Every year, Max’s school has a Multicultural Fair, where we eat carne asada and watch the kids perform a dance. Last year, he was adorable as a Kindergartener, but he was a little shy and not all about the dance.

This year was different.

He’s been practicing every day, and I can see the enthusiasm in his movements. The dance is more complicated. He’s been excited.

Then the day came, and my little boy brought me to tears, once again.

And one major landmark was that this kid, who has been averse to face painting his whole life allowed the sweet teacher who trained them on the dance to paint African designs on his arms. He didn’t want to take the paint off that night.

I’m so proud of him, and watching him grow up is a joy.

I’ve noticed a difference between the massages I get from my American masseuse and what I’ve gotten from Chinese massage studios. No, not those kind of massage parlors!

When I visit my regular masseuse, we hug and chat about kids. I can’t help it; I’m a talker. She explains what’s going on with my body and asks if anything is bothering me. She’s firm but not rough. I come out feeling relaxed and at peace.

I thought it was a stereotype, but Chinese massage is quite different. First of all, due to the language barrier, there’s not much talking. More hand motions and saying words slowly. That’s fine. I need to shut up anyway.

And it hurts so good! Rather than firmly working out kinks, my massage masochist beats them out. She elbows my butt (ohhhh yeaaaa!) and then climbs on the table and kneads my buttocks like bread dough. And I like it.

I might as well not wear underwear, because she pulls them down to get at the meat. There is pulling of limbs, poking of ears, and scratching of scalps. I come out like a wet, limp noodle, unsure of where I left my car keys or even which car is mine.

If you plan to visit a Chinese massage studio, be forewarned. You may be surprised at the violence that ensues. But you’ll feel like a million bucks the next day.

Photo by USACE Europe District. Creative Commons 2.0.

So we took an RV on a roadtrip to the Grand Canyon. Here are the lowlights:

• The a/c didn’t work. It was 107 in Phoenix.
• We hit a sign (or two) and dinged the RV.
• The hub had to concentrate to keep the thing on the road in the desert wind.
• We forgot our skillet and the RV sites didn’t have grills.

I discovered I’m not an RV person, so I guess that saves me thousand of dollars I could have spent on buying one.

The Grand Canyon though, that was the highlight. I never thought I wanted to see it, but now that I have, I am glad I did. Theodore Roosevelt said it’s “one of the great sights which every American if he can travel at all should see,” and I agree with him.

How to describe it? I can use all the flowery words in the book. Majestic. Breathtaking. Unique. But what I love most of all is that it’s untouched, just like it was in Roosevelt’s speech. We haven’t set up condos and t-shirt shops on top and at the basin. It’s a rare wonder in this commerce-driven world.

We took our nephew, who’s 13, and Max of course. They had a blast. They think driving a house around is awesome.

I’ll let my photos speak for themselves.