How does that saying go? You can take the Boy out of Utah...

Sheri and I got together with some of our friends that we had met at church to drive down to Pebble Beach to have a barbecue. Now most of these people are hardened National Guard, Army, or Air Force guys studying Farsi or Arabic or Chinese at the local Defense Language Institute, having formerly held a collection of other non-descript posts (interrogator, special ops, recon, etc.), but it seems that Mormons are as Mormons do: we pulled into the Fort Ord parking lot and pulled up next to one of what must have been seven or eight minivans, each a veritable hive of children six and under, dads talking about gas prices and how much ice the cooler could hold, moms changing diapers talking about their memories of going through Basic before having kids. It was as though Bountiful had been uprooted and replanted on the coast, with a little military hard-ass spice thrown in the mix. The best part was that, when the caravan had assembled, all the dads got in the passenger's seats as the moms got in and in quick succession peeled out of the parking lot in order to get a good spot on the beach.

In other news, school has finally started. Hooray, though I shall miss the lazy afternoons of blogging and walking to the beach with my dog. He, on the other hand, may feel better about the situation, as the afternoon seems to be the time when all the cat owners in the complex shirk their cat-herding responsibilities. I feel sorry for ol' Ash, since he can't seem to get a good bead on the length of his leash and he ends up choking himself every time he takes off after one of those hairy little devils. We love the guy, though, and pet him lots and give him treats, so don't call the SPCA on us.