We got back from our trip to California tonight. I wanted to write something profound and beautiful and surprising-- even worked for awhile on some ideas connected with We Three Kings and New Mexico and a dusting of snow in the desert and for He is like a refiner's fire and the Year of Jubilee... But nothing came of it except the desire to work on it more or delete it altogether.
I am not feeling beautiful or profound, or even surprising. I just feel very tired. We all put up with each other well, and even had some fun on the way home, playing in the spots of snow as we stopped for gas or food, laughing at Popeye and Andy Griffith, and analyzing each other's personalities. (Surprisingly, I am a Relating Director and Mr. Honey is a Socializing Thinker. I thought I was a Thinker, but evidently I only play one on this blog.) The kids took their dolls on a cruise in the backseat this afternoon, and I got some crocheting done.
But California to Texas is Really. A. Drive. And not a task for the feeble.
I am so glad we are home.
Note to self: When leaving for an extended Thanksgiving trip, please remember to throw out the decorative pumpkins before you leave. And please triple check that everyone has their thick jackets. (I thank the Lord for Triss, who brought a matching sweater and/or jacket for every outfit she packed this trip. She is the only reason Mariel and Cornflower stayed warm through the wind and the snow.)
(By the way, if anyone is looking for a way to resign themselves to the high price of gas in Texas, I recommend a trip to California. A few days of paying upwards of $3.40 per gallon, and you will think nothing-- nay, rejoice-- at paying $2.88.)