It’s official. My children are now Junior Park Rangers in Grand Canyon and Death Valley. They’ve got their certificates, their badges and their patches. And you had better do what they say.
We just came back from America and it was a wonderful trip. After visiting my parents in Washington, DC, we took our kids out West. Showed them hot and spectacular Death Valley, the Hoover Dam, the no-words-can-really-describe Grand Canyon, and the majestic saguaro cactus of Arizona. (We also, unfortunately, showed them Las Vegas—which was a pornographic cheesy dump—don’t believe their family-friendly ads)
I also showed them around Venice Beach where I used to live when I was young and wacky. See, this is where Mommy used to live, this is where she used to eat sushi, this is where she used to drink extra large margaritas, this is her old boyfriend…
I don’t think the trip was the life changing experience for my children I had hoped it be (My god, America is the chosen one!) but I had a great time. The landscape is amazing, the people are incredibly friendly—“Y’all have a great day, now,” and there’s nothing more invigorating than driving down an open road, racing coyotes and eagles.
Anyway, we’re back in London where they tell me it was beautiful while we were away but where it is now nippy and raining. It’s good to be home though. And when we get over our jetlag (up wandering around all last night) it will be even better.
photo by Uncle Paul T “Birdman” (flickr)