Late for School

Not having found the opportunity to post for awhile, I have really missed my little project. I'm secretly hopeful that some of you have, too. Please excuse my tardiness, as it is truly unavoidable under the circumstances.

I realized, within the first hour on the road, that I was in need of a dictionary to aid my reading. Dunham seemed a rather learned man, and, as is a sorry habit of many learned men, was generally loath to allow the reader to forget his caste and (heavens no!) just read along undisturbed. A strategic rest stop in front of a Berean afforded me some welcome help from Webster, but it yet escapes me why one would write "desuetude" instead of simply "disuse," and the watery "pellucid" seems a dubious improvement over the biting "lucid." Tendentious, opprobrious, veracious, and various other fastidious, insidious nouns continually robbed my unsuspecting train of thought, and such words don't look any shorter when bouncing along at 75 mph in the back of the van with a flashlight in your mouth.

Chesterton is offering little respite: my vocabulary continues to be bloated beyond recognition. Just today we encountered "somnambulist" (sleepwalker), "supercilious" (arrogant), and "tautology" (repitition), to name a few. I am not always in the mood to look up words while reading, so I am pushing it as far as it will go.

In between my frolicking escapades into higher education, I was able to try my hand at water-skiing. I was somewhat surprised to actually like it, not usually caring much for the aquatic side of things. I'll spare you the details, as it is really not that interesting unless you've done it.

Regarding culinary concerns, David and I are a little disgruntled with what passes for salad here in the south. Picture a cold bed of iceberg, a few chunks of mealy tomato, and some wispy shreds of cheddar cheese. The whole affair is sadly lacking in chlorophyll. Around here, it seems that the term "down-home cooking" is a nice way of saying that everything is brown.

Not to complain, mind you. We have been treated the last few days to some excellent eating at the home of some Missouri friends, and I'm still amazed how good Mom's lasagne can taste after trucking it 40 hours through the desert. It's humbling when the only thing you yourself can cook is Top Ramen.

Stay tuned for an upcoming account on "The Shooting of the Armadillo."