On the way to House On The Rock:

Tara: Oh my God, we're lost forever and we're going to die.

Me: I know exactly where we are. See the street sign over there?

Tara: What's the point of reading that? It isn't going to say "You're lost forever and you're going to die!" They don't make "You are lost" street signs, because they don't want you to know that!

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Tara: Are we there yet?

Me: Sort of. I've decided that instead of driving for three hours, we're just going to go into the Tiffany lamp store. House On The Rock is exactly like that, times a billon.

Tara: Awwwwwwwww, math? I don't want to do math! I'm on vacation!

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Man, it's a long trip up to The House On The Rock— three and a half hours from our place — but I enjoyed it; I like road trips, and I like the lulling effect of driving, and how conducive long trips are to conversation. So it was no big deal for me. My sister is considerably less fond of cars and being on the road, but she seemed to like it once we got there. As before, I discovered that the ultra-dim lighting makes it impossible to photograph any entire room or area, so I just focused on faces: particularly creepy or well-done dolls and puppets and statues and whatnot. Unfortunately, my camera battery failed halfway through the house, so I didn't manage to get a photo of the scariest puppet ever. Or the life-sized carousel statue of a naked woman with a unicorn's head. Or the doll-carousel centaur-creature that seemed to be a dwarf's head sticking directly out of a horse's shoulders. And so many other horrible things. I still need to download the photos I DID take, and see what all came out.

I noticed that the tour pamphlet said we might notice it was dim in the house, but that it was okay, because it had been "artfully designed to present our exhibits in the best manner, and to create a deliberate effect," or some such. Which for me, amounted to "we noticed that much of this glittery, garish, dusty crap looks pretty cheap in full light, but if you can barely see it, it's kind of charming."

But whatever. I've been to the House before, and was along for the ride; most of the fun was in watching my sister take it all in and provide a wry, hilarious running commentary. I enjoyed the first four hours of that very much. Around hour five, my feet started hurting and every new thing was just another shrug. Also, the House was closing, and there was a woman with a walkie-talkie right behind us, loudly announcing through the static that the Dollhouse Room was clear, the Crown Jewels Room was clear, the Weapons Room was clear, and so forth. We were clearly the last ones there.

And then there was a bunch more driving back, and now I have a trucker's sunburn on my arm and a cat trying to get into my lap for the first time all week, because Tara has gone home and isn't here sucking up all the feline cuddles. And now I'm back to work, amid piles of laundry that need to be done and piles of projects that need to be tackled on both the professional and domestic fronts. I miss her already.

I'm-a feelin': nostalgic