Down Home Cookin'

California has many things. High unemployment, crushing taxes, a large non-English speaking population, sunshine, beaches, traffic, smog, and plenty of good places to eat. What California doesn't have is Cracker Barrel.

If you've travelled around the country at all you've probably seen the brown and yellow sign of Cracker Barrel. If you were smart, you stopped for a meal. For those who have never been, Cracker Barrel serves traditional American food in a country style setting.

Cracker Barrel restaurants have a wide front porch with rocking chairs waiting for a weary traveller to sit upon and perhaps purchase for a modest sum. The waiting area is a mock general store with traditional candies, clothing and country kitsch. The interior of the restaurant is festooned with Americana.

What the Hard Rock Cafe is to rock and roll, Cracker Barrel is to rural America.

The whole thing is hopelessly cheesy and contrived.

I love it.

The menu at Cracker Barrel includes such favorites as pot roast, meatloaf, pork chops, and chicken pot pie. It's good ole fashioned stick to your ribs food. There are no wood fired pizzas or calamari appetizers on the Cracker Barrel menu.

I've only been to a Cracker Barrel twice. The first time was in St. George, Utah. I wanted a change from the ubiquitous Wendy's or McDonald's. I ordered pot roast with veggies.

It was good.

The most recent visit was on our drive to Montana this week. We stopped at the Cracker Barrel in Layton, Utah for lunch. I ordered buttermilk pancakes and sausage. For lunch.

It was so good. The pancakes were crisp around the edges and steaming hot. I could feel my arteries clogging with each bite. That's how you make pancakes.

Too bad I won't be able to go back for a while.

On the Road, Again

Since my family moved to Montana about 4 years ago, I have tried to get up there a couple of times a year. Last November, we took a few days and drove up for Thanksgiving.

But that was several months ago. Now it's time for a summer trip.

My parents and sister came down for my brother-in-law's sister's wedding a couple of weeks ago. I've been looking for a way to get my kids out of the house and up to Montana to spend some time with their cousins. I seized the opportunity to send Abigail up with Grandma and Grandpa when they went back home.

And then Tabitha and her mother, Terry, decided they would like to go visit Montana too.

We hammered out a plan where I would drive Tabitha, Terry, and Aidan to Montana while Abigail rode up with Grandma and Grandpa. I would fly home after a couple of days and then Terry would drive Tabitha and the kids home.

Perfect.

I got a cheap flight from Missoula to LAX. I asked for and received a few days off from work. We left last Monday morning and met my parents in the lovely town of Barstow. We caravanned through the blistering Mojave Desert through Las Vegas, Mesquite, and St. George.




We climbed out of the desert into the forested hills of southern Utah. We stopped for the night in the truly lovely town of Cedar City. Coincidentally, my youngest sister, Sara, and her husband thought my impending arrival in Montana would be a great time for them to go visit family in California. However, we made arrangements to stay at the same hotel in Cedar City.





My other sister, Judy, and her family were also returning to Montana and decided to stay in Cedar City the same night so we were able to have something of a family reunion. The kids ran around like maniacs but stopped long enough to pose for a picture with Grandma and Grandpa.

The next morning we continued our journey northward. The best thing about the drive to Montana is that it gets prettier and less crowded the further north you go. We cruised through Salt Lake City around lunch time and made a late afternoon Starbucks stop in Pocatello, Idaho. We continued until we reached the bustling metropolis of Dillon, Montana.

Dillon is a quiet little college/cow town on Interstate 15. And it's only about 4 hours away from my parents house in Pablo, Montana.

We woke early the next morning and hit the road. We reached Missoula and stopped again at a Starbucks. Finally, we rolled into my parent's gravel driveway around one o'clock.

The kids have been playing non-stop. We've driven Terry around to show her the sights of the Flathead Valley. Tabitha has started looking at real estate again.

Do I really have to go home on Saturday?

It Doesn't Make Sense

A while back my pastor told us that God had intended for humans to have eternal life on earth. But for the sin of Adam and Eve, we would live forever. He used some Bible verses to support his assertion but I'm too lazy to look them up.

It sounds pretty good. No dying. You never have to lose your grandparents, parents, or children.

Sweet.

Except there's a problem.

That's a lot of people.

There are about 6 billion people living on our planet right now. The number grows most years. There's lots of people making babies out there. It doesn't grow as fast as it could because people die.

If we go back only 7000 years (for the young earth creationists out there) and add up all the people who were ever born, that's a lot of people. I'm no math whiz, but it's a number higher than I can count. If we go back even further, the number gets way bigger.

That's a lot of people to clothe, house, and feed. Not to mention the waste disposal issue.

I know what you are going to say: "The earth was magic before the Fall. The natural laws we have now didn't apply back then."

Right.

Cambridge, Massachusetts - Take Two

Let's say you are a nationally renowned African-American scholar returning from a trip to China. When you arrive at your house, the front door is stuck. You enlist the help of the taxi driver to force open the door. A passerby sees two African-American males forcing their way into a house.

The passerby calls the police.

The police respond to a possible burglary in progress. They don't know you live at the house. They don't know you are a nationally renowned African-American scholar. You come to the door and the officer asks you to step outside.

The quickest way to resolve the situation is to provide the officer with identification that shows you live at the residence.

A driver's license perhaps.

Instead of getting indignant and becoming argumentative with the officer, pull out out your driver's license.

The conversation then goes something like this:

Officer -- I'm sorry Mr. Gates Jr. There must have been a mistake. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I hope you have a nice day.

Mr. Gates Jr. -- Not a problem officer. I understand these things happen. Hey, by the way, what's your name.

Officer -- It's Sergeant Crowley. Have a nice day.

Mr. Gates Jr. -- Stay safe.

But that doesn't make the national news.

Apology, Explanation, or Excuse?

About a year and a half ago I started writing this blog. I had access to the Internet and a good bit of free time so I wrote a lot.

Two or three posts a day.

I wrote about whatever random thing that popped into my head. I wrote about my family and all the cute/funny things my kids were doing. I wrote about food. Especially cheese.

I love cheese.

Sometimes I wrote about religion or politics. I'm not very argumentative so I kept those postings to a minimum.

Then something happened.

I was visiting with my sister, Judy, last summer when I saw she was a member of Facebook. I was amazed. She was "friends" with over two-hundred people. She was friends with people I knew but hadn't seen in years (we run in many of the same social circles).

I waited another month or so and then signed up.

Within minutes, I was spending most of my computer time on Facebook. My friends grew in number and breadth. I became enamored with the "Status Update."

Instead of writing my random thoughts on the blog, I was putting them on Facebook.

It was cool and fun.

Cast Iron Skillet has suffered. For that, I apologize.

Try It

Last Wednesday, Tabitha and I arranged for a baby sitter to watch the kids so we could have a date. Charlotte, a maid at the hotel, arrived at our room at 4:00 PM and took custody of the children. Tabitha and I drove to Rum Point on the north side of Grand Cayman.

We walked out on the pier and watched the snorkelers splashing in the water.

We sat in the shade of palm trees on the beach and sipped drinks. Tabitha had a bright blue margarita and I drank a virgin pina colada. After a while, we climbed back in the car and drove to the south side of the island to have dinner at a restaurant called The Lighthouse.

The Lighthouse is one of those fine dining establishments with impeccable service, an extensive wine list, and food prepared with the finest local ingredients by a renowned chef. Not my usual eatery.

We arrived a little early for our reservation but were seated immediately in the screened patio overlooking the breaking surf. The waiter suggested we try the drink special of the night, a blood orange mojito. We did.

A little background:

I am a picky eater. My past memories of eating at restaurants always include a special order. Not the "I'm going to order food that isn't on the menu because I'm a rich ass and I want to show these people how powerful I am" but the "I don't like very much and I'm afraid to try new things" special order. Things like french fries with the steak and plain hamburgers.

Boring.

Lately, I have tried to be more adventurous. I like to try local specialities when we travel and I'm more willing to trust the skills of the chef.

This caught my eye on the specials menu:

Jerk blue nose grouper with avocado salsa, garlic mashed potatoes, veggies, and fried plantain.

This was about the best thing I have ever tasted. I tried the grouper by itself and it was good. I tried it with the avocado salsa and it was heavenly. It was so good, I memorialized it with a photo:

Airports Are No Fun

There are two ways to travel to an island in the Caribbean. You can take a slow boat or a fast plane. I love boats but who has that kind of time.

So we took a fast plane.

Unfortunately you have to go to Purgatory to get on a plane.

We flew from LAX to Miami and then to Georgetown, Grand Cayman. We arrived at LAX in plenty of time to park the car, get our tickets and go to security.

Are they still making you remove your shoes? Seriously?!? And don't even think about bringing a liquid on the plane.

We arrived in Miami about five hours later. Our gate changed. Tabitha had low blood sugar. Aidan had one of his patented tantrums. And there was no friggin' changing table in the men's room.

Is it still 1950 in Miami?

We arrived safely in Grand Cayman and had a great time until it was time to go home.

You see, we had travelled outside the country. When we returned to Miami we had to go through Immigration and Customs to prove we were supposed to be in the country and we weren't smuggling any contraband.

At the Miami airport, Immigration and Customs are actually on the outskirts of Tampa.

We followed the signs. We walked down long hallways. We climbed stairs. We turned corners only to find other long hallways. We walked for miles. Aidan had another of his patented tantrums. Abigail was a trooper.

We finally arrived at the checkpoint and breezed through. Only we now had to return to Miami to get on our plane to LAX. We made it to the gate as they were boarding the plane.

I might take a boat next time.

Do You Think You're Special, Recruit? Episode 5

I joined the Navy because I didn't want to go to college right away. I was sick of school. I thought it might be nice to spend a few years travelling the world.

So early that morning I climbed into the waiting van.

The recruiter drove me and a couple other guys to the MEPS station in Los Angeles. I completed more paperwork, peed in a cup to prove I hadn't taken any drugs in the last thirty days and then waited. I finally boarded a bus later that day with about 50 other guys.

There was a mix of bravado and quiet reflection on the bus ride to San Diego (the loudest talkers were the first to drop out). We arrived outside the San Diego Recruit Training Center at about 11:30 that night. A guy in a white uniform climbed on the bus and yelled at us to grab our things and line up outside.

I had seen the movies. I was expecting pit bulls in perfectly pressed uniforms to march on the bus with profanity and spittle flying, immediately identifying my deepest insecurities and causing me to void my bladder, before marching me in shame in front of all the other deeply shaken recruits. This guy was not exactly friendly but he didn't seem like he was going to eat me alive either. He marched us to a room and then yelled at us to line up on squares painted on the floor.

Another uniform clad guy starting calling roll. After questioning the parentage and intelligence of all of us, the guy had confirmed our identities and marched us to another room. More uniform clad people threw toiletries and towels at us. Finally, at about 2:00 AM we were led to a barracks to go to sleep.

About two hours later, a blinding light and a banging metal trash can woke me from my dreams of home. Men in uniform marched through the barracks yelling at us to get up, brush our teeth and "fall out." I stumbled to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.

I really did want to go to college.

Sun, Surf, and a Screaming Child

It's vacation time again for our family. After our last vacation in April, I'm looking forward to a relaxing trip with a minimum of medical emergencies.

Tabitha and I wanted to go somewhere tropical this year. We went to Hawaii a few years ago with Abigail and loved it. Aidan is now old enough to enjoy playing in the sand and water. We thought about returning to Hawaii but then looked at other options.

We thought about staying in Key West (key lime pie!) or taking a Caribbean cruise. Both were a little pricey. Tabitha did a little research and found a resort in Grand Cayman called the Reef. It looked nice, quiet, family friendly, and reasonably priced. We made our reservations and spent our Federal Tax-payer Savings Plan dividend (tax return).

We woke up early yesterday morning and drove to LAX. We flew to Miami and then on to Georgetown, Grand Cayman.

Aidan naps on the plane.

We landed at the airport at about 9:30 last night. We had bus transportation to the Reef Resort on the north east side of the island. After an hour long bus ride over nearly every paved road on the island, we arrived at the hotel. I was starving but everything was closed for the night.

We got our room and unpacked. Abigail went right to sleep but Aidan decided he wanted to do a little exploring.

He thinks it's funny if he locks the door to the bathroom. He went inside the bathroom, locked both doors, and went into the bedroom and locked the door. I finally got him to open the bedroom door but the bathroom was locked with no one inside.

A little background:

1. I went to bed at about 12:30 in the morning.
2. I woke up at 5:00.
3. We'd been flying all day.
4. We had a long bus ride.
5. I'm hungry and there's nothing to eat.
6. The bathroom doors are locked.
7. Aidan is screaming, "I want to brush my teeth."

I was a little upset. I yelled at Aidan who promptly began to have an "I've been awake too long and I'm going to make you pay for it" meltdown. The more he screamed, the angrier I got. Finally, the hotel security guy unlocked the bathroom door, saving Aidan from certain death. Aidan was able to brush his teeth and then went right to sleep.

The view from our patio.

We woke up this morning to a beautiful day.

Do You Think You're Special, Recruit? Episode 4

So there I was on a summer day in 1988. I was sitting in front of a Navy recruiter deciding what I wanted to do for the next few years of my life. Because of my color vision, the jobs I wanted were off the table. The recruiter was giving me three choices, none of which were appealing.

In retrospect, I should have thanked him for his time and excused myself with the words, "It looks like the Navy has nothing to offer me at this time."

If I had done that, he probably would have replied, "Wait a minute son, let me check the computer again." He would have found the opening for the journalism school I wanted.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I held all the cards.

Instead...

... I signed up for the Seaman Apprentice school for the shortest enlistment they offered at the time - three years active duty.

In that moment, I had decided the Navy would not be my career. I would do my time, get out, and go to college.

I phoned my dad and told him I had enlisted. He left his office in Monterey Park and drove to the MEPS station in Los Angeles. He watched as I raised my right hand and swore to defend the Constitution from all enemies, foreign or domestic.

I had mixed emotions as I spent the last few weeks at home. I attended going away parties with friends and a guy at my church tried to talk me into changing to the Air Force (no thanks). My sort-of girlfriend, Barbara, cried a little. My mom cried more. My recruiter gave me a list of items to bring with me (running shoes, stamps, my driver's license, and a little money) and prohibited items (tobacco, drugs, and alcohol). I packed my bag and went to sleep.

Very early the next morning, my recruiter was waiting outside in a van.

Do You Think You're Special, Recruit? Episode 3

The Armed Forces recruiting office was in a strip mall behind a barbecue take-out and an Acapulco Mexican restaurant.  The recruiters were crammed into tiny offices emblazoned with posters showing the exciting things their particular branch had to offer.  

The Navy recruiter was wearing a white polyester uniform with a couple of chevrons on his left sleeve.  He welcomed me into his office with a hand shake and then started asking me questions.  He wanted to know my background and my interests.  Had I ever been arrested or  taken drugs?  Did I have good grades?  What were my plans for the future?

The job of a recruiter is to fill quotas.  He's not there for wish-fulfillment.  He'll tell you all the bitchin' things you can do in the Navy, but he's really trying to get you into the job the Navy needs.  The recruiter talked to me about the nuclear fields and how I would get out after six years with an Associate's degree and skills I could use operating a nuclear power plant.  

That didn't sound very interesting to me, but I'd play along.

I took the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) test and did pretty well.  The world was my oyster.  I was smart enough for any job in the Navy.  I wanted to be a journalist or photographer.  I could watch and record the action without getting my hands dirty.  It sounded cool.

I went to the Military Enlistment Processing Station (MEPS) in Los Angeles for my physical.  I was poked and prodded and evaluated.  I was doing pretty well until they tested my color vision.  I was colorblind. 

With this news, I went to talk to the guy who would choose my "A" school and future job in the Navy.  Before the physical he had been talking up the nuke program.  Now, instead of offering the nuclear program or another high-tech field, he presented three options:

1. Boiler Technician (Advanced Training Field)

2. Mess Management Specialist

3. Seaman Apprentice

Boiler Technicians (affectionately known as BT's) run the boilers in the Navy's steam powered ships.  Boiler rooms are hot, dangerous places.  A high-pressure steam leak in a boiler room will kill everyone in the space before they know something is wrong.  And it was a six year active duty enlistment.

No thanks.

Mess Management Specialists are cooks.  I love food and I love cooking but I didn't want to cook for 1500 people.

Nope.

Seaman Apprentice?  Apprenticeship training is where the guys who weren't smart enough to get "A" schools ended up after boot-camp.  Airman Apprentices do the grunt work on aircraft carrier flight decks.  Fireman Apprentices work in the engineering spaces on ships doing grunt work.  Seaman Apprentices go to a ship's deck department where they learn how to swab decks, chip paint, and haul on a mooring line.

Grunt work.

"What's the shortest enlistment I can get?"

Do You Think You're Special, Recruit? Episode 2

One day in the summer of 1988, I got a call from the local Navy recruiter.  He wanted me to come to his office and talk about how I could "be all you can be."  The Navy wasn't my first choice.  I was still waiting for the call from the Coast Guard recruiter.  But Fall was approaching fast and I had to do something with my life.

I didn't grow up in a military family.  My grandpa was in the Marine Corps but that was during World War 2 when every able-bodied young man was in uniform.  One of my uncles had been in the Army during the mid-fifties but he never talked about it with me.  My dad was medically disqualified for service in Vietnam.  All of his brothers were too old for the draft and my mom's brothers were too young.  None of my older cousins had chosen military service.  And so far, I am still the only one of my generation to serve.

Anyway, I had a general idea of what Navy life was like.  I'd seen a commercial that showed a group of young sailors, wearing their dress whites, enjoying a rickshaw ride in Hong Kong.  Our neighbor's son had been in the Navy.  His younger sister had a shirt he had bought for her in some exotic place called Djibouti.  And one of my dad's buddies had been an airplane mechanic in the Philippines.  He spent a lot of time scuba diving.

Liberty in Hong Kong, souvenir t-shirts from the Horn of Africa, and swimming in tropical waters.  It sounded pretty cool.

And the Navy had ships.  Ships that travelled the world.  Instead of getting stuck for four years in some God-forsaken hell-hole, ships stop for a few days in hell-holes and then leave.  You never have to sleep in the dirt either when you're in the Navy.  Your bed travels with you.

Because it seemed like I would never get a call from the Coast Guard, I made an appointment to talk to the Navy recruiter.

Do You Think You're Special, Recruit? Episode 1

Cast your mind back to the summer of 1988.

Ronald Reagan was in his last few months in the White House.  Depeche Mode had just played the most friggin awesome concert in the history of British electro-pop concerts at the Rose Bowl.  A Mustang GT, one of the fastest cars on the road, had all of 205 horsepower.  Gas was about a dollar a gallon.  And I was a recent high school graduate with my entire life ahead of me.

I had finished school with decent grades and a good SAT score.  What I didn't have was a strong desire to go to college.  I was pretty tired of school at that point.  I didn't want to go to college right away and I didn't have the money to spend a year abroad.

I had only a bare outline of a plan for my future.  It was something like this:

1. See the world
   
2. Save money for college
   
3. Get lunch

I had thought about joining the Coast Guard.  It seemed like a pretty good deal.  I'd get assigned to a small boat crew on the coast of Oregon or Maine and spend my days rescuing distressed boaters and interdicting drug smugglers.  It would be pretty cool.

But Coast Guard recruiters don't call lazy high school graduates.

So I spent the summer sleeping late, working at a Mexican restaurant, rebuilding the engine on my 1967 Chevy truck with my friend Eric, and hanging out with my sort-of girlfriend Barbara.  One day, my hands covered in grease, I got a call from the Marine Corps recruiter.  He wanted to talk to me about all the great things the Marine Corps could do for me.

I had seen "Full Metal Jacket."  Even though my Grandpa was a proud Marine, I wanted nothing to do with the Marine Corps.  All the yelling and push-ups and marching.  No thanks.

And then one day, the Navy recruiter called.

Heard in the Car

Aidan: Knock, knock.

Abigail: Who cares?

Secrets

The other day Tabitha was looking on Expedia for vacation ideas. She told me she was having trouble finding some of the smaller resorts. Expedia seems to focus primarily on larger resorts and chains.

After a while, she told me she found something. I was doing something else so I didn't have time to look. A few minutes later, I asked her what she wanted to show me. She said, "Nevermind."

The next day I saw a charge for Expedia on our checking account. I put two and two together and asked if she made a reservation.

She did. But she's not telling. (She actually offered to tell me but I declined)

I've got a birthday coming up and our 13th anniversary is only two days after that. The best birthday / anniversary present I can think of is a couple of days alone with Tabitha. That and a Porsche 911 GT3 but I'll take the time alone with Tabitha.

I can't wait.

Ouch

We rolled through the Drive-Thru at McDonald's the other day to get the kids their dinner. Spare me your condemnation of McDonald's. I know it's crappy food.

Anyway, instead of a cheap plastic toy in the Happy Meal, there was a Kidz Bop sampler CD. Parents are probably all to familiar with Kidz Bop, particularly if you watch television with your kids. The Kidz Bop commercials feature overly enthusiastic pre-pubescent hipsters singing the latest top-40 hits. I usually try to change the channel.

I have so far avoided any exposure to Kidz Bop.

Today, Aidan wanted to listen to the CD. It was, in a word, painful. I can imagine the recording session going something like this:

Kidz finish singing last line of latest Jon Mayer hit.

Producer: That was great kidz. Now do it again, but make it louder.

They're not exactly singing. I think they're belting. My only hope is that Aidan will succeed in scratching the CD so I won't have to listen to it again.

The Little Things Add Up

The economy is in the crapper right now. The government is running around like a trillionaire chicken with it's head cut off, spewing money from it's gaping neck wound. Like many companies, my employer is looking for ways to save money.

They've reduced staffing, delayed acquisition and maintenance of equipment, and reorganized departments. Lately we've received a flurry of e-mails requesting employees change the way we go about doing business.

They want us to stop dialing directory assistance from company telephones.

They want us to use the Internet to look for telephone numbers. Apparently, we have been spending unknown tens of dollars calling directory assistance. Calls to directory assistance are going to break the back of my company. The situation is so dire, they have rewritten policy to prohibit the use of directory assistance.

Not a problem. As long as they don't restrict my internet access.

Vomit - It's Not Just the Contents of Your Belly...

... It's an adventure.

So anyway, Aidan and I are on our way back home today. We're cruising along in my car when Aidan tells me, "Daddy, my tummy hurts."

This can't be good.

Maybe the donut he had for breakfast didn't agree with him (not likely). Maybe he is just hungry.

A moment later I hear the tell-tale burp. It's immediately followed by the sound of a liquid splashing in the back seat of my car. Between spasms, Aidan cries.

I press a little harder on the accelerator as the smell of partly digested milk wafts through the car. The speed limit is now only a suggestion as I race home. The immediate crisis past, Aidan falls asleep covered in little chunks of curdled milk. We arrive home. I peel Aidan out of his soiled clothing and put him in the bath. While he bathes, I clean.

The back seat of my car hasn't been this clean for a long time. Aidan is worn out so he has been sitting on my lap while we watch TV.

I love my son. I hope someday, he remembers this and cleans up after me.

Vacation?

For spring break this year, Tabitha made reservations for us in Las Vegas for Friday night and then three nights in Sedona, Arizona. We were going to return on Tuesday because I had a work commitment.

I brought along my computer with the hope of updating the blog every night like I have on past trips. I figured I would start with the obligatory photo of the kids frolicking at a rest stop along the interstate. I would then post a few photos of the family enjoying our time in exotic Las Vegas. Tabitha had other ideas:

"Why did you bring your computer?"

"To update my blog."

"Why don't you spend a little time with the family instead."

"Umm... okay."

Abigail and Aidan try to not get blown away in the desert.

We arrived at the Venetian in Las Vegas on Friday afternoon and checked into our room. While Tabitha and Aidan napped, I showed Abigail the canals of Venice (in Las Vegas). We had dinner at one of the restaurants in the hotel where Aidan pulled his usual routine of screaming his head off, refusing to eat, and then complaining he was hungry. The waiters and other diners were amazingly accommodating.

Aidan, in a more contemplative state of mind, enjoyed the wide ledge of our suite window.

We hoped to show the kids the lights of the Strip at night but we were all too tired to go out after our post-dinner gelato. We were the earliest people to bed in the entire city on Friday night. We checked out on Saturday morning and drove over to the Bellagio. We parked the Jeep and checked out the tulips and butterflies in the Bellagio's lobby. We walked to the M&M Store and chose our own colors (pastels for Abigail, blues for Aidan, and dark chocolate for me).

Abigail in the butterfly house at Bellagio.

We travelled east from Las Vegas, crossed the Hoover Dam, stopped for lunch in the bustling metropolis of Kingman (actually much bigger than I remembered), and headed east on I-40. The plume of smoke on the horizon turned out to be a fully-engulfed semi, stopping westbound traffic for miles. We soon arrived in Flagstaff and headed south on Arizona 89 to Sedona.

My family standing in front of some rocks in Sedona.

So far the trip was unfolding as planned. We checked into our hotel in Sedona, went for a chilly nighttime swim, and ate a delicious dinner at the hotel. Aidan again pulled his usual stunt (Hint to waiters - get the food out fast. Hint to Tim - don't take your son to nice restaurants). We went to bed early again.

Abigail enjoying a swim.

Aidan loves shallow water.

Warming up by the fire.

On Saturday, Abigail complained her eye hurt. It looked normal so we didn't think too much about it. On Sunday, the skin around her right eye was a little red and puffy. Abigail said it hurt more. That night, I could hear her crying in her sleep. At about 3 AM I woke up to check on her. Her right eye was swollen and red.

I called Kaiser to find out if they had any facilities in Arizona (they don't). I spoke to a nurse and described what Abigail was experiencing. I couldn't tell if she had a fever but she seemed a little warm. The nurse recommended we go to the local Urgent Care in the morning.

Even the view from the hospital is beautiful in Sedona.

On Monday morning, I took Abigail to Urgent Care. The doctor was concerned so he called the local ER. Dr. Dean at the ER wanted to examine Abigail. I dropped Tabitha and Aidan off at the hotel and took Abigail to the ER. By this time, Abigail had a fever and the skin around the eye was very red and swollen. Dr. Dean determined she probably had peri-orbital cellulitis, a serious infection of the skin around the eye. Abigail had a CT scan and they started IV antibiotics.

Dr. Dean laid out the options. He recommended we admit her to the hospital to continue the antibiotics. The hospital in Sedona did not have pediatric beds so she would have to go to Flagstaff. If untreated, the infection could migrate behind her eye causing loss of vision and possibly death. Dr. Dean said, "This is a medical emergency."

Sedated.

After collecting myself, I called the hotel and made arrangements to check out that night. They made reservations for a hotel in Flagstaff for us and called a taxi to bring Tabitha and Aidan to the hospital. Tabitha rode in the ambulance with Abigail to Flagstaff while Aidan and I drove the Jeep.

Later that night, I dropped Tabitha and Aidan off at our hotel in Flagstaff and returned to the hospital to spend the night. Abigail wanted to go home. She was frightened of getting more shots and staying in the hospital. I told her she had to stay in the hospital so she could get better. She had a difficult time the first night.

Abigail's infection began to improve after the first night but she was still running a slight fever. Tabitha had her hands full trying to keep Aidan occupied. Grandma Terry offered to drive out to Flagstaff to see Abigail and take Aidan back home with her. She drove to Flagstaff Tuesday evening, spent the night at the hotel with Tabitha and Aidan, visited Abigail on Wednesday morning, and then returned to California with Aidan (900 miles of driving in 24 hours).

Abigail was feeling much better. She drank chocolate milk, watched movies, colored, charmed the nurses, and received a syringe full of antibiotics twice a day. I read, updated my Facebook, and drove back and forth between the hospital and the hotel. I slept in Abigail's room every night on a fold-out bed. Tabitha read, swam in the hotel pool, napped, and waited for me to pick her up so she could visit Abigail.

Coloring books!

A delicious hospital meal.

She's getting out today!

On Friday morning, Abigail was released from the hospital. I was also glad to be out of the hospital so I could wear pajamas and sleep in a real bed. We checked out of our hotel and drove home that afternoon.

Abigail on a rock at a rest stop on I-40.

Tabitha is engrossed in her book.

Abigail takes a good photo.

Abigail is doing much better. She will take oral antibiotics for another week. She returned to school today. We are thankful for all of the prayers from our friends and family members.

I picked up a flu bug at the hospital and spent Saturday and Sunday in bed. I missed an awards ceremony for work on Thursday, used up two weeks of vacation time instead of one, and paid an extra $700 for a hotel I used only for a shower and breakfast. Thankfully, our insurance will pay for the hospital stay. In all, it was not a very good vacation.

I love the Flagstaff area. It's close to the Grand Canyon and is surrounded by trees. It has a local university (Northern Arizona) and a population that enjoys outdoor activities. I'd really like to visit some time.

That's Smart

Nice smile.

I dropped my car off at the dealer this morning for the 80,000 mile service. One of the perks when you spend big money is they provide you with a rental car. So after a few minutes, Penny from Enterprise arrived to set me up with a temporary ride.

The Enterprise office is at our local Mercedes dealer. While Penny got my paperwork going, I strolled around the showroom ogling the German iron. There was an SL65 AMG Black ($304,000!), a McLaren SLR convertible (used, low mileage creampuff), and a classic 300SL roadster set up for rallying. Dreams in metal.

Anyway, Penny tells me they have a Smart available or I can take a Chevy Impala. I had to think about it for a second before I chose the Smart. For those of you not up on your cars, the Smart is a two seat city car manufactured by Mercedes. It is powered by a rear mounted 3 cylinder motor and is short enough to park nose first against the curb. I've been wanting to drive one of these things for a long time.

The ignition key is between the seats next to the shift lever (like a Saab). I got it started and discovered the Smart is tough to drive smoothly around town. The transmission shifts very slowly which saps forward momentum. It's worse when you are going slow so you just have to put the boot to it. The brakes are a little grabby but you'd probably get used to them with more time in the car.

On the freeway, the things goes surprisingly well. Eighty miles an hour is no problem but seventy seems to be the sweet spot. The ride is pretty stiff and it wanders a little bit, but that is due to the short wheelbase. It's so little you can zip in and out of traffic with no problem. You can pass cars and drive up hills without losing too much speed. You're not stuck in the slow lane watching the world pass you by. The motor is a bit loud and sounds like a tractor but it has decent power.

Leather!

The Smart is strictly a two-seater. The front seats remind me of Tab's old VW bug. You're going to rub shoulders with your passenger but there is plenty of head and leg room. You sit kind of high in the car and there is no height adjustment (that I could find). It feels a little weird.

There's an engine down there.

The rear luggage compartment is large enough for two people to go on a week long road trip if they don't bring bicycles and surfboards. Forget about packing a stroller.

No tachometer.

The interior looks good and is put together nicely. It's very distinctive and stylish.

The best part is how little space this car takes up. You can touch the back window while sitting in the driver's seat. This would be a perfect commuter car for someone who has a relatively short drive.

Would I buy one? Probably not. I've got two little kids to ferry around and a 65 mile (one-way) commute. I see this car as being a great choice for empty nesters and people without children. If they could squeeze in two more seats and make it only slightly larger, then I might think about it.

Postscript:

Is it safe? It's probably as safe as can be for a car so small. It's got airbags tucked in everywhere and a high strength steel safety cage. Top Gear in England crashed one into a concrete barrier at 70 miles an hour and it held up very well. Just remember there is always a larger vehicle waiting to crash into you. It's better to avoid the accident in the first place.