A Good Home Leave Part II

The second half of home leave brought us to Springfield, Missouri where my in-laws could enjoy quality grandchild time. This was also their opportunity to show me their favorite parts of Missouri. But before we could kick back and relax in the "Queen City of the Ozarks," we took a road trip to St. Louis for a mix of birthday parties, mini family reunions, and good old American sight seeing. We got to enjoy the radiating humidity at the St. Louis Museum of Transportation and the muggy drip of the St. Louis Zoo. While they stole the kids for a day at the air conditioned Magic House, I treated myself to an oppressive steam bath by wandering the colonial streets of St. George. HUMID. But enjoyable too. 

Back home to Springfield, the kids left little time for relaxation. They were too excited to ride Grandpa's speed boat, work in his wood shop, and camp in the back yard. They were keyed up for Grandma's tea parties, movie dates and MANY trips to the parks. Deets and Margo obsessed over their Uncle Danny, eating their way through his cooking. 

After all these years, I finally had my in-laws to myself. Obviously I ached for Mark's hugs and company, but I never had quality one-on-one time with my in-laws.  It was a great chance to get to know them better and watch them shine in their hometown element.  I hope it was a good opportunity for them to know me better too. My time in Missouri left me wanting "just a few more days." I felt empty and anxious as the kids and I passed through airport security for our first of 3 legs over 48 hours to get to our new home. But I left feeling totally supported and loved despite the massive miles between us. That's what I call a good home leave. 

 

Transportation Museum, St. Louis MO
Knobs and dials too hot to touch. 

Doing science experiments with cousins at the hotel.

Sharing a St. Louis Zoo popsicle that matches the pond.

Gloriousness of boating in Table Mesa.

Trying not to pee my leggings.

The sweetness of reunions!

Playground master. 

I tried not to look up, fearing what was crawling up there.
I looked up.

My best friend putting me to work.

Two men and their rope.
Firefighting training center.

Taking lead for a fire rescue.

All day long. Seriously.

Beer with a view- at THE Bass Pro.

More please.

Just a small woodcarving habit.

 Outside Uncle Danny's restaurant.

And inside his bar. The pic is of Deets at 3 months.
This exact seat is reserved for him July 7, 2021.

Biding our last minutes few minutes together.

Chores on Douglas Mountain

Deets and Margo take their mountain chores seriously. They patrol the land looking for noxious weeds such as the Common Mullein, aka Miner's Toilet Paper. It's a very satisfying weed to pull out of the ground with it's shallow roots and soft, non-spiky texture.  They love watering the plants with Grandpa's super-soaker and hoisting up the newly filled bird seed feeders high into the trees. Almost immediately they get to watch giant blue jays gorge themselves. Margo and Deets helped with cleaning out my parents camper in exchange for taking naps/sleeping in it- they were both mortified to hear that we do not plan to use a camper when we move to Africa next month (as much as I LOVE sleeping on the ground...)

Probably the most entertaining chore of all is refilling the hummingbird feeders. My parents have several around the house and they go through about 3 gallons of boiled sugar water each week. With no wonder- at any time there are about 4 or 5 hummingbirds at each feeder, wings flapping up to 70x/sec and heart beats raging high as 1,260 beats/minute. Some are nice, others are bullies, dive bombing the others to gain position. Sometimes they dive bomb people too, so it's been an exercise in calmness and tranquility for me. I strongly dislike birds, but I have appreciated the challenge of capturing their movement mid-flight. 

Filling up the bird bath

Golden Gate Canyon State Park, Colorado

Years ago when I lived in Denver and obsessed with racking up miles on my bike, I would ride past Golden Gate Canyon State Park, 14 miles from the nearest city with only a cursory glance. Now back in Colorado without a bike but with bonus children, I decided to visit the park that I so often ignored. The park had something like 36 miles and 12 trails to pick from and I let the kids choose. They picked a 4 mile hike (out and back) along the Coyote Trail. We party crashed a group of birders, viewed a historic moonshine house, and the remnants of a liquor trolley that was quickly abandoned to nature after the repeal of prohibition. We hiked past cairn instagrammers and owners with cute-ugly dogs off leash. The children chased me down half the mountain with their proton-packs, obliterating the shadows and carrying on hefty conversations regarding their favorite meats to consume. Besides Margo accusing me of getting us lost when we completed our hike in the parking lot 200 feet further south than our start, attitudes were high all day. We even managed to stop off at the visitor center afterwards to feed the trout and terrorize the park employees. 

Abandoned space ship - per Deets

Blood red currants 

Seeing the forest through the trees.

Grays and Torreys 14,000 foot peaks in the background.

At the summit.

Margo's battle cry. 

Playing Ghostbusters.

Finding the Pirate's Booty

For months my dad planned to do a treasure hunt with Deets and Margo once they arrived. An ever meticulous man, he prepared the materials. The route. The execution. The booty. A few nights prior we sat down to sketch out the maps, and finalize them on properly burned parchment paper rolled into a scroll. He made a series of 4 maps that were hidden in the brush, paired with dinosaurs, clues to the next set. We set out on foot on a Sunday morning just as the sun rose over the ridge, undaunted by the scattered bleach white bones of animals past. We climbed past resting unicorns, defied the dragons and territorial snakes, and expertly maneuvered the Knee-Gash Narrows and ending up in a cave hidden from view by a tangle of agonizingly pokey dead tree branches. Deets and Margo discovered their booty here, a box full of fresh memories and those minted from my dad's childhood: Silly Putty, face paint, chocolate coins, Slinkies and Topps Ugly Stickers. Obviously the kids loved it and have since been scheming to go on another hunt. My favorite part was watching Deets go from being intimidated in reading maps, to independently navigating them- an obvious and meaningful life lesson. 

Discussion of navigating through Knee-Gash Narrows and past the rattle snake.

The walking stick- another wildly successful purchase.

Onto the next generation-
I saw this unicorn myself back in 1987.

The fiery dragon.

Not so fiery dragon.
Or maybe it's a cartoon dinosaur?

Leading with courage.

The big moment.

Carefully exiting the cave.

Reaping the rewards.

SPD->ATL->DCA

The countdown began during the Missouri vs. Oklahoma State Cotton Bowl Championships when my mother-in-law thrusted the pending forecast in my face: the Polar Vortex would likely change our travel plans. With home leave coming to an end in Springfield, we still needed to conquer 2 flights before landing in Virginia for language training. United Airlines, true to their low-level standards, they cancelled our flight and kept Mark on hold for several hours before getting disconnected due to phone-line overload. They stopped taking phone calls altogether. In the end it was Delta that took us under their wing and tentatively booked us for the following afternoon.

Waiting. And waiting some more.

Mark sure knows how to play his cards right. After getting our family on the standby list for an already four hour delayed flight, Mark predictably started chatting up fellow travelers. He spoke openly about our last two months of transit, his job, and his obvious adoration of his children. It just so happened that the couple he spoke with were Platinum Elite members with Delta who promptly walked up to the desk and requested we take their place in the standby list. It if weren’t for their generosity, we’d have missed the flight, but the best part was everyone ended up getting on the plane when Mark geniously suggested we give up Margo’s seat and put her in my lap. She howled like a banshee for most of the trip, but it was worth it. I think.

Landing in Atlanta, all other flights were delayed so it seemed we might actually make our connecting flight! Until we sat on the runway for 2 hours. The airlines were reinforcing an 8 hour work limit for all employees which meant no one could move. Seeing the terminal from our tiny windows was a little bit cruel, especially when we lurched forward, only to circle back and wait. I felt the blood slowly stagnate in my ass, feeling the loss of circulation creep down my legs as I stared at Margo who finally passed out in my lap. I didn’t dare move.

Thanks to record cold temperatures, the world’s largest airport could not function properly: the madness continued in the terminal with massive cancellations, leaving people confused, cold and stranded. Luckily we re booked the last leg of our journey for the following day but were left to our own devices to procure a hotel. Delta apparently gave away all their vouchers. 250 bucks and 8 hours later, all four of us rallied from downtown Atlanta back to the airport.

Deets literally begging for a nap.

Finally boarding onto the DC bound plane, we thought for sure people would be champing at the bit get going. Like slugs in molasses on a cold Tuesday morning, the passengers painstakingly took their seats but I particularly enjoyed the 82 year old woman in my row. She made cat noises at a gentleman who blatantly ignored the already stressed out flight crew as he repeatedly shoved his over sized carry-on into the overhead compartment. “Amatueur,” she said. When commenting about the cold she quipped: “These people think they know what cold is?! Ha! In Wichita, these temperatures are downright balmy. They need to buck up and deal with it.” Since my own best friend lives in Williston, ND with routine temperatures of -20 F, I’m inclined to agree with her. But I couldn’t stop my own teeth from chattering as I longed for warmer days.

Margo NOT screaming!

I don’t know how Mark did it, but the children slept the whole way. Finally, we landed in DC and proceeded to baggage claim to pick up most of our suitcases. In the end, Mark’s clothes didn’t make it out of Atlanta which is half funny since our Romania-Virginia air shipment did not contain but a single pair of pants of Mark’s. It might be my fault since I panicked about going overweight when we moved out of our house in Romania, he packed the majority of his clothes in the boxes that would arrive in Brazil (Nov 2014). Subsequently, he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past three days. Good thing he has a wife who’s already experienced that and could offer up fashion tips.