It's said to be a definition for genius, but I feel like it encompasses my town as well: 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration.

You know it's summer in Hemet when you go to grab some chocolate chips out of the cupboard (at 9 o'clock at night, no less!) and they leave a trail of slightly melted semi-sweet goodness on your hand behind them. Four days until camp.

We got a little taste of it last weekend, when we went up for Camp Maranatha's annual pre-summer work weekend. Lisa was chaperoning a jr. high trip to Six Flags, so I was in charge of feeding the volunteers. Mom and Angelica jumped in for some prep and clean-up, then went to power-wash windows while I finished things. The twins and Dad came up in the evening, after he spent the day at the Temecula Balloon and Wine Festival manning a Keller-Williams booth. We crashed in the Maple Lodge after dinner, playing Pass Word and laughing at things that shouldn't have been so funny (trying to make Angelica guess "blonde," I said "Shannon," but she didn't get it. Dad said "hair," and Shannon exclaimed, "Curly!" Because, of course, the first thing I'd think of when I saw the word "curly" would be Shannon . . .). After breakfast, the twins were feeling crummy because of their colds, and I really wanted to get my computer issues sorted out (see previous post), so I asked if I could drive us down the mountain.



My parents kindly allowed me to drive down the mountain unsupervised for the first time. Considering that I've been behind the wheel for almost four years now, I don't think it was an irrational decision on their part. When I was fifteen and only had my permit, my grandma and I drove all over the place. I was homeschooled and she was out visiting, so we painted the town whatever color we felt like.



Rachel took some cool pictures of our sweltering valley.



Home sweet Hemet.