Of Canyons Grand and Memories Old

“It was hard work, took a long time,
but I dug it myself, with a pick and a shovel.
If you want to know what I done with the dirt,
just look south through a clearin’ in the trees
at what they call the San Francisco Peaks.”

- John Hance, early Grand Canyon guide

We never went anywhere much when we were little – first we were too busy trying to survive in a gang neighborhood, then we were too busy enjoying the safety we had outside the gang neighborhood. We would go to museums on free days, but, except a trip to the Field Museum to see the Titanic (and touch it, in my case – I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to since I couldn’t read yet), we went nowhere.

That has changed in recent years. We visited relatives when Joy got out of college, and then again in 2012. We did something unprecedented last year and gallivanted off to Carlsbad Caverns without seeing a single relative. Now we’re off to the Grand Canyon – something Joy has wanted to do since she was little.

I tell people we’re making up for lost time now that we can appreciate things. That’s not strictly true; I’ve been able to appreciate things as long as I can remember. But since I didn’t have the endurance required for a full afternoon at the zoo, I would have died at the Grand Canyon.

We’re hoping that it’s as grand as we’ve been told. (If not, I’ve just spent the last week packing – or, more accurately, yelling at my sister – unnecessarily.) We’re hoping we don’t fall over and go kaput from the heat. (That’s the scientific term – “go kaput.”) We’re hoping we can survive after waking up at 3 in order to go kayaking on the Colorado River. We’re also hoping that we have air conditioning in our hotel room.

Above all, we’re hoping that we don’t run out of gas, or get abducted by aliens, or get lost in a Native American reservation, or anything else that we almost did last year. 

(No joke, not even the aliens - we arrived in Roswell during the alien festival.)

Two Days

Going to Ecuador used to be so far in the future that it seemed it would never happen.  It was always "at the end of Christmas break next year" or "at the beginning of spring semester next year" or "in less than a year" or "at the beginning of next semester" (that was when it started being scary) or "in two months."

Now it is "in two days." Less, even. For those who are wondering, two days is not a lot of time. I have so much to do, to get myself ready, to get my family ready, to make sure that things at home will run smoothly while I am away, and even to make sure that things at church will run smoothly while I am away.

My suitcases are currently holding an odd assortment of things that are not nearly everything that I want to bring. The living room looks for all the world like the house threw up in it. I've never packed so much for one person in my life. And seriously, how much do I need? How much will I even use?

My internal dialogue, for the past two weeks, has run something like this:

Will I really use my Hebrew textbook? (Yes, I will. I want to know Piel verbs when I get back [whatever that means])
Will I use my pocketknife? (I would, but I like it too much to potentially lose it. That goes back in my bedside drawer.)
Will I use my driver's license? (Probably not, but it would feel weird to leave it.)
Do I seriously need this many clothes?! (Yes, I do, because I'll be gone for two months.) 
 Could mace possibly come in handy? (It would if American Airlines would only allow it.)
Don't forget the passport. (how could I possibly forget my passport? It's the most important document I have!) Trust me, that's why I reminded you, self.

If you read that, you saw that I'm verging on schizophrenic.