...it burnss us, Preciousss

Sage looked a little goopy around the eyes last night, and sure enough, we all woke up to this. Sometimes, it's really okay NOT to share...














Please refer to our house as 'Barad-dûr' in all future correspondence. Thank you.

Wheel-side down.

I was able to ride after work, finally got my wheels back in the dirt and out and away from pavement, debris and noise.

There's no adequate way to explain the feeling of despair that sets in as you madly flail at the pedals, hoping against hope that the endorphins will kick in soon. The approach to the mesa trail that is my daily escape is several miles of gradual uphill, winding between prairie dog colonies and cactus, scrub oak and rock.
Then, as unwelcome as underwear for Christmas, there is several hundred yards of steep scree, gravel and watermelon-sized rocks on the final, and steepest hill... I try and ride the hill clean
(no stopping to rest, push, or occasionally, throw up) and usually end up just shy of the dry heaves and with a heart rate somewhere around 'hummingbird.' Yes, I do this for fun.
Once you get past thinking too much and reach the state of mind where you no longer have to consciously direct your breathing, your arms, your legs... there's a powerful moment where you lose the little voice behind your eyes that constantly natters away, and there is just gestalt existence. If you can maintain that between-thought state, there's no arrangement of mere words that will convey the sense of flow, of reading the curves and leaning in, pushing against the earth itself... and feeling it kick away beneath you, leaving you free to float for a moment before gravity catches you.

Somewhere in the rush and flow, everything that has weighted me down throughout the day is... gone. Sweat isn't generally thought of being an aid to gaining perspective on life, nor is dirt, and yet, they are my catalyst.

The only thing that makes a good ride sweeter is looking back and seeing Tammy and the kids stretched out in a train of happy noise and tumult. It's proof that the very best things in life are not diluted when shared among family and friends, only multiplied.

Life is awfully sweet.

- Ryan

Worth my weight in plastic eggs

And, Lo, there were chocolate bunnies in those days, and they waxed strong except in direct sunlight or when they were left where Sage could find them. And those that ate of the head without first eating of the body were cursed unto the fifth generation, and smitten with Easter grass until they were very nearly sore.

Tammy made crepes for Easter breakfast, and yea, verily, they were full of awesome. Well, once you added the fruit and pudding and cream and sprinkles and jam and made what is technically known as a 'ball,' anyway.

Ana introduced us to the fine Eastern European sport of egg fighting, in which you hold your egg and either hit someone else's, or they hit yours. Symbolic of the... the... the fearsome egg-wielding Cthulhu enthusiasts that used to smite the unbelievers' eggs with other eggs, I guess.
Twas great fun until Ashley had her Grandmaster of Egg-Fu medals taken away after the Olympic Committee caught her using a plastic egg. Tammy then trumped that by using an already-shelled egg for maximum rubbery impact. Soooo glad that the fridge no longer smells like a sulfur-emitting volcanic vent...

I learned a valuable lesson: never, ever attempt to explain the digital mapping of a waveform as an analogue for how truth is passed on. It may take counseling and/or a few hits with a mallet to get those poor kids in my class to be able to blink normally again.

The happiest times in my life are the simplest, such as the daily wind-down, late in the evening. It's when Tammy and I just talk about... whatever. The kids come through and either ask for kisses or hugs and wander off to bed (sometimes eight or nine times in Sage's case, who also, as a bonus, occasionally begins vacuuming at 11:00 pm.)
Nice to have everything that matters to me safe and warm and accounted for, hatches battened down and all dreaming of the next big adventure.

- Ryan

...all this and puppet stew

Things are close to normal again after a chaotic February.

I'm fully recovered from surgery and enjoying my new life as a woman even more than I thought possible. The kids are looking forward to spring break and hyper as little crack monkeys on... um, crack.

Tammy is beautiful like a thousand sunrises.

Ana's around here somewhere, but likely on Skype and not paying attention to us.

We're going to try and figure out the formatting and graphics angle to the blog, so if you log in and immediately start a grand mal seizure, Tammy says it's my fault.

- Rhino