On our first day of vacation at the Grand Canyon, we drove into the East gate and stopped at the Watchtower. The watchtower sits close to the edge of the Canyon, with four stories to climb up for spectacular views. The nearness to the entrance gate and the spectacular views means many people stop there for their first view of the canyon.

Which means crowds.

Even on a Wednesday.

We arrived close enough to sunset that most of the other people there were also arriving at the end of a long day of travelling.

At least, that's what i'm convinced was the reason for the large, red-headed woman used to explain why it was okay to scream at her children in front of everyone. The child was about to take a picture that his mother didn't want taken (with a digital camera, no less); the picture was not of his mother, so I'm not really sure the reason for the woman's violent reaction,

Through the course of our visit, we crossed paths again with the woman, her husband, and their three children several times. The three siblings were all red-heads, and all very striking, good looking kids. Each will definitely grow up breaking hearts.

Assuming they can overcome the verbal beatdowns they receive from their parents.

In the twenty or so minutes our lives crossed with their, neither parent said one nice thing to any of the children. Worse, the father's voice was accusatory, the mother's dripping with contempt.

I wanted to take the kids aside, especially the boy, and talk to them. I wanted to tell him it gets better, that, no, this is not what life is, and that yes, thinking for himself is a good thing. I wanted to give him a hug, and tell if he keeps trying, he'll do wonderful amazing things. I wanted to encourage him to try, even when people say no. I wanted to tell him that not all women are like his mother, and, yes, he can do right.

And I wanted to tell him that his sister was skilled in parental manipulation, and that he'd need to learn how to play the game. Oh, kid, learn to play the game, and grow bigger than this shitty childhood life dealt you.

If you could get someone in your life to start a blog, who would it be and why?

I've seen pictures of my mom as a child, playing under the big tree in the backyard of the house my grandfather built. Decades later, I would run through that backyard as a child myself on my way from our house to my best friends house, cutting through back yards to cut the walking time from 10 minutes to two. My mother's childhood home was long since sold, but she loved the house we moved into, the house on the hill from her childhood dreams.

What other dreams did my mother have? What hopes, and problems, and joys, and failures and victories did my mom experience? How close does my life parallel her life, and how far away from hers is mine?

I don't know.

I know her better than she knew her mother, but ultimately I don't know much of my mother's life before me. I know the highlights. I can imagine the minutae. But, I really don't know.

The saving grace to this vacuum of knowledge is that she writes. She has journals; she writes short stories, many of them based on her life experiences fictionalized. If she started a blog, a personal one of highlights of each day, her life would open up, and I'd know how much we are alike. And how much we are different, though, I know I am my mother's daughter in so many ways.

Come to think of it, I know even less about my dad. Oh, the stories he tells when he's in the mood. If he started a blog, it would have to be an audio blog to get the full side splitting life of his words. Now that would be a blog worth listening to.

This morning, as I was multitasking by brushing my teeth and shoving my computer into my backpack while otherwise packing up my bag, movement caught the corner of my eye near my bag, and I turned to look.

Just in time to see a large, black, furry spider scurry under the netting of the inside my backpack. Large being relative, of course.

The dogs barely turned as I screeched with my mouth closed, toothbrush hanging out, hands flailing around, computer, magazine and other backpack contents flying all over the place.

"That one? She does that all the time. Crazy one her."

Never did find the spider.

End of a long day spent on the ultimate field, and one where we ended victorious beating Brass Monkey 9-7 at hard cap (had they scored that last point, it would have been 8-8, and double game point).

I started off the day thinking I could play, but managed only the warm-up square drill before my back seized again. I played the first game against Frizbee Nation, as they were the bottom ranked team in our pool, and I figured it would be a good warm up game.

Oddly enough, R played with them. They clearly wanted to use R as we use Adam Brown, but not as well, as he had to attempt to run down a series of tragically misdirected hucks. It was strange to see him, much less see him play. I doubt he knows that he and his friends are dead to me. Can't wait to tell them.

I tried to keep playing, but even two Advil™ and one Vicodin™ didn't help. My back was still in too much pain to do much other than walk, and slowly at that.

The end of the day, I was hobbling around like a little old lady. I turned to Kris and commented,

"Either the vic wore off, or it didn't help in the first place."

"I thought you were going to take the second one."

"I was, but it's our last one, and I didn't want to waste it on something as frivolous as my pain."

blink.

blink. blink.

"I hope in five years you'll understand just how funny that statement really was."

Funny how early morning cities are so much different from "normal" cities. Very rarely am I ever up before most people. Even more rarely am I up before the sun during the summer (except for ultimate tournaments, of course). Kris is having a routine procedure done in the morning (who makes 6:30 am doctor appointments? Oh, yeah, my husband), so we were up uncomfortably early to head north.

The advantage of being the first patient is that you can eat again the soonest. At least he'll be done at 8:30.

I've dropped him off at the doctor's office, and am off to find an okay breakfast place. I'll most likely head to the nearest Peet's. As I'm walking over, though, I stop and just wait, listening to the sounds of a sleeping city on the verge of waking up. It's light out, but only a few people are out, most of them somehow connected to the hospital.

It's strange, this morning thing.

Time to go back to bed.