Nobody Expects the Spanish Imposition!

Didn't I tell you I had traveling tales? I do! It starts like this:
J was given a glorious chance. To complete two elective rotations, anywhere in the world he chose. Paris! Milan! Bora Bora! Anywhere!
We thought about it, we had many ideas. In the end, we decided that we'll have lots of chances to take trips to far flung locales*, but how often will we have the opportunity to impose upon our families for an extended amount of time?? For several reasons, I'm pretty sure just once! So we routed the family down by the Mexican border for a few months, camping the whole circus act, human, animal, vegetable, and Little One in a fabulous, free lodging that comes with occasional child-care and continental breakfast!
We wanted Little One to get to know her family. We wanted bonding, and quality time. And... oh. What a nice coincidence that we happened to go- to the dessert- during the nastiest, coldest, muddiest months of the DC year. heh heh. We chose a rotation in Arizona, which is coming up in February.
And in order to impose fairly upon everyone, we also chose one in a place that is, after all, pretty much foreign travel. Little One and I took Her 27th and 28th planes, and J and the doggies had an overnight road trip, and here we all are, in the country of Texas. Ooohh.

Texas is a strange, strange place, Peanuts. It's not everywhere that you can be vehemently damned to hell by a stranger on the street and blessed by a stranger in a restaurant in the same day. Texas is a place where the churches on each corner face off with grimacing porticos and steeple envy. A place where all the names of hospitals and schools are preceded by their respective denomination, where chaplains are part of the nursing staff in the ER, and people out to eat hold hands and close their eyes around little dishes of flan. A place so saturated with the Almighty can't help but do things on a grander, more omnipotent scale. What have we learned about Texas, Peanuts? We have learned that everything in the country of Texas is Big. The names of little stores are stamped on signs the size of my dining room, perched impressively on 60 foot posts. The vehicles on the freeway roar past my prius on gigantic tires and threaten to give it a swirlie later. The grocery store. Good gracious. It is BIG. It's all big. You will see.

The Playground is bigger...


The babydolls are bigger...


Chickens are much bigger...


And boots, well. The boots are much, much bigger.





*We have no supporting evidence for this decision. While we're at it we'd better "decide" to win the lottery and find a yaught in the back yard.