The Flying Hotdog

Forrest is deep into his flight training, sailing back and forth across the skies in the flying hotdog (Chinook) which- against all expectations- I have grown to love. The Chinook is the helicopter that carries everything, namely soldiers, aid, food and other helicopters (I kid you not). It is a stud muffin. A workhorse. The Daddy of the copters.

These pilots-in-training eat, sleep and breathe helicopters, and their enthusiasm is contagious- which is lucky, because the subject is otherwise a little dry. Engines? Rotor systems? Instruments? Torque? Thrust? Weather patterns? Brain pain indeed.

I approach the whole thing from my own angle. Visual. I drew a little picture to put in Forrest's study folder for the purpose of making him smile amid the stress of academics. Some eagle eyed class member caught sight of it, and consequently I'm being asked to draw the class 'plaque'. A picture of the pilots-in-training and their aircraft that is presented to their instructors upon graduation. Pens and paper standing at attention? Affirmative Captain (officer /lieutenant.....). What did I just get myself into?!

You say tomayto, I say tomahto!

Capturing the taste of summer in pickled and oven-dried tomatoes. Preparing for the winter months when those trusty red orbs lack a little of their Summer luster. Rudy is co-ordinated for the colour theme of the day. My pretty little boy is so patient with my style choices for him :)

Drawing is taking a momentary back-seat while I've been researching block-printing techniques. I grabbed caution with two hands, looked it in it's nervous face and tossed it into the wind. I then ordered the printing press that I've been arguing with myself about lately. I'm ready to add a little somethin'-somethin' to my usual style of work. With two books that I illustrated for Philo Trust being published in time for Christmas, some new ideas for my very own Children's book have been whirling about in my head. It's time to put the coffee on and kick the brain into gear. I've been slipping a bit. Distracted by 100 different things. But now...new season, new page, new work. Come on.

By the way, the oven-dried tomatoes were a winning idea that I lifted from one of my favourite foodie blogs; Tea and Cookies. Always, always a good read.

Summer folds up her Beach Towel.

I welcome Autumn with a smile. I've got love and hugs for this season, as I contemplate the cosy allure of woolly socks and hot chocolates. The resident horse has mastered a winning technique for high-jumping onto the bed- stealthy as a ninja- so that the dark mornings come into focus with doggy kisses as four paws sneak along my side of the bed. The boy knows who feeds him, apparently.

There are end-of-the-Summer bike trips to lakes and the beach, as we cling on to the sunshine with fondness. Matching neckerchiefs for Rudy and me is October Vogue, and a 1lb burger challenge at the weekend firmly closes the door on swimsuit season.

October arrived with pride and a paintbrush.

When you are as impatient a person as I am, waiting out the greencard application process can get a little fraying on the nerves. The eternity that it takes is a unique sort of torture- in the limitations that it places upon you, where you sit around twiddling your thumb -wishing you could work- while you try and find purpose in every day. There is at least an upside to this state of limbo, and rather than lamenting the limitations of my predicament, I am coaching myself to appreciate the time that has been gifted to me as a result of it.

Once we get past the mundane details of housewifeliness- the washing, the sandwich making, the cleaning, the shopping- I have hours stretched out before me for illustrative adventures, craft projects, baking and quality time with the fam-damily.

My treasure of a husband was recently promoted to 1st Lt. and the great honor was bestowed upon me to pin on his new rank and give him a punch (an Army tradition that I was more than happy to continue). Seeing Forrest work so hard every day, and meeting his friends who are some outstanding guys makes me proud to be part of this community, and proudest of my pancake making, football playing, copter-flying husband. To mark the occasion, I made him a....well....dinner tray, actually. Not the most elegant or romantic of gifts but hey, we Neumanns are all about practicality! Inspired by the four-legged-wonder-Rudy- and Forrest's other interests, the design is quite pleasing to me. After painting, I covered the whole thing in varnish, for luck (and protection).

So congrats, 1st Lieutenant Neumann....next time I won't punch you quite so hard!

Durango and the long road home......

When I think of Durango in future, it will almost certainly be set in my mind along side the colour turquoise. There will be a taste of honey on my tongue, and I'll no doubt have a hankering to throw on a cowboy hat and just slow down a little. My experience of Colorado so far has been most therapeutic. My only previous visit to this state has been the Denver airport, where I once drank a pumpkin frappuccino on Halloween and walked about 20 miles whilst trying to find an illusive departure gate. It's funny what you remember.

By this point in the trip our bodies were opting for the most leisurely activities, which wound up with us spending our final day at a lake in Animas Valley, reclined at the waters edge, sharing our picnic with a chipmunk.

Our journey back into town took us past 'Honeyville', which- amid the giant rainstorm we were caught in- sang to me like a choir of angels. I was inside that place before Forrest had even parked the bike.

To my delight there was a real beehive inside a glass case and a pipe through which bees could buzz in and out of the building, quite at their leisure. We emerged from the store an hour later weighed down with more honey than you could shake a stick at, and high as kites from all the flavours we'd sampled. Seriously though- amaretto honey? Cinnamon? Spiced apple? I challenge you to resist. My Nanna used always used to say my eyes were bigger than my belly, as I'd lie beached after some cookie raid or other. Old habits die hard. I am a piglet.

So I was becoming a little teary eyed and sentimental about this place. We were sleepy and almost ready to be home, but goodness knows I've fallen head over heels for Colorado. The cool air, every view being unique and beautiful, the lakes, the wildlfe, and my own heightened awareness and appreciation of all these things. On the flipside, I will not miss John Denver playing on repeat in my head and on the radio, as if it's the price that must be paid for being here. 'Colorado Rocky Mountains High'- goodbye and goodbye.

So it was time to pack our bags and get skidaddling. The GPS was again stating '659 miles until your next turn', and energy drinks were back in style. Somewhere in Oklahoma we snatched 4 hours of sleep, sleep-walked to the coffee machine, wondered if our brains were still knocking around inside our skulls somewhere, then hit the road for another 17 hours without later remembering a single mile of it.

But of course it isn't all yawns and wails of despair, because it was hard to suppress a smile every time I thought of what awaited us at home. Rudy, the world's biggest, bestest puppy did everything he could to restore our enthusiasm in being back here. The boy is a champ, I think I'm glad to be home :)

Shiny, pretty things (and sandy rocky things) at the Mesa Verde.

These were some of the last days before the bike went back on the trailer. Being keen to remain wind-beaten and sunkissed for as long as possible, Forrest and I rode from Moab to the Mesa Verde with Forrest acting as an on-board radio to keep me awake. Him singing with tuneless abandon, and me doing the arm dances cost us a glance or three as we passed through lights and stop signs, but oh well.... wearing a helmet is such a useful disguise when embracing your inner-crazy.

We arrived at the Mesa Verde National Park at the exact moment a giant storm came to greet us. The weather had been our friend and foe with remarkable fickleness up until this point, so donning our jackets and putting our faith in sun god, we ventured forth, only to find ourselves at the top of the mountain an hour later, shedding layers and squinting against the bright sky. Lovely.

It was fascinating to learn about the lives of the Puebloans, and to see the cliff dwellings that still remain at the Mesa Verde. The museum boasts a fabulous array of jewelry, arrowheads, pottery, clothing and all sorts of other intricate handmade items that make today's destined-for-garbage products seem hugely disappointing. The skill and the artistry of those native dwellers is pretty amazing to be able to see, staring back at you from the inside of a glass case hundreds of years later. I am not much known for my love of history (to the despair of Dad- an ex history teacher; and my husband- a history nut. Or, just a nut.), but something about the lives of native Americans really piques my interest. Plus, they made the coolest shoes, so of course I'm paying attention!

Descending the mountain as the sun was setting, I almost inhaled my tongue when somebody exclaimed 'Look, a bear!'. Basically just a dark speck to the naked eye, Eb produced a telescope- Mary Poppins-like from his bag- and all of a sudden the bear could not have been more real as padded along the edge of the forest; muscular and majestic. This is the first bear I have ever laid eyes on, and back home in Alabama I get the feeling armadillos and boll weevils may have lost a little of their novelty. A bear. I couldn't believe it.

From this point onwards, every single corner we turned boasted a new and spectacular view, with shadows from the sunset falling across the mountains. With all the resolve we could muster, we finally tore ourselves away from the Mesa Verde, and found ourselves back in Cortez, at the Main Street Brewery which does the meanest brew I have ever tasted. 'Mean' as in awesome. Like 'bad' when it means good. Y'know....

We left some hours later with promises to return in December, navigating handshakes with the charming German owner and a whole box of souvenir beer (really, Forrest? necessary?!). Wheels turning once again, it's back to Durango as we lament the soon to be final days of our trip. First though, I've got a date with the chocolate shop, so let's get to it!

Desert days, I love you a lot.

Our adventures in Moab seemed to me the kind of thing you read about in books. Whizzing around the canyon roads on the back of the bike, snapping pictures and identifying rock types- it felt as though Christmas had come early. An unusually hot and sandy Christmas- I grant you- but a gift, nonetheless.

My Father-in-law is one of those people who is useful to have around. An endless font of knowledge, and with the kind of internal compass that makes me look entirely lost at sea, Eb pretty much had our itinerary listed in the most time-effective schedule you could ever hope to achieve. The happy result of this was that during two days we did all these things:

*Visited the Canyonlands. Drove down the most treacherous canyon trail that thanks Forrest's 'hilarious' pranks and one-inch-from-the-edge driving, is sure to haunt my nightmares. Love you too, dear husband.

*Filled our water bottles from a fresh spring in the rocks (water has never tasted so clean).

*Journeyed through the Arches National Park where we encountered nature in all it's rocky, lizardy loveliness. The arches appeared to be playing musical statues, remaining frozen in one gravity-defying arrangement after another. Riding underneath a cloud-strewn sky, we got battered for 5 cheerless minutes by a fleeting rainstorm, just to remind us that we weren't infact on the surface of Mars. Then it was 500 degrees again, and we all fried.

*Also: sipped some local brews; marveled at the native art and ceramics; fell in love with the 'kokopelli' characters; tirelessly ate breakfast waffles like a hungry, hungry horse; sampled my first (and definitely not my last) affogato (gelato and expresso in a cup); sunburned my right leg, arm and cheek, which didn't do alot for my general appeal, but made me laugh out loud in the shower.

Then almost without warning, it was time to leave. So we did. Back to Durango, via Cortez and the Mesa Verde National Park. Not a moment to spare, so bike helmets on, ensure my ears are still attached to my head, and GO! Ok then.