A few weeks ago, Rob and I loaded the twins into the Escape and made our way down the I-5 to San Diego. I had made an 'appointment' with my sister Kelly and her family to take some family photographs in Balboa Park, which has a myriad of picturesque gardens, groves and architecture, for the blog they are creating for their adoption service. We marched all over the park hunting for good lighting and good scenery, but the truth is that they are a handsome enough family to render any setting ideal. The pictures came out, for the most part, better than I thought they would (I'm always a bit nervous about people's expectations--I'm no professional).
That night we ate an amazing meal (Kelly made carnitas and provided all the fixings--I'm so amazed by my sisters' cooking! They all make everything from scratch and are so open to trying all kinds of foods), and played with Kelly's son Ashton and the babes. Ashton had loads of fun 'sharing' his toys with our little Graham; he ran back and forth to his room bringing out toy after toy, fulling considering each for their size and suitability. Later, after getting the wee ones in bed with surprisingly little fuss, we talked late into the night with another visiting friend I hadn't seen since high school.
In the morning Loren kindly cooked us breakfast, and we went our separate ways. On the way home, Rob and I decided to stop at Mission San Juan Capistrano, la joya de los misiónes. We lathered everyone with sunscreen, capped the kids with sunhats, put them in the Björns and went inside. Rob and I opted for the audio tour, which I always have mixed feelings about. They often offer interesting tidbits of information that would be otherwise unavailable to the visitor, but they are at the same time rather distracting from one's direct experience of the environment and rather clunky to carry about. A sign warned us that the chapel would be closing early in the afternoon for a private event, so we decided to begin there as opposed to the suggested Number 1 spot near the entrance.
The mission is an active Catholic church, so it's a bit strange to enter the tiny chapel, where people are worshiping, as a tourist. Inside the chapel are several numbered stops on the audio tour, so in addition to the prayerful kneeling at the pews, there were always a dozen or so visitors listening intently to the devices as they gazed about the interior. The inside of the church was warm and stuffy, the smell of wax thickened the atmosphere, turning it heavy and strange. This air, along with the intoxicating Catholic iconography (it's violence, rapture and communion), makes for a heady experience, and I found myself skipping some of the audio stops and heading back outside.
The grounds are beautiful, and the pathways seem labyrinthine and generative. Everything seems somewhat tucked-away and private, hidden. Everything is lush and flowering, a mix of ruin and vitality. The twins divided their time between looking around with that skeptical baby look and dozing lightly against our chests. Wandering around the ruins of the original cathedral, which was destroyed in an earthquake, we overheard one fellow visitor talking about us with her companion. "Twins!' she exclaimed, pointing us out. "They can't be more than 6 months old!" She made some unintelligible cooing noises and said "Those are some brave parents." I have to say that this is not the first time we've heard this sentiment expressed, but we still aren't sure what all the fuss is about. It's such a pleasure to be out and about with the babes, and more or less manageable when we are both on hand. The odd thing about these overheard exclamations over the twins is that they are always entirely within earshot, but I have noticed that we are not meant to respond to them, either visually with a look or smile, or vocally with a comment or a laugh. Have I complained about this before? Suddenly I have a nagging feeling of redundancy...
Anyway, after a few hours we decided we'd seen enough of the mission and sought air-conditioned refuge and cool beverages in the Starbucks across the street from the mission. From there, home and naps for all.
In the morning Loren kindly cooked us breakfast, and we went our separate ways. On the way home, Rob and I decided to stop at Mission San Juan Capistrano, la joya de los misiónes. We lathered everyone with sunscreen, capped the kids with sunhats, put them in the Björns and went inside. Rob and I opted for the audio tour, which I always have mixed feelings about. They often offer interesting tidbits of information that would be otherwise unavailable to the visitor, but they are at the same time rather distracting from one's direct experience of the environment and rather clunky to carry about. A sign warned us that the chapel would be closing early in the afternoon for a private event, so we decided to begin there as opposed to the suggested Number 1 spot near the entrance.
The mission is an active Catholic church, so it's a bit strange to enter the tiny chapel, where people are worshiping, as a tourist. Inside the chapel are several numbered stops on the audio tour, so in addition to the prayerful kneeling at the pews, there were always a dozen or so visitors listening intently to the devices as they gazed about the interior. The inside of the church was warm and stuffy, the smell of wax thickened the atmosphere, turning it heavy and strange. This air, along with the intoxicating Catholic iconography (it's violence, rapture and communion), makes for a heady experience, and I found myself skipping some of the audio stops and heading back outside.
The grounds are beautiful, and the pathways seem labyrinthine and generative. Everything seems somewhat tucked-away and private, hidden. Everything is lush and flowering, a mix of ruin and vitality. The twins divided their time between looking around with that skeptical baby look and dozing lightly against our chests. Wandering around the ruins of the original cathedral, which was destroyed in an earthquake, we overheard one fellow visitor talking about us with her companion. "Twins!' she exclaimed, pointing us out. "They can't be more than 6 months old!" She made some unintelligible cooing noises and said "Those are some brave parents." I have to say that this is not the first time we've heard this sentiment expressed, but we still aren't sure what all the fuss is about. It's such a pleasure to be out and about with the babes, and more or less manageable when we are both on hand. The odd thing about these overheard exclamations over the twins is that they are always entirely within earshot, but I have noticed that we are not meant to respond to them, either visually with a look or smile, or vocally with a comment or a laugh. Have I complained about this before? Suddenly I have a nagging feeling of redundancy...
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