Ground Sloth Grandparents

The new cougar at the Desert Museum has been named, Cruz.
I do not know why they did not name the cat, "Stevens".

Cruz is the reason we have a dog. Our dog, Cooper, thinks lunch comes from an airtight bag. Cruz thinks lunch walks.

The Arizona Sonora Desert Museum is the real gem of Tucson. We saddled up and skedaddled up and over Gates Pass, west of town, to show Elliot the Desert Museum for the first time. Daniel insisted that she should see the petrified ground sloth dung. The best defense he could muster was that it impressed him when he was a tad, and that is hard to deny.

It was dark in the cave where sloth things are celebrated, so we mercifully missed Daniel's favorite entry into the world of slothdom, so Eliza showed Elliot what a Great Blue Heron looks like, instead. Elliot may turn out OK.

I used to love the aviary but, in my estimation, at least, it has fallen on spare times. There are not many birds evident. The hummingbird exhibit, though, is almost always mesmerizing.
Outside the hummingbird enclosure,
a cactus wren ignored all the blamed tourists for whatever goodness a most striking plant blossom held.

We thought of the Desert Museum trip as a way to teach Elliot color in March. Portland, Oregon in March tends toward gray, although Spring blossoms up there are stunning.

Is there more fun than a child? Especially a grandchild? Especially a grandchild whose teenage years will be spent with her parents?

The path to maturity is complex, requiring the fortitude of younger, unaware adults.

Grandparenting grants its own kind of sloth.

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