Tuesday, September 4, 2012

An Easy Start

I've been contemplating and agonizing how to begin this epic journey of documenting the [absolutely perfect] vacation Mark and I just enjoyed this past weekend for quite a few days. I took my journal with me   (cuz I was not about to haul along this monstrous laptop as a technological distraction) so I could write down the events as they happened so my memory wouldn't be a problem.

Truer words, ne'er spoken.
Anyway. That idea bombed. Who wants to take time to scribble a bunch of words when they could lounge in the soft grass with their husband, sip lemonade and feel the cool breeze off the lake? Or fish? Or swim? Or go to a rock concert for FREE? Or eat more food? All of which, and more, happened during the past 5 days. More to come on those events later.
So now I have the task of trying to take myself back a couple days and actually remember what it was like, rather than reading how I felt at that moment and translating it for you guys like I originally planned.
But I did take pictures!
I've found that I bring my camera along on trips but I forget to take it out and keep on shooting frames! I come back from an adventure and look through the memory card and there's 3 pictures. Total. One of him from the back walking somewhere. One of the both of us making terrible faces because we can't manage being attractive people. And then one of a plant or something.
And I get super disappointed.
So I determined to make this adventure different. And I did a pretty good job. As you may or may not find out over the next week or so, depending on if you come back after this smatterblog post.

Awkwardly enough, I'm starting at the end of this story. So far into the end, it actually just happened this morning. And this morning is not part of our vacation at all. This morning is back-to-reality-phase. Mark leaves for work in about twenty minutes and I'm left to unpack, laundrify and actually clean our apartment like I didn't do before we left which I knew I wouldn't be happy about later. And I was right. I'm totally not.
But we also wanted to try and get another chapter in on our book this morning and began the search for said book. Because we took it on the trip with us (no pictures of that, apologies), we looked in the suitcase and my "carry-on" aka stuffed to the brim purse. Alas, no book. We discussed our respective last sightings of the book and found that we had differing opinions.
I remembered getting into the car with my parents to head home and Mark handing me the book for some reason, like I was the proper book handler and he couldn't put it somewhere in the car. But I was deadbeat tired so I [memory lapse] did something with it and fell asleep on Mark's shoulder the whole way to my parents house where we had to take separate cars to our apartment.
But Mark remembers me laying my head down in his lap during our descent in the airplane into Phoenix and moving the book from off his lap to the plane floor. Now I'm panicking because I don't remember my exact actions from that time. I knew I did move the book because it was not as kind to my ear as his soft leg was but I could not grasp a single image in my mind as to what I did with it then. 
So his version was entirely plausible. I might very well have left our book on the plane. The book we bought for this trip. The book we were barely halfway through and I was enjoying quite thoroughly. The thought of that possibility was making me so sad I almost started crying. I wouldn't have any idea how to remedy that situation. Is there a lost and found at the airport? That would be nifty. At least I hadn't left the late wedding card with $50 in it from my aunt. Then I probably would've pounded my head on the wall and really cried.
He saw that I was quite upset and backpedaled, "I'm sure it's just in your parent's car, Hope. Let's just assume that." 
I just nodded and continued loathing my terrible memory and cursing my idiocy.

And then I came here to blog. I was on facebook and suddenly remembered a certain picture I did take. We were walking to the parking lot at the airport, my dad and my husband dragging the suitcases behind them, my mom and I trudging along in the back. It was super hot and gross. I thought Instagram would be thoroughly entertained by our predicament (it's sad the things I decide are important enough to be broadcasted to the world). So I snapped a photo with my phone.
Here it is.

It's appropriately blurry because we were all so tired that's about what the world looked and felt like. 
But behold! The book is IN HIS HANDS. 
I was right.
The book is safe.
Not with us, but safe. In a hot car in the middle of september on the other side of the valley (it seems). Meeehhhh.
Also, I was right.
Annoying wife taking pictures of everything saves the day. 
Boom, baby.

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