Cigarette Confessions
Shooting stars and the Rain Forest
Yes, Mormons celebrate Christmas

The trip back was different. Matt arrived with the Jeep, which was already a bit too full, plus a dog and gifts, but it didn't really matter, IT WAS ALL GOING NO MATTER WHAT . Pack, to this duo, has new meaning, wedge, refold, and at times balance onto one brothers stereo, ski boots, poles, bags, all creating a great wall in the back of the Grand Cherokee. A wall of faith which three unenthusiastic dog, trustingly, sat beneath. Their long tired faces eased our jerking foot, hoping neither of us would slam on the breaks for oh yeah, that huge boulder we near missed coming up the mountain from Reno. Matt and I both agreed the Schooner would be the totem for the trip, we pointed it inward, it's good Fung Shui. I kissed parents goodbye, they, in their spoonful-of-sugar-parent style, wedged two boxes of Christmas cookies into the wall.
Drive
The cigarette confessions
Matt must have quit smoking near two months ago, when I told him I quit, or soon there after.
Matt: I had a half one last night. (It was his little brother's 21st birthday and in the moment of celebration, for Mike did put back an impressive amount of alcohol, plus a triple shot of Cuervo. Matt lit up, took a few drags, in the already smoke drenched bar then gave the .20 cent beauty to a girl friend standing next to him.) It really was awful
Kate: I had three Christmas Night and four last night. (I felt a bit like a non-smoking fraud, but Christmas was with Jess, and she wasn't herself or rather her childhood home had turned into some Archie Bunker meets Eight is Enough Christmas special. Her brother and his new wife have been living with the parents for the last four months. The subtle jabs between Matriarch and Lil' Misses was quite enough for Jess, so yeah, I had to join her. Then "last night" I met up with three old friends, we haven't all been together since we lived together six years ago. We reminisced, caught up, then went to Ms. C's, my favorite country western dyke bar, and watched girls two-step in really deep cowboy hats, and tight jeans.)
Matt and I drove to Rock Springs, absolved.

Scott. Scott is Matt's younger brother, he just got back from a year in Central and South America teaching surfing, backpacking, and Kayak. In the front seat of the second car, for this was a caravan to Tahoe, Scott talked about his adventures. He told me how the sunset lingers here because of the angle and relationship of the sun to the earth. We drove in the permanent dusk of the Subaru dash board. He told me about Three-toed sloths, Howler Monkeys, and Macaws, while trying to remember the English name for Kinkajou. He described an insect, the Pico de Caballo, which spreads its acidic tentacles around the bite and if not treated creates a huge hole in the skin. Apparently horses are plagued with this critter, hence the name. He described the rain forest, volcanic vistas, 10 day hikes with no trails, surfing in warm water and Lazano, which goes good on everything. Sitting shot gun, my travel instincts stung, I listened and asked questions. Then from no where, no wait from outside, he stops mid sentence.
Hey did you see that shooting star?
yeah, I did!
I smiled and couldn't tell him why, I loved that he was still close enough to earth to admire a shooting star.
We drove past Salt Lake City, Utah.

Mike, the youngest son, the 21 year old with a hangover. The angelic, Commercial Tourism major at CSU, following in his brothers' footsteps, for they are wide and well traveled, the quiet son, with a private smile asks.
Do Mormons celebrate Christmas?
Scott: Yes Mikey. The quietest, gentlest laugh, far kinder than one of a sister, escapes his lips.

Happy New Year