Idaho. Again.

I drove up to Boise this weekend. The drive was . . . um . . . about as exciting as a drive through a desolate wasteland can be.

Here's the view driving in the right lane:And here is the view from the left lane:

And that was the drive. For a lot of hours.

My favorite part was stopping for gas in a tiny little town called Glenns Ferry. I don't know if it's just because I've lived my entire life in a big (or biggish) city, but I am absolutely enchanted with small towns. I was walking around the corner store/liquor store/florist/gas station, squealing and clapping my hands with delight about everything.

"Oh my gosh, you use shopping carts here? Just like real people!"

The purpose of the trip was fulfilled when I met up with this guy: my kid brother, Brian. We filled the weekend with cook-outs, chillaxing, frozen yogurt and me driving around lost. (Wait, where is Victory? It's supposed to be right here! . . . . What? . . . . Oh, I'm on Victory? Well, that makes more sense.)

It was clear during this weekend that I miss my sisters. I made Brian stay up for late-night girl talk and then we French-braided each other's hair. He was overjoyed.

Of course what trip to Idaho would be complete without a quick stop at Jack in the Box? No trip I'd want to take, that's for sure. And, gentlemen, if you're looking for the key to my heart, I've got two words for you: Sourdough. Jack. Just saying.
I was sad to leave Brian at the end of the weekend but I'm comforted by knowing that I'll get to see him (and the rest of the Raynors) in a couple short months.

Brian, thanks for hanging with me this weekend! I'll see you in September!