Shot in St. George

We attended Michelle's family reunion in St. George Utah this past weekend.

We traveled 1,657 miles by plane to get to SLC, then drove another 340-ish miles to our rental home in St. George Utah.  Four or five days later, we made the return trip.

All told, we traveled the equivalent of 1/5th the circumference of the earth.  Add in the stops for lunch, the potty breaks, the drive to and from the airports, and the Mt. Dew runs, and we probably could have circled the globe twice.

The reunion was a rush of unusual circumstances which culminated in me being shot in the face with a .22 caliber rifle.  Seriously.  OK, maybe the word "shot" is a bit over-dramatic, but you'll need to read on to get the full story.

We left last Wednesday afternoon and took the flight from Pittsburgh to Chicago in order to catch a plane from Chicago to SLC.  We landed in Chicago late... only 15 minutes to catch our next flight.  This wouldn't have been a big deal had we not also been forced to run from the A terminal to the B terminal inside Midway Airport-- a distance that rivals most marathons, I believe.  Add to this the kids dragging their feet, Amberlee falling on the moving walkway and refusing to get up, and then her well-placed kick to my most sensitive location (say no more), and it was a miracle that we got to our departing gate at all.  I had to virtually crawl to get there, though.  We had just minutes to spare as we were literally the last few through the Jetway before the plane left.  In fact, within seconds after exiting the first plane, we heard over the loudspeaker, "Last call for Flight 1428 with service to Salt Lake City."  Ah, the joys of air travel.  Seeing us run through the terminals must have been like watching a National Lampoons special.

Our Kids (most of them), poolside

We landed late that evening and left for St. George early the next day.  Five hours later, give or take, we arrived at our destination.  It was a fun experience getting there, though.  We did not bring our GPS nor did we rent one with our rental car.  Instead, we relied upon Michelle's new iPhone, which can give us directions provided we can type in the information correctly.  Since Michelle was navigator, her job was to type in the destination address while I drove our crappy rental car 85 MPH down the freeway.  Here is how that went:

Michelle (talking to the iPhone): "No, I don't want to go to Mexico!... (10 second pause)... No, I don't want to go to California!  I hate this phone!.... (10 second pause)...Now we are going to New York!  I give up!"

I then saw the phone go bouncing through the car as she vented her frustration.

Cade: "Give it to me."

I took the phone and did the typing as Michelle took over the steering wheel.  We made it.

The Navigator

The reunion was like other reunions... lots of kids, noise, and the occasional wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Somewhere in the middle of it all, we managed to eat, sleep, and get sunburned.

Admittedly, St. George is not my ideal vacation spot.  First, it is hell and gone away from a reasonably priced airport.  Second, it is dry, hot, and aside from the buildings and people, desolate.  Everything outdoors is the color of silly putty... the dirt, the rocks, the houses.  My retinas still see everything in shades of pink.

Preston "Mountain Man" Jensen

The first night began the conspiracy: the ladies left to go "grocery shopping" for the 3.5 day duration.  They were gone 3 hours, at least.  For much of that time, the men threatened mutiny and a trip to Pizza Hut.  $750 later, the ladies returned with enough groceries to pilot our own Costco.  I'm still not sure what the 40 lbs of potatoes, 2 quarts of vinegar, and 40 bags of microwavable popcorn were for (OK, family, I know there is going to be a rebuttal, but I'm just being honest).  Throw in the whole carrot cake and boxes of applesauce, and I could have sworn we were preparing for a wagon trip back to Independence Missouri.

We needed culinary help...

Our family slideshow, which we (Michelle and I.. though I'm more proud of my 1% contribution to it than she was of her 99%) produced for the family, seemed to be a hit.  Part way through it, the DVD player threatened to die on us, but I managed to keep it alive.   I'm trying to upload it to YouTube, so when that happens, I'll post it again for your viewing pleasure, if you dare.  We bought a computer, software, and burned through at least a dozen DVDs before it was done.

Amberlee posing with "The Shooter"

The storms seemed to gather when my in-laws took my target shooting, though.  Jason was the shooter, and I was the victim.  I always knew he was a bad shot, but this proves my theory.  After an hour or so of shotgunning clay pigeons, we turned our attention to rifles, mostly .22s and my new .22-250 (which I love).  Near the end of the rifling, I heard a bullet ricochet off a distant rock.  I had the premonition to go sit in the truck-- not sure why, but I behaved as all righteous men of outstanding church membership do.  I get in the truck and, leaving the door open, I watch from what I thought was a safe location-- 10 feet directly behind the shooters and at least 30 feet from the target.  A few moments later, Jason (the terrible shot I mentioned earlier) shoots his .22 at a target, and within a split second after I hear it "ping" the target, it pings me in the face... just above the upper lip, and dead-center.

Let me tell you, it was a small projectile, but it was moving, baby!  It smacked me hard enough to splatter blood on the truck's ceiling (see photo below), and i quickly began checking my teeth and mouth for tooth and/or bullet fragments.  Finding none (bullet fragments... I still had my teeth), I yelled, "STOP, I'M HIT!" and went about the duty of stemming the flow of blood out of the wound and all over my hands.

My blood spatter, middle center and middle upper parts of photo

Keep in mind that the volume of blood wasn't in "Wes Craven" amounts, but it was enough to make me think that 1) the bullet was still in my lip, and 2) the hole was big.  Clint, M.D., took over and provided me with an alcohol wipe and made sure in his estimation that the bullet was not lodged in my dermis.  I still think there is something lodged in my skin, though.  Shrapnel is a quality of a tough guy, no?

We made a pact on our way back home to not tell our wives, less we should lose our shooting privileges forever.  However, the Mecham's young son, whom we took with us, promptly shouted our situation upon walking through the front door of our rental home, spawning a rush of inquiries into the incident.

My thoughts: whatever guardian angel I've been assigned must be a doofus.  I say that with all possible respect, though.  I mean, I was prompted to get under cover to avoid possible ricocheting bullets, so I crawled into the truck and-- what happens?-- a get hit with a ricocheted bullet.  Some say it was a miracle I wasn't hurt worse... but, to me, there was no miracle at all.  To me, the miracle would have been to not get shot in the first place.  Or, to go to where I had been standing and see someone else lying there bloodied... or to see a smoking hunk of lead lying in my shoe prints.  My promptings put me in the line of fire... had I stayed where I was, we'd be laughing at the piece of lead that had lodged in Clint's surburban.

Ethan

In any event, the shot wasn't in my eye, so for that, I'm thankful.  Instead, it was centered perfectly between my nose and my upper lip, and between the right and left nostril.  It was a freak accident.  As for Jason, I have to rub it in...

Anyway, once the reunion was over, we traveled back to the Ogden area where I visited with my family for a day prior to our departure to Pennsylvania.  The bags made it, my gun made it, our kids made it... now back to reality.

Christmas Mira-ssacre 2011

By all accounts, the events of the last few days at our house would have qualified for front page news.  It started with parental threats of nonviolent consequences for misbehavior (i.e., "Santa isn't coming now because...").  The methods then switched to sibling interrogations-- "Preston, if you don't tell me what you did with the Wii remote, then Santa isn't coming to visit you."  From there, it went to full-fledged panic mode: "PRESTON, thanks for staying up past 8PM, now Santa is going to fly past our house because YOU ARE STILL AWAKE!"  It ended with a storm of wrapping paper that lasted about 30 minutes, followed by a new threats of returned gifts to the store for not putting them away, and then it all died in a hail of BB's.  And, somewhere in the middle, I burned the roast that was supposed to be for Christmas dinner.

And thus, Christmas came and went.  Hello... and good-bye.

I did manage to get some Christmas lights up around the house... see below.  Hope you like them.

Tree in our backyard

Our driveway

Road leading out of our subdivision

Our front yard

 Just kidding, of course.  These photos are of our trip to Hartwood Acres' light display.  If you recall, last year we tried this and, having forgotten our GPS, got lost on the way home, ending up about an hour off-course in a town called Slate Lick PA.  Our single light strand is proudly being displayed, wrapped around the handrail going out our front door, but the middle third of it isn't working...

Thanks to the Seneca Valley School District for insisting that school remains in session through Thursday, December 22nd.  After all, those last 4 weeks of Christmas program practices, movies, parties (without sugary treats, mind you), and coloring Santa and elf pictures IS an essential part of my children's education.  Yet, I can't really say that keeping them in school that long was a bad idea, either.  They've now been out of school for over a week and already we are gearing up to sign them up for boot camp at Ft. Bragg.

Our Christmases are kept small, low key, low maintenance.  We have bucked the trend on buying the latest trends in technology, toys, games, etc.  After all, its hard to explain why Santa will buy the cell phone whilst not paying the monthly bill.  Such is the cruel trick of modern technology... while Santa might deliver the latest iPad, he likely isn't ready to foot the bigger expense: the monthly service fees.  That is up to mom and dad or, in our case, the person claiming ownership of the new device.  That, dear children, requires a JOB.

And so, our 15 year old remains phone-less, though I can claim she's been involved in the decision.  She is perhaps in the 1% of kids today that does not have a cell phone, but we believe, later on, she'll be among the 1% of people that can actually afford to pay his/her monthly cell phone bill because she'll have learned by then to buy what she can afford via working, budgeting, and saving for it.  Its a lofty-- and risky-- maneuver, but one we are going through anyhow.  Seriously... I would love to get that new truck and pass the payments on to St. Nick, as I explained to her, but that is impractical.  Because her taste in things that she wants changes like a pair of underwear, she got a money tree for Christmas... the contents of which can be used to help her buy whatever piece of technology she can afford.  On the table is still the iPhone, but she has also shown interest in the iPod, Nook, etc, so its just a matter of her coming up with the difference to buy whatever it is she wants to buy-- monthly service fees, if applicable, included.

Ethan just wanted science stuff.  He's clearly moved out of the toy stage of life, which is sad.  So, Santa got him a few things related to science, plus a Wii game or two and a few other things.

Preston just wanted a green diesel truck that can tow his Hot Wheel cars.  Santa brought him a red one since green isn't the most popular color of diesel toy trucks, apparently.  He, like the others, got some other things as well.

Ambie got a few small toys, some dress-up princess bling, etc.  I didn't capture her reactions on the video recorder-- "Oh, its beautiful!" was all she said whenever the wrapping paper revealed anything inside of it.

Thus, our kids Christmas was complete.  All kids seemed to be happy with their share of the loot.

Oh, yeah... I also got each boy a new BB gun, which should explain the "hail of BBs" comment made earlier .  Preston got the infamous Red Ryder BB gun, and Ethan got a Daisy Grizzly pump action.  Already, we've shot roughly 3 million BBs at 4 targets and anything else that might fly overhead.  Thanks to the "community-owned" lot of trees in our backyard, I can easily conceal our fun, though I'm still not 100% sure that what we are doing is legal.  PA doesn't classify BB guns as "firearms", per se, yet somehow some person is going to see or hear us and before I know it, ATF agents will be dropping out of the sky on top of us.  I've learned that the BBs travel slow enough to not even completely penetrate a milk jug, so I think its pretty harmless entertainment that won't arouse any concerns amongst our neighbors or the Cranberry Police Dept.  Its fun to watch them, but all I do is get one gun ready to fire while the other kid is firing, and then I rotate.  Load, pump, hand off... load, pump, hand off... its about all I do.

They wouldn't wait for me to buy targets... they made their own out of styrofoam plates.

Michelle and I got a couple of things, but overall, we just enjoyed the madhouse that was the Christmas morning unwrapping party.  As I mentioned, we were pretty well done in about 30 minutes.

Michelle did help the kids make some Christmas cookies...

And, as usual, the Christmas Eve unwrapping of new pajamas...

We also tried a family portrait using the camera timer, which, oddly, made a better picture than we usually get when someone is behind the camera trying to get us all to look in his/her direction and smile...

My "gift" was the creation of Christmas dinner, which I did almost exclusively.  On the menu: smoked brisket, which I thoroughly burned (accidentally); creamy scalloped potatoes, frog-eye fruit salad, chef's salad, dinner rolls, country steamed green beans... and some other things I forget.  Aside from the meat, it was all pretty good.  I also made white peppermint fudge and cinnamon rolls.

Incidentally, I'm currently preparing the next brisket for the smoker.  The Christmas error can't tarnish my reputation.  So, Round #2 of BBQ is on tap for New Years Eve dinner.  Hold your breath.

As for me, I've had the week off of work.  I thought I'd enjoy it... and, for the most part, I have.  But, clearly I've run out of things to do, and now I'm just a family annoyance.  I made leaps of progress in the basement... nearly all the finish carpentry is done.  But, I suppose, like school, my professional work can't come fast enough for many in this house.

We did make and send Christmas cards... if you didn't get one, we are sorry.  We print out a certain number, realizing that we can't send them to all of our friends and family.  So, see below...

Front...

... and back.

Also, to the mailman or thief or whomever now has the Christmas card with gift cards that I mailed to my mom and dad... I hope you enjoy them.  I'm not 100% sure that they were stolen, but I did mail them to my folks on Dec 20th and they still have not arrived.  I realize the Post Office is slow and their future is uncertain, but even the Pony Express wasn't this slow.  My guess is some nut-job is sitting in the Outback right now, enjoying a Porterhouse while reading the latest and greatest B-and-N novel.

Halloween 2011

Behold, the Mystery Inc Team...

The fake, real ones...

The real, fake ones...

Michelle was Scooby Doo (not really), and I was the Lake Monster (no costume required).

Diversity Day, Amish Fraud, and a Deceitful Zoo

It was a whirlwind day today.  I learned that the weather today was supposed to be good, so a couple days ago, I announced plans to visit the Pittsburgh Zoo.  My hope was that it would be a family activity, but only half of the family showed up.

Starting at roughly 10AM today, I took Ethan, Preston, and Amberlee to Soergel's Orchard in Wexford (http://www.soergels.com/).  Chrissa was not going to go to the zoo (how childish), and Michelle wanted some time away from the kids.  But, in the 3 years I've been here, I've never stopped by the orchard.  Michelle and the kids have, though.  Our mission: to find the perfect pumpkins that we could carve up, chop up, mark up, etc, and leave out on our step until they became a moldy mess.  We were able to find just the right ones, but it took real will-power to resist the fresh apple cider, apple cider donuts, apple cider funnel cakes, apple cider this, apple cider that... not to mention the BBQ, hot dogs, and other delectable grub.

From the orchard, we took off to the zoo, only to find out that, as we entered the parking lot, all the kids were in Halloween costumes.  Ugh... my well laid plans were suddenly at the mercy of a bunch of kids dressed as Super Heroes.  Reason: Ethan never goes to things out-of-place, and as if on cue, he began to pout that HE was not dressed up, too.  And, to make it worse, they all had trick-or-treat bags ready to be filled.

Yep, it was ZooBoo Day at the Pittsburgh zoo, and my kids arrived without a costume.  Clearly, I had missed the memo.

But, we entered anyway, thankful to the zoo employees handing out free bags to the kids (and parents) dopey enough to miss the notification of the zoo's biggest day of the fall.  Oops.

We grow 'em big in PA... this monster was 1250 lbs.

Before we went in, though, I had a small run-in with the ticket lady.  Last season, we purchased season passes, which came with 4 free "guest passes" that could be used at any time... or so we were told.  I presented them to the ticket lady, which she promptly took, and then proceeded to tell me that the zoo was no longer honoring them.  Eh... what?  We exchanged words... mine mostly dealt with the personal belief that the zoo took us for a ride to get us to buy last season's passes, only to NOT honor the free passes that came with the deal.  I didn't know what her responses were... didn't really listen or care.  Secondly, she asked the age of all the kids.  I said: Ethan is 8, Preston is 5, and Ambie is 2.

Her: "Is she 24 months or older?"
Me:  "What do you mean?"
Her: "If she is older than 24 months, she gets charged the kid prices ($12!)."
Me: "She's 2."
Her: "I need to know if she's 24 months old or older, sir."
Me: "She is 2, and that is all you are going to get.  If you are now starting to ask for how many MONTHS our kids are, maybe we'll just go to the museum next time.  They don't ask there."
Her: "Alright... one adult, 2 kids... have a nice day."

And so, we went in.  Hey, I figured if I got screwed out of the free passes, they can get screwed out of one of the not-free passes.  Not an Even-Steven situation, but I felt better afterwards.

The zoo was your typical place of relative diversity... all kinds of species, both native and exotic, some scary and gross, some that should stay burrowed in their homes, some that looked like they'd be dragged through the dirt, others that looked like they'd been pampered since birth.  And, the animals were fun to look at, too.

Either gorillas, or a photo of a typical Pittsburgh street curb. 

But, a couple weeks back, Ethan decided to enter a school contest (these contests are really ruining my home life... see prior blogs on the kitchen contest) where he'd enter an exhibit that he put together that shows others what diversity means to him.  My sneaking suspicion is that "diversity" in this context means diversity of people.  I'm tired of that.  So, I "encouraged" him to focus on the diversity of animal life while at the zoo.  He took photos of animals... some out of focus, some blinded by the flash, some with half their bodies out of the picture.  We did get some good photos, though.

Not to be outdone by our counterparts in the other categories of our animal kingdom, the people visiting the zoo were hysterical, too.  And, weird.  Example: we watched the polar bear play with a large blue plastic barrel while swimming in his pool.  He was having a great time.  The lady behind me, however, was seeing something totally different than I was.  Being the good, tree-hugging mom that she was, she told her daughter, who was probably 5 years old: "Look!  The polar bear has learned how to recycle!"  Isn't that nice?  The mere act of playing with a discarded barrel shows that even at an elementary level of animal phyla, we can all still learn the valuable, Earth-saving lessons of post-consumer reclamation.  How nice.  And, to think that I thought the bear was just playing with a piece of garbage...

The Recycling Bear, apparently...

Also, Preston, on our way out, said that his favorite animal was the chicken.  Huh?  I told him that there were no chickens in the zoo.  "Yes sir, dad... it was the chicken that we could shoot for Thanksgiving."  Ah, it was the TURKEY.  But... did I really pay $35 to get these kids in for the purpose of seeing their favorite animal: the elusive wild turkey?  They only run wild through Pennsylvania in flocks... drive enough, and you'll likely run one over.

Thought this was a good pic of the boys in the polar bear exhibit, till I noticed the girl in red on the right.
What's she pickin'?

And so, the day of diversity was done.  Almost.  The last note of fun was the Amish family that was entering the zoo just as we were leaving.  Being late in the day, their horse must have gotten tired on the trip, causing their tardiness.  Regardless, however, they were there... the kids without shoes, the men in straw hats, the women in their traditional blue and black full length dresses.  Clearly, they were not orthodox, though... simply being at the zoo seemed to tell me that they weren't as isolated from the world as traditional Amish tend to be.  But, as we were leaving, proof of an Amish conspiracy made itself plainly clear to me.  Old Man Amish, who had to be the grandfather, was sitting on a motorized Rascal, ready to tear through the zoo on 6 volts of horsepower.  And, this guy was heavy... at least 350 lbs.  Call me a conspiracy theorist, but... an Amish family, at the zoo, one of them on a motorized scooter?  Uh... no.

While leaving the zoo and thinking about the Amish family, I had to reflect on one particular "candy table" up near the polar bear pond.  Whereas most vendors were handing out candy to the kids (except for the hippies passing out BOTTLED WATER AS A HALLOWEEN TREAT), one guy with world peace on his mind was handing out CFL bulbs.  You know... the curly-cue type that are supposed to last a thousand years and save you a million dollars.  Yeah, what a treat, eh?  I wonder now... did the Amish guy take one?  That'd be the smoking gun of an Amish conspiracy to me: the acceptance of a modern day CFL light bulb.

See our photo slideshow on the right.

The Summer of '11

With great sadness, I announce the passing of the Summer of 2011.  *sniff*

Its almost criminal how fast the summer has gone.  Though Michelle will undoubtedly disagree with me-- having put up with 4 kids since mid June without killing or selling any of them-- I cannot believe that, starting this Wednesday, our kids will be back in school and another summer in the Jensen family will pass into history.

Chrissa will be in High School.  Yeah, HIGH SCHOOL.  Wasn't it just a year or two ago that we were walking her to kindergarten at Iona Elementary?

Ethan will be in the 3rd grade.  He was lucky enough to get Mrs. Hester's class, who we have heard is a really good teacher.  I guess we'll find out if the rumors are true.

Preston-- my little Preston-- enters kindergarten.  Mrs. Follett will be taking over his afternoons now.

I can handle Chrissa in High School and Ethan in 3rd grade.  I cannot handle Preston in kindergarten.  Seems like yesterday that he was running around in diapers holding everyone hostage with his double-barrel shotgun (toy, of course).

Its Preston's entry into school that has me so down right now.  Its impossible to believe that he has been with us for 5 years and is ready to enter public education.  So I guess that means we have had 5 years to train him and teach him, and public education has the next 13 years to ruin it all.

To make this part of my life even harder to take, the leaves on the trees in Cranberry Township, Pennsylvania are starting to turn colors.  Slowly, from the tops of the trees, one can easily see the green turning into reds and yellows.  I'm half tempted to climb the trees in our own yard to spray paint the leaves green again, hoping to slow time down a bit.

The summer is over, though, and no amount of paint will change it.  We had some good times-- trips to New York, Washington DC with "Little Lisa", and quick day trips to other parts of New England.  We had concerts and baseball games.  We enjoyed movies in the park and evenings on the deck watching the lightning bugs.  We had some not-so-good times, too.  Dare I say Memorial Day in Arlington National Cemetery?  Recall that the day was 105-degrees in the shade, and the only good thing about it was the fact that if we were to actually die from the heat, it would have been a short trip to a suitable grave site.

Anyhow, back to the books, I suppose.  This year hinges upon success in 10th grade Algebra 2 and Chemistry.  Stand by for updates to those... I'm certain they'll be "informational".  In the mean time, I'll go back to relishing the couple of remaining years until our last child takes the monumental step into kindergarten.  At that point, I'll become completely insane and likely forced into aggressive therapy and involuntarily medicated.

The Perils of Movies in the Park

Though we had been trying to attend one of the many "Movies in the Park" events in and around Pittsburgh all summer, we had failed to do so... until this past Friday.

"Yogi Bear" was playing at the Ohio Township Park, about 10 minutes from our home.  Off we went at dusk to see it, bringing along all of our kids, things to eat, lawn chairs, blankets, and so forth.  We entered the hillside theater looking like the Clampetts.

Chrissa did not want to go.  It was uncool to go with parents and family to see "Yogi Bear" in the park.  But, we made her go anyhow.

Movie Theater... on the backside of the barn

She insisted on being "EMU" to show her disgust with us.  EMU, in teenage-speak, means "extra mixed up", but we thought, in her case that night, it meant "extra moody and ornery".  She walked around with her hood on, string pulled tight, looking like the Unabomber.

The show was great and the kids loved it.  The night was cool, but not unpleasant.

The fun really started when we got home.  As if on cue, Preston, Amberlee, and Ethan had a Fukushima-style meltdown, and within a matter of minutes, all were crying and having a complete fit.

So, I'm not sure the movie was worth it.  We had about an hour and a half of good times followed by an hour of a screaming protest.  Either it was the late hour or the movie that did them in.  We can't tell.

Back to DC, Again

Being an exceptionally good brother, I took the liberty of driving to Washington DC at 4AM last Sunday to spend the hottest day of the year touring the city for one day with my sister.  Rising at 4AM is challenging enough, but considering the fact that we had attended the Pirates – Cardinals MLB game the night before (and didn’t get our heads to the pillow until 12:30AM), I hope you have an even greater appreciation for my effort / insanity, whichever you prefer.

The thermometer read 97 at 10AM, the moment we arrived at Arlington Cemetery.  Ninety-seven degrees at 10AM should qualify the whole DC metro area as “hell”, literally.  Most of us believe Washington DC is part of hell anyhow, but Sunday had the associated temperatures to go with it.  The only thing that should be that hot at that hour is my breakfast.

I had a plan in my head to make a giant circle in the cemetery to catch the “biggies”… the Tomb of Unknown Soldiers, JFK, and out.  But my plan took a different turn when I lead Lisa and her friend up the wrong road, meaning they were able to take a short cut, but I had to run myself and Amberlee, whom I took along and placed in the stroller, back down the road and around in order to catch up.  We had about 10 minutes to get to the Tomb to see the changing of the guard.  Despite the fact that I was already sweating profusely, the run made it even worse, and I arrive at the guard looking like I had fallen in the creek.

Ironically, I nearly stumbled over the headstone of my employer—George Westinghouse.  If you recall, my blog about our trip to Arlington over Memorial Day this year told of our quest (unsuccessful) to find his headstone.  The heat beat us at that game, and we gave up.  This time, I nearly tripped over the stupid thing.  I wasn’t looking for it, and it was not in the location that the Grave Locator gave me prior to our earlier trip. 

We made it to the Tomb a few minutes before the changing of guard, though, but the heat was nearly unbearable.  The sun, the humidity, even the white marble steps were radiating enough heat to melt lead.  Ironically, I got a sense of coolness once the guards showed up in full uniform—wool, mind you.  And, we had a laugh after the ceremony at their pronunciations for various commands: “forward, march” and “present, arms” were pronounced “phrmaod, ar” and “prsneant, ar”.  We were certain they were using the coded nasal pronunciations to say to each other, “HOLY CRAP, dude, it’s so hot that the birds are using hot pads to pull worms out of ground!” 

We then tried for the Holocaust museum, but it was packed.  I didn’t understand the irony of visiting the Holocaust museum on the hottest day of the year till later.  I know, I know… bad pun.

We went to a couple of Smithsonians, then decided to tour the outside memorials in the evening—when it was supposed to be cooler.

Uh-huh… at 10:30PM, the temp was still 95 degrees.  But, we ventured out anyway, sweating like cats in a Korean deli.

We stayed the night at the Hyatt on Capitol Hill, which was a nice place, provided that you could get out once you got in.  Long story.  And, they failed to let us know of the $41 parking fee for the night.  Oh well.

The best parts of the trip were the Metro rides and the air conditioned cafes inside the museums.  The Metro kept getting delayed, but we were OK with that… it was well air conditioned, too, and tempting to just say, “Lets stay on the metro for a while.”

It was a fun short trip.  It really got fun when we were so hot and sweaty that we got delirious to the point that even the little miniature models in the American History Museum set us into uncontrolled laughter.

Ambie was a gem.  The little thing did not complain at all. 

To add some perspective, while watching the local news that night, we learned that 3 people had passed out at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier that afternoon from heat exhaustion.  Walking through the cemetery and around Washington DC was like being stuffed in a pressure cooker.  No breeze and air that seemed to wrap around you.  Everywhere we went, it got worse because as the sweat evaporated off of us, it only added to the humidity that immediately surrounded our faces.  

But, it was fun.  I just recommend to anyone that plans to visit DC in the future… do NOT go there between May and September.