Monday, March 2, 2009

Burgling Tip: Don't Eat First

Our first attempt to shove Amy under the garage door didn't go well.

George and I took a weekend trip to Rolla, in part to set up a booth and do juice tastings for one of my clients. That plan was half foiled when an unexpected snowstorm rolled in, cancelling one event with horrible roads. On the way to church, we missed our turn as we skidded down the hill in front of the church. Then on our way home, we had to push the car up a (different) hill, stumbling through six inches of snow in heels.

We finally had one tasting on Sunday, and then hit up a great Mexican place to reward ourselves with yummy chips and salsa. Piling family into two cars, we headed back to my parents' place to gather our things and head home. Only we arrived, keyless, to a locked house. After thirty minutes of waiting, haplessly re-testing doors and window locks, we decided to try shoving Amy beneath the crack left in garage door for the cat. It didn't work on our first try — we decided because we'd just eaten so recently. But a half hour of running outdoors improperly dressed made Amy digest just enough to shove through with George forcing the door up an extra inch. My parents, whose cell phones we could hear ringing through the front door, didn't show up for another hour. Walmart, they said, though we suspected a bout of bickering.

George watches a different kind of burning bush.

We were still awaiting their arrival when we started burning the ornamental grass in front of the house. (Yes, with permission.) The shrubbery sounded like fireworks when the blaze caught, fast and violent, melting our impatient anger away.

Dale enjoys a nap after lunch, living up to the credo
we gave him: Fiesta, then siesta.

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