Turkey on Mars

The throbbing cut on my knee is reminding me that Arizona is the land of jagged edges. Everything is sharp and gritty there, even the leaves on the trees. But I guess that's why it's beautiful. All that sunlight makes contrasts on every hard surface, either blazing light or shadow. Northern Arizona is the kind of place that nearly anyone can think they can take a National Geographic level picture, and they're probably right. But man, people have sand instead of lawns and there are rocks everywhere. As someone who played most of his games of kick the can on the lumpy, grass-covered landscape of Wisconsin, I can't imagine growing up in Arizona. All the kids in that state must have kneecaps that look like old baseballs left out in the rain.
My parents already bought the house they're going to retire in, and decided to have Thanksgiving out there to get us acquainted. Thanksgiving dinner in that strange place was a little like having the holiday meal in a restaurant, but all the right people were there, as well as all the key side dishes. The good thing about Arizona is that there are plenty of reasons to move around and burn off stuffing, so we did a lot of mountain biking and hiking over the weekend. As we hiked back from a particular vista, we passed a group on their way up to have a wedding, the bride and groom in shorts and hiking boots. Man, I hope I get married like that. Plus having it 2 miles from my parents house would be a pretty good way to get my mom to come to a wedding with less than 20 people, too.
The most bizarre moment of the weekend came when my brother and I were playing together (fiddle and mandolin) and my parents pulled out a ukulele and autoharp. Neither of them knows how to play either instrument, or really any musical instrument at all. My Dad kind of air-guitared his way along on the ukulele. I know my Dad will probably never learn how to play any instrument well, but at least he'll grin and have fun like the kid who's lucky enough to play the kettle drums in the school band. My mom on the other hand, she's just not a team player. She tried to corner me and get me to help her figure out how to play her autoharp, as if I could teach her because mandolins and autoharps are both made out of wood and have strings. I really tried to smile and help her a little, but eventually tension rose, picks flew and once again I was at the center of an argument that seemed to start out of nowhere. So we're never going to sit around a campfire playing "On Top of Old Smokey". In the mean time, I guess I'm thankful that I'm only arguing with my mom over an autoharp?