications and aspects of life, and it’s agile flight and ability to move in all six directions, all while exuding a sense of power and poise, are things that come only with age and maturity. The dragonfly exhibits iridescence both on its wings as well as on its body. Iridescence is the property of an object to show itself in different colors depending on the angle and polarization of light falling on it. This property is seen and believed as the end of one’s self-created illusions and a clear vision into the realities of life. The property of iridescence is also associated with the discovery of one’s own abilities by unmasking the real self and removing the doubts one casts on his/her own sense of identity. This again indirectly means self-discovery and removal of inhibitions. The dragonfly normally lives most of its life as a nymph or an immature. It flies only for a fraction of its life and usually not more than a few months. The adult dragonfly does it all in these few months and leaves nothing to be desired. This style of life symbolizes and exemplifies the virtue of living in the moment and living life to the fullest. By living in the moment you are aware of who you are, where you are, what you are doing, what you want, what you don’t, and make informed choices on a moment-to-moment basis. This ability lets you live your life without regrets. The eyes of the dragonfly are one of the most amazing and awe inspiring sights. Given that almost 80% of the insect’s brain power is dedicated to its sight and the fact that it can see in all 360 degrees around it, it symbolizes the uninhibited vision of the mind and the ability to see beyond the limitations of the human self. It also, in a manner of speaking, symbolizes a man/woman to rise from materialism to be able to see beyond the mundane into the vastness that is really our Universe, and our own minds.”

            The more I read, the more I realized that you are my dragonfly. You have taught me how to adapt as my life changes, and how to stay strong and poised on the outside, even if I don’t feel either of those things on the inside. You’ve taught me to think deeper, and to realize my own abilities, and you’ve taught me not to doubt them. You’ve helped me discover who I am, and who I want to be, where I want to go, and what I want to do with my life. You’ve helped me to let go of my regrets and to live day-to-day. You’ve taught me that there is more to life than we can see, and have always encouraged me to find what’s beneath the surface. You taught me how to fly when it feels like I have no ground left to stand on.

            I hope that you wear this bracelet every day, and that when you look at it, you are reminded of how much I love you, and just how much you mean to me. I know that you will always be there for me, and that you will support me in whatever I decide to do, and I am grateful every day for that. I love you more than words could ever say. Thank you for always taking care of me. I’ll wear my bracelet every day, too, and every time I see it, I’ll be reminded that I’m not alone in anything that I do, because I will always have you. You’re my mom, my best friend, my biggest supporter, my favorite teacher, my role model, and my dragonfly.

Merry Christmas, mama. I love you.

All my love, and all my thanks,

Your Sarafina

Christmas 2013

Thankful.

It’s interesting to me that we can be sort-of programmed to do certain things at certain times. Take today, for example. It’s the last Thursday of November. Pretty much anyone in the United States of America can tell you the significance of this day. It’s Thanksgiving, of course. Since we were children, we can remember mom getting up early putting a turkey in the oven, spending hours and hours and hours making mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and twelve or six or two different side dishes, and rolls, and pies. Tables were set. Music was playing. Guests were dressed up. Wine was poured. Toasts were made. Dinner was served. But why? What is the significance of this day? This moment?

Are we practicing a religious celebration? Nope. Are we expressing our love toward our one and only? Nope. Are we recognizing one of our Country’s great leaders, or fallen soldiers, or national freedom? Nope. Are we copying historical events? Kind-of. We’re copying our mom’s, if nothing else.

Although our Thanksgiving has turned into a very different one than in centuries past, the tradition has remained. The original celebrators we’re thankful for their successful harvest. Ummm . . . I could kill a plastic plant. I have no harvest. I don’t grow corn like the Wampanoag Indians. I don’t catch my own fish, or shoot my own deer, or milk my own cow like the Pilgrims.

My harvest is different.

My harvest is my husband, who is my rock, who makes me insane, who is sarcastic and funny, who has been a part of my life longer than he wasn’t, who is so freaking smart it scares me a little, and who knows just how to hug me so I can feel the fear, or pain, or anger leaving my body with a deep breath.

It’s my children, who were wanted more than words can ever express, who have made me laugh, and cry, and scream, and sing, and dance, and never question, and unwaveringly defend, and pray, and create, and love.

It’s my parents who raised me to expect more of myself tomorrow than I gave today, who taught me to be hopeful, and forgiving, and humble.

It’s my brothers and sister who teased me, tickled me, gave me advice and rides, and loved me, no matter what was happening in our collective or individual lives.

It’s my friends who are emotionally close and logistically way too far, and the ones who are logistically close but I’ve struggled to let myself know.

It's my dogs who bark too much, get poopy-butts, need allergy medicine, and nearly die from excitement when I walk in the door, who can't wait for me to sit down so they can sit on my, who wait patiently through the night to see me the next day.

It’s my home that is messy, disorganized, not decorated the way I want, expensive, warm, filled with photos, and memories, and love, and where my husband and children come back to me.

It’s the job that I don’t usually look forward to going to, but enjoy once I get there, and the paycheck that results.

It’s my car that I hated writing that check for, and resent paying the gas and insurance for, am frustrated to repair, and that gets me safely and unfailingly wherever I ask it to.

It’s the fresh food that I am too tired and lazy to go to the well-lit, plentifully stocked grocery store to buy, and even more unenthused to cook.

It’s the education that never seems to end, that eats up too much time, that is hard and expensive and rewarding and exciting, and will allow me to finally be a teacher.

My harvest is my hopes and dreams, which I am allowed to have because I was raised in a country protected by volunteers and led by visionaries, soldiers and leaders who have guided our country through large and small battles to ensure that I can wake up every day, in my warm home, with my loving husband and children, and go to work, in my car, to make money to buy food, and celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends.

Even though we have lost so many people that we loved in the past few months, it’s okay to be thankful. In fact, we must be. We must recognize what we have, and loudly appreciate it. We must recognize and loudly appreciate the people around us, and the people who have left us, because each one has given us a piece of who we are today. As cliché as it sounds, we would not be who we are today without their presence in our lives. We must take full advantage of every opportunity that we are presented with, because that’s what freedom means. We must not let one minute of our life pass without it having the significance it deserves.

We’re programmed to do that on Thanksgiving. But, today I realized that every day should be one for giving thanks.

A Halloween Surprise!

There he is again. (Parental Advisory Warning)

"This post contains material that may be disturbing to some readers.  Viewer discretion is advised."



Still reading?  Okay.  You've been warned.




I’ve been obsessing lately.  Wondering.  Thinking about the moment that the police arrived.  Who called them, and why?  How did they know something was wrong?  Did someone notice he wasn’t coming and going?  Could the person below him tell there had been no movement in his apartment?  Was the cat meowing continuously?  Did she lick his face to try and make him wake up? Was the TV left on for unusual amounts of time?  Did it smell bad?  What did the police do?  Did the manager let them in?  Did they have to break down the door?  What did he look like?  Did his apartment smell bad?  How did the cat survive?  Did it look like a scene from CSI?  Was their Caution - Crime Scene tape draped around the balcony and parking lot?  Was the tarp over his body white? Black? Yellow?  Did someone have to identify him? Was anyone there who knew him, loved him, to say goodbye?

These questions always hit me quickly, unexpectedly, and send me into a kind of zone.  Suddenly, I snap back and find myself driving, or mid-sentence, or trying to take minutes in a meeting.

Today I was called back to reality mid-drive by a tiny cloud, daring to be pink in an otherwise dark morning sky.  As I shook off my post-mortem-obsessed fog, I remembered a day a few weeks ago when I saw an unusually beautiful sunrise on a similar, early drive to work.  I was so moved by it that I posted this message on my older brother, Rene’s, Facebook page:

That moment had been meaningful because Rene had requested that song be added to our memorial DVD about Greg.  He remembered visiting Greg and Kim in California years ago, and sitting in Greg’s car in the garage with the song cranked up to show off the stereo.

And guess what song started again today, as that thought was occupying my mind?  Yup.  It could have been any song from my iPod.  It could have been any song from the DVD.  I would have known Greg was there, hitting play.  But it was that song.  There was no mistaking it then.

It so perfectly describes him. He was caught in his own Hotel California, a prisoner of his own device.  His mind was Tiffany-twisted (although his was a Mustang, not a Mercedes). Despite trying, he couldn’t kill the beast and, in the end, the beast killed him.

No one will ever convince me that he’s not up there, watching us through clear eyes, smiling a bright and healthy smile.  He checked out about two months ago, but he’ll never leave our hearts.

I Am Missing

You may have read this.  It's been posted before, and then removed to try and maintain some hidden barrier.  But, although it's not every day and it's not today, it's some days. It's honest.  It's me.  And the barrier is gone.  

So, there you have it.

Today I am missing.

Sarah asked me a while ago if I’ve ever wanted to just run away and not tell anyone where I was going.  Wow.  It was like a sock in the gut.  No, it was more like a soft, salty-beach-taste-sun-baked-warm-sand-cool-water-filled breeze.  Or maybe it was a moment when I zoned out for the briefest of seconds and realized that I wish for that more often than I probably should.  You may know my sordid life story of several years ago.  If not, suffice to say, it completely sucked the life out of me, recoiled me, deflated me, changed me.  Forever.  There are many, many, many days (most, in fact) when I’m extremely grateful for even surviving it, and for doing so relatively unscathed.  There are a few other days when I wallow in self-pity, reflect a little too long on what used to be, and give in to the Why-Me’s.  Days when I want to just run away to somewhere with a soft, salty-beach-taste-sun-baked-warm-sand-cool-water-filled breeze.  Today is one of those days.

I have definitely gained a lot over the last 44-ish years – a husband, children, wisdom, an education, a strong identity, tangibles, weight.  :(   I’ve also lost a lot – money, time, friends, family, that strong identity, opportunity, my anticipated future, weight.  :) 

Today I am missing.  Missing those things I’ve lost, and also some of those I’ve gained. 

I am missing my days as a stay-at-home mom.  I used to say, when I was one, that I wasn’t very good at it.  My house was messy, errands didn’t always get run, and laundry was never caught up.  But, I didn’t often have time to clean my house because I was in Brian’s kindergarten class, or helping with costumes for Sarah’s play.  I couldn’t run errands because I was baking cupcakes for the Halloween party, or bringing a forgotten violin to class before third period.  Getting our clothes dirty playing with bubbles and mud pies, or planting flowers, or finger painting, took priority over washing them.  Come to think of it, I was a good stay-at-home mom.  (Why do they call it that, anyway?  I was never home!  So, I was actually a good rarely-at-home mom.)  I try to be a good working-mom, but it’s just not the same.  It’s dark when I leave them in the morning, goodbyes often consisting of a kiss on a sleeping forehead and a whispered I love you to a dreaming child.  It’s dark when I come home in the evening, too exhausted to do anything but veg out in front of the TV and wait for them to come home from this independent activity or that one.  Weekends are spent making up for being gone 12 hours a day during the week and sleeping another 4 or 5.  And now, most available moments are soaked up faster than they can drip by papers about disadvantaged youth, researching hurricanes, comparing and contrasting creation myths, or figuring out complex radical equations with imaginary numbers.  I hope they understand, or at least will someday.

I am missing the life I had in Colorado, especially the friends I made, the house I built, the community I thrived in, and the sense of self that went along with it.  There was a time when I could head three houses down in my pjs and have spontaneous coffee with my best friend.  There was a time when I would be asked to run a political campaign because my connections in the community were vast and respected.  There was a time when I had a house that could accommodate Christmas parties with upwards of 300 people, bringing in the largest single Toys for Tots donation in the county.  There was a time when I knew who I was, felt recognized and valued, and relished the opportunity to become even more.  We were working toward a clearly defined dream.  Even though we’re back ‘home’ in Utah, it’s just not the same.  Sure, we have a few friends.  Sure, we get out sometimes.  Sure, I could be more involved if I want to be.  But, I’m having trouble finding the value in investing myself.  I guess you could say I’m a little gun shy.

I am missing my husband.  He’s right here next to me, but sometimes I feel like we can’t reach each other.  We have so much to think about, and so much to worry about, and so much to do, that I feel like we’re only together in the periphery, but forget to really see each other sometimes.  Most times.  We are different now.  Different together.  Different apart.  We have different priorities, different viewpoints, different tolerances from our past selves and, sometimes, from each other.  I miss the winks and weekday waterskiing and lunch at King Wa and Price is Right and bedhead kisses.  I miss the old us. 

I am missing my children.  They are changing forever before my eyes with jingling keys and un-tucked shirts and spontaneous haircuts and diets consisting solely of rice and soy milk and notes of explanation and unmade beds.  None of these happened in my old life.  My children are different from day to day, minute to minute.  I try to spend as much time with them as I can, but I don’t really feel like I truly know them anymore.  Running him to scouts is not the same as being his Tiger Cub Den Mom.  Going with her to see her horse is not the same as being a Show Mom.  Being their ‘they need some money or a ride mom’ is not the same as being their ‘they’re so little and really need me Mom.’  They’ve slipped from my grasp.

I am missing my dream.  For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be a teacher.  I have planned my classroom and field trips and classroom blogs, chosen lesson plans, imagined my days, longed for teacher-friends yet to be made.  I’ve recently realized that dream may never come to pass.  My present and future has shifted once again, and with it my dreaming.

Yes, I have plenty to be thankful for, and tomorrow I’ll think about those things.  But, for today, I am missing.

A Place Called Jackson Hole

Wow.  The big 2-6!  Not 26-years old.  Hopefully you know by now that I'm WAY over that.  Well, not WAY, but . . . maybe way with lower case letters. 26 years married!  What?  Okay, I guess that means it's WAY.  But, whatever.

We were planning to head to Lake Powell with the kids for the week to celebrate our anniversary and enjoy the last rays of summer before everyone headed back to school.  Unfortunately, our kids are grownups now - with jobs - and couldn't get the time off.  Poor saps.

So, Dave and I headed off by ourselves.  That's the good thing about having grown up children. You can leave without them and no one will call the authorities.  Still going to Lake Powell was an option for about a minute.  Then we contemplated all of the places we could go!  Oh!  San Francisco . . . Seattle . . . South Carolina . . . Arizona . . . Santa Fe.  We thought about a trip to Maryland.  (That's another post.)  We settled on Jackson Hole, Wyoming, a LONG (yes, with capital letters) time family favorite.  In fact, we've probably been here at least four or five times since we've been married.  I believe that ranks it our second most visited location - second only to . . . you guessed it, Lake Powell.

We left mid-day on Saturday, and drove through Soda Springs and up the east side of the Teton range, arriving in Jackson at about 5:30.  Along the way we had the fortune of finding an overlook for the Big Kahuna and Lunch Counter rapids.  It was so fun to watch others doing what we had done twice in the past, running the river and screaming with excitement as they headed toward and then hit the giant river waves.  There were even some really brave (or crazy) guys on boogie boards and surfboards who took their turn.

The hotel we picked was the Wyoming Inn, which I may or may not choose again.  Don't get me wrong, it was very beautiful, with well-appointed rooms, a nice fitness center (which we did not use), a restaurant that served breakfast (which we used once), and that’s about it.  It was quiet, had good parking, and was close to town.  But, we wished it had some better dining choices, a pool or, at least, a hot tub, and balconies or patios.  C’est la vie. 

Our first evening, we walked into town – what seemed a very long 1.2 miles – and did our favorite thing:  Restaurant Hopping.  We first stopped at Bin22 for tapas and a glass of wine.  Okay, 2 glasses of wine.  I found a new favorite:  Pansa Blanca.  We also enjoyed house pulled mozzarella with oyster mushrooms, saba vinegar, parmesan and chives, Gulf shrimp with an amazing sauce of garlic, piquillo pepper, butter and white wine, and Lomo, a Spanish dry cured pork tenderloin.  (**sing this**) A-maze-ing!! 

After appetizers, we wandered around the town square, stopping in galleries, trinket shops, and a fun store selling liquors, vinegars, and spices.  I loved seeing the iconic antler arches, which are on each corner of the little park at the center of town.  We decided we’d better have a “real” dinner, so we started walking back toward our hotel, having no luck whatsoever finding a place that was still open.  On a Saturday night at 10:00 ~ What?  We felt like we were still in Utah!  After a harrowing walk down the wrong side of the street, which didn’t have a sidewalk or any lights, we finally hit Sidewinders Tavern and had a really crappy experience (patio is closed, drinks sucked, the worst music playing so loud we could hardly talk, picked a delicious menu item only to find out they were only serving pizza because they closed in 15 minutes), that was redeemed by a delicious pie with mushrooms, spinach, and bacon.  Thankfully, the restaurant was across the street from our hotel, so we were quickly back ‘home’ for a wonderful night sleep.

Sunday was our anniversary and, having woken up first, I went down to the restaurant and got some breakfast and coffee to bring back to our room.  It was yummy.  I won’t bore you anymore with food.  Well, I will, just not with that food.  When we finally headed out, we drove into Grand Teton National Park.  Of course, we were stopped by bison-watchers.  In fact, we were stopped by idiots who decided it was a great idea to go through the fence and walk within 50 feet of a herd of the most ginormous, scary, horned creatures imaginable.  They are incredible animals. 

Next we drove to the Jackson Lake Lodge, which has the most breathtaking view of the Teton range.  Between the lodge and the mountains is a vast marshy meadow, and we were treated to seeing a beautiful female moose, slowly meandering through the grass.  A little fox even ran through the patio area of the Blue Heron Lounge where we were sitting and, you guessed it, eating.  I won’t bore you with that food either since it was a step above movie-theater nachos, but the Teton Breeze and Mountain Mojitos were delish.

We tried to head back toward our hotel early enough to catch an art & antique show that was going on just next door, but we arrived 20 minutes late.  Alas.  We were actually glad to go back to the hotel and sneak in a nap before we got ready for dinner.  Yes.  More food.  Come on, though.  What else is there on vacation?

I didn’t know it, but Dave had made a reservation at The Blue Lion, voted the best meal in Jackson, about a week before we came.  Which is funny, because the day before we had been reading through the Dining in Jackson magazine-lette thingy in the room, and I was going on and on about how yummy it sounded, reading him all the stuff on the menu.  He was very nonchalant, saying it sounded good and maybe we should try it out.  Haha.  Sneaky duck.  Having tried the whole let’s-walk-into-town-it-will-be-fun thing yesterday, we opted for the free START bus, which we realized is the only way we will be going anywhere the rest of the trip.

The Blue Lion lived up to its reputation.  Okay, time to bore you with more food.  I had an amazing macadamia nut crusted halibut that sat on top of a mouthwatering mango-lime buerre blanc, and Dave tried the house specialty, rack of lamb.  We brought a bottle of wine, Red Thriller, from a winery we had gone to in Utah, Kiler Grove, another of my favorites.  There was a solo acoustic guitarist playing old rock classics, which was a lot of fun, and the service was absolutely top-notch.  Definite win! 

We decided to walk around a little after dinner (and lunch, and breakfast, and dinner – sheesh, do we ever stop eating??), checking out Teton Village at night, which was happening considering it was Sunday!  We’re definitely not in Utah anymore.  Of course we had to round out our evening with more food, making a quick stop at Haagen Dazs. Why not, right? Because who knew they had Caramel Cone?  I had no idea that was my absolute favorite ice cream.

Right?  I know.

The bus stop was just a block away – they’re all a block away, no matter where you are – so we grabbed the next ride and headed back to our hotel for a relatively early evening.  Two late nights in a row are hard when you’re WAY over 26.

Our second full day, we headed into Yellowstone National Park, which we were somewhat surprised was quite a ways away.  But, as we drove, we enjoyed some absolutely awe-inspiring scenery including, of course, the Grand Tetons, sulphur pots, Lewis Falls and Lewis Lake, Jackson Lake, and the Grand Canyon of Wyoming.  The best views, though, were a massive bull elk grazing just along the side of the road and a pair of baby deer being carefully watched by what appeared to be their big brother crossing the road in front of us. 

I'm sorry, what?  Dude.  You might want to turn around.

Oh yeah, and some people who stopped to look got arrested for DUI and having drugs, so that was attracting almost as many lookie loos as the elk.

We made one wrong turn to Artist’s Point, which was serendipitous, as we were treated to this view of the Upper Yellowstone Falls.

 

Once we figured out where we were envisioning – the brink of the Lower Falls – we got back on the road and drove a little further to a very busy trailhead with a very vocal raven.  We relived a hike that we did when I was very pregnant with Sarah, 22 years ago, ending up at the very top of where the Yellowstone River plunges over 300 feet, twice the height of Niagra Falls.  The trail was a strenuous ³/₈-mile on the way down and closer to 38 miles on the way up, dropping over 600 feet from peak to base, with well-groomed but un-railed switchbacks.  I was verbally concerned that there were no rails, and was shocked by the number of adults running or walking haphazardly and children walking unattended.  But, the view was incomparable and the photos certainly do not do justice to the thunderous roar, soft mist, and sheer grandeur of the falls themselves.  

Lost in translation - her pants say "Boy" all over them. Not "Boys", just "Boy".  :)

We were saddened to read reports later in the day that an 8-year old girl had lost her footing and fallen to her death the day before we were there.  Poor baby.  Having just been there, it was really heart-wrenching to picture the joy of the vacation and the awe that the family must have been experiencing during this adventure, only to have their world crash down with more strength and weight than the waterfall held when the lost their beloved daughter.  Her name was Zahra Allahyari.  Rest in peace, sweet angel.

After our hike, we started the nearly 2½-hour drive back to Jackson Hole, and were so irritated when traffic started slowing.  The joke had become, when the cars started to line up, Dave would say ‘Get your camera ready, there’s wildlife!’  It was usually bison.  But this time, there were four grizzly bears (!!!) sharing, well sharing as well as grizzly bears can, a bison carcass and a patient coyote waiting his turn for a bite.  They were very far away, probably ½ mile or more, but a nice ranger who was there to monitor the bears’ activity and keep the public safe (from the bears and each other) lent us his binoculars.  It was so incredible, especially having seen several varieties of bears stuffed in the various lodges and galleries and realizing how huge and majestic they are. 

Yes, they're hard to see in the pictures.  I'm sorry that the ranger's binoculars won't help you.  But, they're the little brown dots that look kind of like, well, brown dots.

The evening was rounded out at a super fun local spot called Eleanor’s, which you get to by walking through a liquor store!  Funny.  We had tried to go there the night before, but their kitchen had closed (thus resulting in our ill-fated trip to the Sidewinder for nothing but pizza).  Anyway, the bar was really cute, the music was great, and the food was amazing.  In fact, although I never ended up eating it, I loved my dinner so much that I took ‘home’ leftovers.  The best part, though, was a funny cocktail they had called 1.21 Gigawatts, which was the amount of power required to operate the DeLorean time machine on Back to the Future.  We told the bar tender that he needed to add a Flux  Capacitor!

Our third day was spent wandering around downtown Jackson Hole, enjoying several galleries, knick-knack shops, and eclectic specialty stores.  Despite a much cooler and slightly rainy day, we loved seeing the variety of talents decorating the area, including photography, bronze, wood, and ceramic sculpture, mosaics, oil, watercolor, and graphite artwork, crafts, and jarred and bagged homemade delicacies.  We were thoroughly impressed.  Huckleberries are huge here, and we found just about every type of huckleberry thing you could imagine – syrup, vodka, pancake mix, candy, ice cream, and jam.  After quite the decision-making process and stopping at several different restaurants to view the menus, we settled on Café Genevieve for a delightful bite on the patio.  I had a delicious grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes, avocado and bacon, served with homemade tomato soup, and Dave had a great looking Ruben sandwich with a thick slab of pastrami.  YUMM!!!! 

We headed back to the room for a little while to give our WAY over 26-year old legs and feet a well-deserved rest.  I swung into a used book store adjacent to our hotel and found copies of 3 out of 4 books in a series I’ve been wanting, The Cousins’ War, including the prequel, which I didn’t even know existed!  The first of the series, The White Queen, launched a Stars Network series that I watched over the winter and loved.  I’m so excited!  I’ll have to keep my eyes out for the last one of the series back at home.

When we were finally ready to eat . . . AGAIN (Well, not really.  We’d developed this cumulative state of fullness, but it was dinner time so, when in Rome.) . . . we reviewed some Dining in Jackson magazines that we found in the room and settled on Lift, a local spot at the bottom of the Snow King ski lift, and were not disappointed.  Want to hear about it?  Okay!  Dave got the chicken-fried steak special with Cajun gravy and homemade mashed potatoes, and I loved my grilled salmon with lemon-caper beurre blanc, au gratin potatoes, and sautéed squash & peppers.  The best part was a yummy margarita (I don’t usually like those), made with orange juice!  I’ve never had one like that before, and it was scrumptious.  Lift is a hidden gem, and we’re so glad we took a chance.   We were glad to head back to the room relatively early and enjoy some down time after our couple of very busy days!  I was pretty sure that cumulative-fullness I had developed that would last me for about four days. 

We were so sad to wake up on our last full day in Jackson Hole!  The plan was to head back into Grand Tetons to find some viewpoints for pictures, find a great creek for some fishing and shoreline reading, and find the last of our souvenirs, and we managed to do all of the above!  Although it was raining off and on throughout the day, the views were nonetheless breathtaking, the fishing was predictable (one bite, none caught), and the reading was relaxing.  Midway through the afternoon, I left Dave to try and find the elusive trout he’d been searching for, and went back to the Jackson Lake Lodge for a snack.  I know.  Don’t judge. 

On the way back, we say another herd of bison – or perhaps it was the same one, who knows – but this time, the babies were closer to the road and I managed to snap some photos.  They were so cute!  I was still amazed at how stupid people were to get so ridiculously close, especially when these huge beasts were guarding babies!  Crazy!! 

When we got back into town, we went to a cute farmer’s market that Jackson hosts every Wednesday in the summer.  There was live music, lots of fresh produce, homemade jam and fresh cheese, and beautiful handmade jewelry.  It was fun.  

We relaxed (and dried out) at the hotel for a bit before making a return trip to two of our vacation favorites, Bin 22 and Eleanor’s, for appetizer, cocktails, and dinner.  Needless to say, I’m even more stuffed than I ever thought I could be and it was worth every bite.

Now we’re heading to bed on our last night, grateful for a wonderful trip and glad to be going home to our kiddos tomorrow. It’s been a fabulous vacation.  Thanks, Jackson Hole!

And, also, I'm really fat now.  Thanks, Jackson Hole.  Sheesh.