I’m alive! – Hive and Nest

I haven’t posted on my blog in two weeks. That’s my record. It was due to a couple of things: I was in Utah/Colorado/New Mexico/Texas for over a week; most of the time driving or having fun. Then I came home and realized the my poor laptop is just about deceased. I’m still pouting about that and have been showing my computer “that’s what it gets” when it breaks on me. Only, my computer doesn’t really seem too sad up about my neglect. I have now resorted to using the kids’ computer which requires that I sit at a desk. A desk! How quaint.

After visiting several friends and family members in Utah, I helped my mother finish packing and we loaded up the moving van, her jalopy (otherwise known as a Ford Escort, which she had checked from head to toe and the guys at the garage swore up and down would make it across the country. Which it did), and a slightly scary trailer filled with food storage and a band saw (yeah. We got in a fight about the band saw. She’s moving into an apartment and she wanted to bring her band saw. And put it on her balcony. I can’t start thinking about this again.)

We abandoned the trailer half an hour south at my sister’s house after we realized it wasn’t registered. I was so thrilled, being the designated truck driver. The truck plus the trailer was a scary-long thing to be hauling around.

Have you read any of Pioneer Woman’s blog posts that she does about the swanky hotels she stays at when she travels around the country? In a similar vein, may I present the motel we stayed at our first night on the road. I shan’t tell you the name because it’s my little secret, but it’s in Monticello, Utah (yes, that’s as far as we made it the first day. We had a lot of last-minute things pop up.)

This motel was probably one of the dumpier places I’ve ever stayed in my life. Not dirty, just, well, let’s take a look:

Matching handles are completely passé. Or hadn’t you heard?

Who needs a lid that actually fits the toilet? So overrated.

The toiletries (or should I say, toiletry) were exquisite.

As was the art. It’s like I could actually hear the babbling brook. That is a brook, right? Or maybe a road?

I especially enjoyed the juxtaposition of the no-nonsense 80’s oak chair with the early-70’s faux-Spanish dresser/desk. And let’s not overlook the clashing lamp–still sporting it’s plastic wrapper. Who says small towns can’t be stylish?