Last weekend I went to the Grand Canyon with my biology class.

Even though I’ve been there many times before, this was the most interesting time because I knew what I was looking at.

The condor’s were neat, but it’s really hard to see how big they are. Before I left, I measured a string and cut it at 9 feet long. The string helped for visualization purposes. Adult condors have a wingspan of 9 feet. This condor in the picture is not an adult (he has a black head, adults have pink heads). The Northeren Arizona Museum in Flagstaff has a stuffed condor hanging from a ceiling, but it is not an adult either.

 See more of my photos on flickr.

The other day I went to Cave Creek Regional Park up in Cave Creek, Arizona. My family was meeting with other adoptive families for a day of fun.

We went horseback riding (English is so much better than Western!).

My horse’s name was Spirit. He had a mustache.

I took some photos manually…

And I also tested out full-auto mode (while on horseback).

Then we roasted marshmellows and little ground squirrels. And babies.

“Leah, will you go fill up this bucket with dog food from the garage?”

“You have to pay me twooo dollars.”

“I don’t have twoooo dollars.  I’m poor.  I only have twoooo cents.”

“Well, you have to pay me one cent then.”

“Okay.”

So I was eating at TGI Friday’s for the first time since age 8, and for the second time in my life.  The first time I ate there was in Alabama.

So I sat down with my family, and at the table next to us was a party of 17.  At one table.  The waiter said that our service might be a little slow, because this party of 17 just came from the airport and didn’t have a reservation.  Consequently, the restaurant was understaffed.

Usually when I go out to eat I don’t do a whole lot of talking.  I people watch.  I gathered this party was one family: Uncle Dad, Aunt Mom, and their 15 Cousin-Kids.  They flew in for the Nascar race this week.  I figured the Nascar part out because they were all wearing Nascar hats and  Nascar shirts (sponsored by Home Depot).

Everyone (except for little Billy-Joe) was drinking Budweiser at 11am.  But, as the sayin’ goes, “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

So I slurped away at my French Onion Soup and waited for their food to arrive.  They all ordered hamburgers.  All. Hamburgers.  (except for little Billy-Joe who got chicken fingers).  My family is pretty hickish as it is, but the beer and the hamburgers?

It gets better (or maybe worse):

“Remember that time when Bobby dun got his Dee Ewe Eye?”

“That time when he tried to run away from tha cops?”

[Laughter ensues]

It made for good people watching, at least.

So the other day the Talking Heads on the news were talking about the dangers of 4/20.

My parents wondered aloud about just what is it that makes April 20th so dangerous.

“It’s Bob Marley’s birthday,” I helpfully pointed out.

“How do you know that?” demanded my mom.

“Who is Bob Marley?” asked my dad.

“You know, Bob Marley, the reggae singer,” said mom.

“Everyone celebrates Bob Marley’s birthday,” said I.

“Why do they celebrate it?” wondered my dad.

“HOW do they celebrate it is the better question,” corrected my mom.

“I suppose they celebrate it with certain celebrating-type things,” I said as I wandered away.

“Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life!” finished my mom.