lucky girls wear boots

Julie in the Sedona sun.

I'm a lucky girl in many little ways and some big ones. I scored big with my sister-in-law, Julie. My husband tortured this girl when they were growing up, and yet she still speaks to us. She is peaceful and fiery all at once. She is artsy and gutsy and tall and incredibly loving.

She is still the first one up on Christmas morning.

When I impulsively suggested that we get in the car and drive three hours to Gallup, New Mexico to check out the Native American jewelry there, she was totally on board. She's cool that way.

Julie also understands my struggles with infertility. She's been there herself. She is always willing to listen or pray or, in dire circumstances, buy me some fun thing to pick me up. Did I say she has great taste?

I love her.

My boots are covered in red dirt. One must always wear her boots in Sedona. I think it's written somewhere in the Bible.

The Boy is in pure dirt heaven. I've taken to calling him my little javelina. I think he only has one pair of clean pants left. He walked through three cactus plants yesterday. His dad carefully dislodged all known needles and he only whimpered a tiny bit. Ben is quite happy with the nature indoctrination program he has set forth for his son. They should be climbing Everest together by the time Thom turns ten.

I think I'll go to Gallup when they undertake their first expedition.