Loo-uh-VULL

We made it to Louisville. It bears mentioning that the locals insist that Louisville is pronounced "Loo-uh-VULL." They are wrong. It is Louie-ville. It's kind of like the Hurricane/Her-uh-kin thing that's going on in Utah, only on a larger scale and with a heavier drawl, unbelievably.

 

Here are a few shots from our drive across this great country of ours:

Every time I drive I-70 across the United States I am struck with two thoughts:

 

1. Driving across Kansas should be considered a form of torture. Like, they should take prisoners from Guantanamo, shove them in a minivan with four kids somewhere near the Colorado/Kansas border, lock the doors and send them east with the cruise control set at 65 mph. They'll hit the Missouri border the following Tuesday. See if that makes them talk. 

 

2. I love the United States. Even Kansas. I mean, we need corn. Iowa, Nebraska, Oklahoma, Texas, Missouri, and Arkansas cannot be expected to meet all of the corn needs of the American people.

 

So far I am quite taken with Kentucky. It is green and lush and humid as the day is long. And Kentucky has met all of my demands: a Trader Joe's within a five minute drive, excellent running trails, sunshine, and a swimming pool. I'm easy.

 

Louisville also provides easy access to one of my favorite sisters and her daughter. We have planned a summer full of swimming and sleepovers. It is going to be a party.

 

In other news, Tess turned four this week. We ate a lot of chocolate cake and did a lot of swimming to celebrate. It was much better than last year's "cupcake on an airplane from Florida to Seattle" party.

 

Here is some illustrations:

 

 

(I just caught my "Here is some illustrations" grammatical tragedy. I am leaving it because it is so unbelievably goofy. Kentucky has gone done an rubbed off on me, I reckon.)