Dear Alison, Abigail and Mom,
As you know, Margaret and His Lordship, Amos and I all went to Moab for a week. What you may not realize is that going on vacation with Margaret is egs-aust-ing. Biking, hiking, canyoneering, all before noon. Granted it was so ungodly hot that you had to be done with your outdoor activities by then but still. First there's her generally high level of enthusiasm and energy, and then you add a few cups of Peet's and you've got yourself a doozy of a day planned.
Speaking of which, here's what happens every night around 9.
Marg: so, what are we going to do tomorrow?
HL: uh oh, she's on the planning barge.
Marg: no I'm not, I just want to know what time we are getting going in the morning.
HL: Planning barge.
Marg: It's late and I want to go to bed and I need to know what time to get up.
The sum of all this activity was afternoons spent in bleary comas, books askew on gently rising and falling chests, the comforting hum of the anemic air conditioner in the background. We'd rally around 6 or 7 for Paleo Dinner. No dessert. Occasionally we'd have a few prunes.