The Little Airplane vs. The Big Nor'Easter

This is the BEFORE picture. Note the happy, unsuspecting
smiles of two friends/ who don't anticipate a potential
death match over a vomit bag.

Perspective is crazy. Not just in the I-can-pinch-your-head-when-you-stand-far-away way, but how your definition of what is good, or what will make you happy can change based on experience.

Last fall I got on a flight to North Carolina for a writer-girls weekend (shout out to Jodie, Christina and Skype-Donna!)

During the layover in Washington-Dulles where I met up with Christina (yay!) we were told our flight was 20 minutes late. Boo. But then that moved and then it moved again. So after a while we were going to get in late, but I was just hoping to get in soon. Then, we go up in the air in a cigarette with wings and fly through a Nor'easter.

Do not get in a plane and fly through a Nor'easter. It was like driving on a rumble strip through the mountains with portions of the road blown out. My new definition of happy very quickly became to land without having puked. I had my little sick bag ready and I was eyeballing Christina's, ready to kype it as needed.

About an hour after the "we're landing soon so put up your tray tables" announcement, we started flying up instead of down.  Not good. The pilot said cross winds were high, but we'd try again.

So. We go lower and lower, and I breathe harder and harder thinking non-puky thoughts, and we're so low I could literally reach out my window and pick a weed off the Tarmac...and then we sore up into the windy heights again. Me and my stomach were yelling "Nooooooo!"

Pilot man lost his nerve, which in retrospect, I'm okay with. I'd rather have a pilot be cautious than end up sliding down an inflatable slide while firemen spray foam at the plane. But at the time, I didn't feel that way. Again, perspective.

So, now I'm praying harder than I've prayed since the last time I got pulled over, and deep breathing, and also trying to figure out what we'll do if the pilot makes good on his threat/promise to take us to Dulles instead, if our third attempt isn't successful. I'll be happy if we can just land here. At all.

We fly lower, and lower, and I pray harder, and harder, and continue to think non-puky thoughts, and then....BAM. We hit the runway. Hard.

This is what waited at the other end. This
and lots of chocolate and laughs. Yes, it was totally
worth it.

And you know what? We applauded. I applauded. Because at that point, the only thing I wanted in the world was to be on the ground, and I was! And as a bonus all my dinner was still inside me!

All this is to say, I want to be grateful for the little things, without a Nor'easter in the mix. So today, I'm grateful for pretty weather, and windows that open, and cats that didn't wake me up early. For sweatshirts and yoga pants, for breakfast. I'm grateful for my laptop and that the battery lasts a long time, for auto back-up so I don't have to live in partial panic that I'll lose EVERYTHING some day by accident. I'm grateful for toilet paper, and indoor plumbing, for warm water, and clean clothes. For eyeliner! For clean water, for coffee, and for fun mugs. For beaches, and friends, and even experiences that make me remember how much I have to be thankful for.

The Miraculous Landing of the Flight 'O' Death: Told from my admittedly skewed perspective.

It was a bright and sunny day when I boarded my flight to Chicago, but it didn't take long to become a dark and stormy night. Yesterday, as winds and cyclones tore across the Midwest, I boarded a plane for Chicago.

The pilot cancelled beverage service, which was mildly annoying. I sat there thinking of the tomato juice I wouldn't have, and felt superior to all the thirsty passengers for having brought my own water. About twenty minutes in to our one and a half our flight, the jiggling started.  It wasn't too serious, though the guy next to me would disagree.

I couldn't find a picture of a plane in darks stormy skies, so
just imagine the light blue is an ominous gray-navy,
then pick up your laptop and shake it vigorously,
and you'll get the idea.

I continued reading, trying not to fall asleep lest I flop onto one of the guys on either side. (I fly Southwest so I'm always in the middle seat.) My seatmates weren't hard on the ol' peepers, so I wouldn't have minded making either of their shoulders a pillow, but I don't think they would have appreciated drool on their shirts.

We jostled along, the flight attendants trying to tell the thirsty people they had to stay seated, while the thirsty people--whose last beverage had worked its way through their system--weighed the pros and cons of ignoring them to risk a broken limb on the way to the bathroom, or obeying and wetting themselves. Most chose option A, for which, I admit, I'm grateful.

It wasn't until we neared Chicago that the jiggling turned to jostling. More and more people went rigid and clung to arm rests. I praised Jesus for Dramamine and read on. Then the jostling turned to bumping, and the bumping almost immediately turned to that roller coaster sensation when you fall several hundred feet and your insides refuse to go with you.

I love turbulence about as much as I love mosquito bites, or realizing first thing in the morning that I'm out of coffee. But I was doing alright.

Until.....(insert dramatic musical riff) I peered past my terrified seatmate and out the window.  There, maybe 100 yards below our steeply angled wing, a little house sat with its lights on. We were so close I could see a dog burrowing under the fence. Okay, it was dark, but if it were lighter and a dog had been burrowing under a fence, I would have seen him.

I had just finished thinking, "My, that house is close," when, with a Six Flags-worthy drop, we were suddenly much much closer to the house. I think we scraped a few tiles off the roof as we passed.

This must have scared my hand because it clung to the arm rest. And while I think reading is as good as any activity to be caught up in when you die, I couldn't concentrate. I decided to ignore the window, thought about those inflatable slides and how I'd have to remember to go feet first, and reminded myself that lots of pilots had landed already in this tornado-force gale. I prayed ours was skilled.

Well, we wobbled all the way to the runway, hit hard, but we stuck the landing. Hallelujah. The plane broke out in applause and we all gave each other that knowing look you get when you feel a near death experience has enlightened you.

The weather is still rough today, I just hope it gets better before I return. Unless you're a burglar reading this. Then I'm home already with my two pit bulls, Jellybean and Buckley.

Thank you, Jesus, for airplanes, water bottles, Dramamine--oh, thank you for Dramamine--and the lovely Christmas tree I found waiting at the hotel. Please be with all of those affected by this storm. All my love.

I Saw Whales!

One of the coolest things I've ever done happened last Sunday, when my cool little brother and I went whale watching. I didn't want my view of these massive mammals to be on a camera screen, so I just held it and pointed where I thought I was looking.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I got pictures of the sky or I lopped off half the whale. BUT, we saw soooo many that I still managed to get a good collection, which I'm proud to present to you now. These are humpback whales. We also saw false killer whales, which are like Shamu only all black, and although they didn't do anything very exciting, they are very rare and so this was apparently a big deal. I don't have any photos of those, just picture a black triangle protruding from the water and moving kind of fast.

On the left you see a whale head poking up. I am told this is very aggressive man-whale behavior. The equivalent of getting up in someone's grill, usually over a lady-whale.

This is the lady-whale that started it all and her baby. She is on the left. Her baby was a boy (the guides told us, I couldn't tell.)

This is her baby. While mama and the two man-whales who were fighting for her affection are roughly the size of a school bus, baby here is only the size of, oh a suburban, if it were skinnier and had fins.

This is the baby again, he was showing off.

This would be an aggressive male. They got SO close!

This is mama and baby together. Mothers with young whale-kids aren't usually in the mood, but she must have been one fine piece of tail, because the two dudes fought for a long time.

This is half of a tail going underwater. I didn't snap in time to get the whole thing.

When a lady-whale is feeling frisky, she will wave one side-fin above water. I don't know why this is sexy to whales. But then, I also don't know what it looks like from under water. 

Okay, I don't know if you can see the shadow, but one of the man-whales swam right next to our boat, and then dove straight down, which is apparently uncommon. His tale was enormous.

This is another shot of a man-whale. See how close they came?

And this is even closer!  Blammo! This man-whale might have bumped our boat. He came up right under the bow. All the scratches on his back are from the fierce underwater battle for the fair maiden. They will head-butt each other, and sometimes one will lay on the other to try and keep them from coming up for air. But, these fights aren't usually to the death. 

Again, I don't know if you can see it, but that white spot toward the bottom is a marking on a man-whale's tail.

Both man-whales came up for air at the same time. That fuzzy spot in the foreground is the remnants of his spray...spout?...well, the water that shoots up when they exhale.

This is not a shark, it's half a tail. Again, I wasn't quick enough to get the whole thing. But it was big.

I had prayed to see at least one whale breach, and instead saw baby breach like five times and a mama-whale in the distance breach twice. I was so psyched and told God so. I just love his creation!  And then two days later while on a ferry, four grown up, school-bus sized whales breached in a row. It was like the marine version of the Rockettes. Sadly I didn't get a picture, but I was reminded how lavish God is.  

Thank you for the tropics, for Maui, for a great vacation, for blue whales, and for so many stellar experiences with them. All my love!

Hana

Me and my cool "little" brother in paradise.
This is pre frigid swim.

In my experience and my head, Maui was just one giant beach punctuated with luaus. This is not true. Over the weekend my brother and some of his friends and I went camping in Hana. If you are not familiar, the road to Hana is a circular trek around the island. The way to Hana is all lush, verdant green and waterfalls.  Once you pass Hana you are in The Beyond. Isn't that cool? The Beyond.

We hiked a bamboo forest (yeah, didn't know Hawaii had bamboo.) It was mysterious and made me feel like saying profound Confucius things, like, "This is so neat!"

Then we climbed ladders, and rope-climbed over rocks and even had to swim across a frigid pool to get to the highest waterfall. Yes, Hawaii has frigid pools, I didn't know that either.

"The Cliffs of Insanity!!" (Meniacal laughter!)
Not really, but that's what it made me think of.
Look at that tiny person just to the right of the
fall for some perspective. You might find
yourself saying something profound like
"It's so big!"

In Hana, we hiked up to a 400 ft. waterfall and once again I found myself spouting eloquent poetry, like, "Wow," and, "It's so pretty!"

The Beyond was different. It was like driving through African plains, if they grew on the side of a hill that ran into the ocean....and lava fields, and then this brilliant green high country of some land where people drink beer and leave pots of gold at the end of rainbows.

All of this was stunning. It was the kind of pretty that makes you feel cleaner, better, important. If the God of All spent time knitting these vast waterways, these delicate flowers, these abundant trees, these ragged lava beds, and now I'm seeing them, well I will carry a piece of that. A knowledge of Him I absorbed in the midst of the wonder and between photos. It has to change me. It must.

Seriously, even Disney couldn't come up
with some of this stuff.

Sunday was a truly cool day, too, but more on that later. For now, I am grateful for a God who doesn't just make beauty, who doesn't just revel in it, but who speaks through it. Who can take the nasty this world throws at us and from it draw glorious good for us and for his name, sure. But who chooses to speak joy through stunning colors, power through the spray of mighty ocean waves firing off of stalwart rocks, peace through the quiet of pre-dawn as the sun eases unrushed over the horizon, love that he made it all and lets me see and enjoy it.

Thank you, Lord, for your creativity that is always refreshing, for the endless wonder of who you are.  All my love.

A New View

This is a view from my balcony that I recently texted my brother.

This is the view from his apartment that he texted back.

He wins.  Why? Because my brother makes his home in Maui. And as of tomorrow I'll be sharing his view for a week. In writing, the scene set up is intentional. It reflects the mood and promise of the scene.  While my life isn't exactly filled with the human equivalent of naked trees, I would like to think that stepping onto a scene in Maui will bring good things, not the least of which is time with my cool bro in his corner of the world.  

Thank you, Lord, for brothers, for beaches, for airplanes and new swimsuits and fake tans and that Maui has Starbucks. Mostly though for brothers and beaches. As amazing as the inventions of man are, they never can even fall in the same bracket as your own good ideas.  All my love.

I. Will. Not. Throw. Up.

You know that storm band trudging across the country?  I flew to Florida yesterday, and our flight managed to ride that puppy from Little Rock to Atlanta.

As the turbulent air bounced and dropped us along, my lunch decided it wasn't having a good time and wanted to evacuate.  I took all the normal steps to stop its progress.
I stopped reading my novel.
No improvement.
I initiated deep breathing.
Still it fought me.
When I got all cotton-mouthed and hot all over, I knew I was losing. I took off my sweatshirt, and stole the A/C novel from my sleeping neighbor in my direction. Yeah, that was bad, but I figured she'd rather that than sit next to a used barf bag.
Between spasmodic prayers for the taming of my stomach, I located said bag just in case.
The end of my no-throwing-up-on-planes-ever streak was nigh upon me, when I felt a tap on my arm.  A soldier one row back asked if I was scared. I explained I was more sick than scared. He told me to take deep breaths and not read (check, check) and I turned back to my prayers.

Not a minute later, he's crouched in the aisle, seatbelt sign notwithstanding, offering me two little waters and a heavy duty plastic bag that he got from the flight attendant.  With tiny sips, and more urgent prayer, I made it all the way to landing with the contents of my stomach intact, for which I, and everyone around me, was grateful.

So, I'm thankful for helpful soldiers who don't mind breaking the seatbelt rule, for water, and that I didn't break my vomit-free streak. I'm grateful for the upchuck reflex, I suppose, since some things need to be rejected, but I'm also grateful that my personal reflex usually hesitant.

Cal and the Rolly Bag

I like being new places. It's the getting there I could do without. Especially these days, when taking a flight means wedging as much as you can into a tiny suitcase and choosing between a sample-size conditioner and a hand lotion, since your quart-size baggie is already filling up with a mini-toothpaste, mini-contact solution, and other mini necessities.

you leave approximately two days early to get to the airport since the search line can get long, then silently curse that you forgot and wore shoes with laces, a belt, and earrings. You remove said offensive articles and dump them in bins with your baggie, coat, laptop, and anything from your pockets. you make the moose hands for three seconds, then stand there and try to believe what they say about the image not actually showing your naked body until someone says you can go, then make eye contact with no one as you put all your clothes and accessories back on.

At the gate, you hope the gate agent doesn't insist you shove your carry-on in their little size checking frame, which more accurately represents an ice cube than an overhead bin, and then stand in line. If you're a Southwester, like me, and everyone else checked in two days and twenty-minutes early so you're the third to last person to board, like me, things get dicey at this point. You don your backpack, throw a coat over your arm, and juggle a coffee in one hand so you can manage your rolly bag with the other.

You follow the butt in front of you down the gateway praying that, although you're resigned to a middle seat, you'll at least  be able to find one with some overhead bin space. After all, what does it matter if your bag will fit if there's no room? There's nooks and crannies here and there, but none that look big enough for a rolly bag.

It doesn't bode well when the flight attendant tells you all the seats in the back of the plane are full. When you ask about room in the bins and she tells you, "You better find some," well, lets just say she wasn't showing her Southwest spirit.

And then, everything changed. I turned to the two guys framing the middle seat to my right and asked if I could sit there. Guy one, who we will call Cal since I never did get his name, asked if I wanted him to hold my coffee. I think a bit of desperation may have escaped when I thanked him. He took my coat too, and I flopped my backpack on the seat and then tried to figure out how to wiggle the rolly bags and carry-ons overhead so I could fit mine in.

Then Cal says, "Do you want me to help you?"

I'm not a feminist in the sense that I see offers of assistance as an assault on the equality of women. I'm just not used to a lot of people offering to help, and don't expect it.  So it took me a second to realize instead of being demure and saying, "Oh, I couldn't trouble you," to say thanks and hand off my bag.

He handed me my coffee, told me to sit, then magically rearranged the overhead bags so my rolly bag fit. Then he found one of those nooks that was big enough for my coat, and I had just about crammed my backpack under the seat in front of me, when he said he thought he could fit that too. The Hallelujah chorus played in Dolby digital surround sound in my head.

Cal sat down and asked if I was going or coming, and for the entire flight to Dallas Love Field, I talked to a bottled water salesman from Minnesota about travel, family, career paths, church, writing, friends, and golf.

If he hadn't been there, I would have made it. I may have splashed my coffee and had to gate-check my rolly bag under then snarky gaze of Southwest's only grouchy flight attendant, but I would have survived.

But he was. A guy just being nice who made my day. I definitely said a little thank-you prayer for the encounter.

Today I'm thankful for Cal, and yes, for air travel (grumble), and to be home.

Trek

You've probably heard people say, "Good is the enemy of great."

I usually want to smack those people. It sounds so unappreciative. And it sounds so true.

God and I have hiked together for almost 25 years.  That alone is a testament to his goodness, patience, and love, especially since it includes my teens.  We can turn around and look at the vista we've come through. Those craggy teen years marked with the occasional spire. Long slow rises, a drop here and there, hills, dells, torrents of rain, seasons of meadow and flowers. We've trekked from Chile to Africa, to Cambodia, to St. Pete's in Rome. From Yakima to Atlanta to Little Rock. It's been quite a trip thus far, rarely expected and yet always getting better, though almost never easier.

We're at one of those places right now where things are good. We've hit a plateau and have rested in its shade. And now he's nudging me in the side, pointing out a twisty path to our right that, honestly, I'd rather not take. I mean, we're good, right?

Right. We're good. But I want more than that for you. So much more! I am great and I will not settle for anything less for my children. For you.

But surely there's a better way to where we're going. I can't see where that path heads, but from here it resembles a goat trail. It might not even lead up. What if it makes a big loop around the mountain and we find ourselves right back here again, only sweatier?

We won't.

But...I'm scared. I could fall.

I'll be with you. Even if you were to slip, I would catch you. I will not let you fall.

Yeah, but...I'm still scared.

I know. Trust me. I will be with you. I really will.

It doesn't look fun.

You've said that a lot on this trip. Have I ever taken you anywhere that didn't end up showing you a better view of my glory? Is there any steps I haven't made worth it?

No. Not one. But...okay. I'm still scared, though.

That's okay. Tell me every time you are, and we'll work through it. You're not doing this alone. You are too precious to me for me to ever let go of you, even for a moment, even when you take your eyes off me and stumble. I love you dearly and am with you always and forever, and when we're together, you won't face anything we can't overcome.

I know. (Sigh). Really, I do.

Come on then. It'll be great.

I'm going to hold your hand, then. Really tight. So tight your fingers might go white.

I actually like that.

Alright, then. Thank you. I love you, too.

Matt. 28:20; Psalm 37:23-24; John 16:33; Romans 8:28, 37; Psalm 27:13-14; Psalm 23

Lief, Octaviano, and the Great Taxi Adventure

Meet Lief the Apple. I take him with me on pretty much every trip. However, yesterday, for the first time, Lief took a trip by himself.

Last night I arrived in Chicago, land of the giant bean, for work. Me and four strangers crammed into a taxi cab, and to say it was snug would be a misrepresentation.  My personal bubble popped before we even started moving. If I saw them on the street again, I'd be hard pressed to make eye contact.  So, when we pulled up to my hotel I climbed over knees and legs and didn't stop until I hit pavement. The cabby handed me my rolly bag and I hurried inside.

Octaviano was helping me check in when I realized I was missing my backpack.

And in it, Lief.

My stomach is made of cast iron lined with tempered steel, and I almost threw up. While I prayed and tried to decide whether to have a full-fledged breakdown or be calm and collected (which involved cataloguing all I would lose--manuscripts, pictures, ideas, resources, and Lief himself, who is dear to me) Octaviano got online, helped me find the cab company, and then stayed on hold for at least five minutes until a genuine person came on and he explained the situation, then handed the phone to me for details.  I gave the cab number and they promised to call if they found the bag. I asked them to call either way. It would save me from harassing them every thirty minutes.

When I hung up, he had my room stuff available and told me he wished there was more he could do.

I hadn't even gotten the room key from him when my phone rang. We both hovered close as I answered and the lady told me that yes, my bag had been found and the cab driver was headed back my way. Me and Octaviano both started jumping up and down and then I ran down to the entrance to await cab 3810.

Sure enough, he came back with the whole North Face bag intact, including my beloved Lief.

It was one of those moments that could have been ridiculously awful or ridiculously amazing. Thankfully it was the latter. I hugged Octaviano.  As intimate as I'd gotten with the strangers in the cab physically, Octaviano and I had been through a crisis together and we bonded at a deeper level than I've ever bonded with a hotelier before.

Then, me and God spent at least half an hour letting the adrenaline dissipate as I thanked him for Lief, for getting Lief back, for an honest cabby, for helping me remember the cab number, and for Octaviano. Thanks, again, Lord, for the good people you put in my path yesterday and for this laptop and all the creative spark-gifts you've given me that it holds. Thank you for technology that makes a skinny little thing like this so powerful, and most of all for being with always, even when I'm half-crazed and queasy.  All my love.

On the road again

I've been in seven states since Sunday.  I've driven to/through six of them. I'm grateful for Monster (the blue kind) and for Starbucks and the Starbucks app that finds them for you, even when you're in Mississippi, and for cruise control. Oh, am I grateful for cruise control.  And sunglasses, too.

I'm also grateful the cats haven't gotten feral enough to give up on the litter box, that they remember me in the very least as the person who makes the red dot appear so they can chase it (laser pointer use number 2).

I'm grateful also for books on CD, for Christmas carols and ipod email updates...not that I would ever check it while driving.  And for McDonald's bathrooms and forty-four cent waters.

And other stuff too.

A Dozen Sparks

You know how people from big cities, especially those in the North, have this reputation? It's like you walk around half afraid that someone is going to kick you in the shin with a black Louboutin stilleto, just because they can.  Or they'll jump in front of you to get a signature on a petition and get hostile and fist-wavy if you don't want to? Or when you ask for directions they'll pretend they didn't hear you and walk faster? Or they'll sit next to you on an empty metro and talk really loud into a cell phone about the funny thing Janice did and how she doesn't realize how lame she is?

Well, I can't speak for all cities, but in Chicago, that's just not true. And although I've noticed this before, it continues to surprise me when it happens, for some reason. But today, I made my way from the metro to the hotel in beautiful smiley weather. 

Then when I ran out for a snack, a lady in a vest with a petition form jumped in front of me and said...."I like your purse." 

Now, already, I'm having a good day.

Well, after hours of working, when the quittin' bell rang, I headed down to catch a train to a vegan restaurant (yes, they have those here!)  I asked the concierge where I caught the train and he walked me to it, helped me check my fair card, and sent me on my way. Even if he wasn't hot, this would have been a total "aww" moment.

And as I waited with the masses for the brown line to Kimball, one of them, Dennis, took the leap from stranger to acquaintance. We chatted about friendliness and places we've lived and how one chooses between vegan and carnivore, and even once you've made that choice, what would your options be at Fogo de Chao.  

When I got to Karyn's Cooked, I enjoyed a lovely dinner and not once did I have to ask for ingredients because they've taken care of that for me. Turns out seitan is pretty good even if does sound kind of evil.

Alas, on the train ride home, there weren't masses. At first it was just me. So I got to sight-see along the brown line all the way back, and I didn't even miss The Bachelorette!

Some days are extraordinary for one big event that marks them unique.  Other days are sprinkled with so many sparks of joy that they shine just as brightly. This was one of those days.

Thank you, Jesus, for vegan chefs, for Dennis and the hot concierge and their friendly banter, for company stipends, and for the lovely day.  You give, you give, and you give some more. All my love.

Hairy Pillow

I checked into a hotel this afternoon. It was dubbed "acceptable" by a colleague who had stayed here. Well, it's in an old building which can be very cool. Or not.
It started okay in the lobby, but then I got into the pint-sized elevator. If B.O. were a person he would have been breathing down my neck.  I was soo glad I my room was on the second floor.
 Things went downhill when I realized my room branched off the fire staircase, and if I stretched out my arms I could just about touch opposite walls. The bathroom was, well, it was a bathcubby.
All in all, the room looked like the kind of place you get abducted from.
At that point I started actively looking for a good reason to not stay in the room.
And then I found it. Hairs on the pillow case.  I have never been so excited to find evidence of dirty sheets.
Needless to say, I picked up the grubby phone, held it slightly away from my body, and called the front desk. The desk manager instantly agreed to move me to a new room. Who knew  short hall could make such a difference? Mere steps away was a room that looked like, well, a hotel room. It had a real desk, a queen bed, a bathroom that you can stand in and still have room to shut the door, and no hair pillows!
For the first and perhaps only time, I'm grateful for foreign hairs on a pillow, because now instead of blocking the door with a chair to keep the abductors out and trying to sleep without touching anything, I can actually rest.

Are we there yet?

I remember being a kid and sitting in the back seat of a rental car on vacation saying, "are we there yet" at really irritating intervals.
Payback is a...well, it's not nice.
I just got back from Oklahoma City via Fayetteville. This means me and Jellybean and the Buckster were on the road for over seven hours.  In the car, Buckley sleeps. This is great. Jellybean, on the other hand, meows at thirty minute intervals. This is so not great.
After the first four hours we made it to Fayetteville and while I went to a meeting, the boys had to go to a vet to board. They've never been boarded before. In fact, the last time they were at the vet they lost their fuzzy dice. So needless to say, they were not all about the vet when I dropped them off. As much as I explained that it was just for a few hours since they couldn't stay in the car, they didn't seem to get it. I think like most men, they have selective hearing.
Well, I went and did my thing and picked up the boys. They had a chance to stretch their legs, pee, and get some water, but they were not seeing this as a plus.
After I picked them up, we had another three hours to get home. Buckley went back to sleep and nary a peep escaped from Jellybean. I guess he was afraid of getting sent back to the vet.

So, after seven hours in the car, I'm thankful for the vet to board my pets, for the fear of the vet that kept Jellybean quiet for three hours, and for the wonderful feeling of finally getting home intact.  Thank you, Jesus, for the boys, and for quiet, and for parents who didn't take me to the vet when I wouldn't stop saying "are we there yet." All my love.

Friends, Books, and Oh, So Much More

Washington DC. Capitol of our fine Union, home to the worlds biggest library, and residence of two old friends and one new one (pictured above).
I visited in honor of a landmark birthday that all four of us are experiencing this year. I won't say it out loud yet, but it rhymes with dirty.

Bleh.

There are periods when you just need to have something to look forward to. An exclamation point looming somewhere on the horizon. For the past month and a half this visit has been mine. The risk of such events is that if the weeks leading up to them are listless or strenuous, or just long, that one blip of happy that is coming becomes very important. Embellished even. It's a lot of pressure for a weekend. It's like when someone tells you that a new flavor of cupcake will change your life and make you forget your name and cause you to sell your home just to buy more. It might very well be the best cupcake you've ever had, but with such a hard sell, it can still be disappointing.
Well, I am thrilled--and a tad relieved--to admit that this weekend totally lived up to the heaps of expectations I poured upon it. If we had done nothing but sit around and talk it would have done so, but we did much more.

I didn't have the foresight to put "Listen to live Broadway hits at the Bulgarian Embassy" on my bucket list, but if I had, I would have drawn a line through it on Friday. We visited the Navy Yard (pictured above with previously noted two old friends and one new one) and the Eastern Market.
I met the most precious bookstore. It was a second hand shop made of three stories of narrow aisles  jammed floorboards-to-ceiling tiles with pre-loved volumes on everything from mountain climbing to Jane Austen.  I left with two, but could have stayed all day, bumping past other readers to squint and crouch on the hunt for special treasures. It was glorious.

In addition to the two bookstores, we visited one library. you  might say, the library.
The Library of Congress opens the doors of the reading room and other restricted zones to visitors only twice a year. Fortunately, the friends I was with also thought this was cool.

This is the reading room, where you normally need a library card and a research topic to use. Next time I come I plan to obtain both.

These are the three friends in the caged book stacks. Usually, not even most of the librarians can come back here with the rare, fine, and valuable tomes.

This is me, holding one such tome. It is a book of English poems. It looked very old. And very special.

And this is the secret escape passage, as seen in National Treasure 2. The white sign posted on the frame says there is no such thing as the Presidents Book of Secrets. Of course, that's what they want us to think.

All in all, it was a bibliophiles dream weekend, and as I am deeply in love with the written word, I found it all thrilling. And so much more so for having visited so many fine places with such dear friends.

Thank you, Jesus, for America, and for books, and for all the fine people who have, over the years, loved, valued, and compiled the written word for me, and future generations. As the librarian in the vault said, "Books are here forever. Who knows how long the Internet will last." Thank you for dear friends who refresh my soul just by being. Thank you for weekends that are just what they ought to be.  All my love.

Friends for rent

For a storylover like me, books are like friends, stuffed chock full of good memories and an intense emotional connection. So, its really hard for me to be content to borrow books.  I want to dog-ear the pages, read in bed, and then tuck them in a shelf where I can see them when I pass and remember, "Oh, yeah. Those were good times."
But, for a storylover like me, the whole thing can get a little pricey, Amazon notwithstanding.  Especially when I'm hitting a road trip and need a book on CD.
Enter public library.
So much fun!  I love free things, especially when there's lost of choices. And since CDs don't dog-ear very well and those plastic cases rarely evoke the same nostalgia as a paper book, I don't feel like I'm missing out. It's like when you go to dinner with a friend and their friend  from college who is visiting for the weekend. You enjoy them and have a good chat, and then you say goodbye and that's that.
So, today I'm grateful for the library and the book on CD I'll be listening to on my way to Hope tomorrow. And for real live friends too.

Directionally Challenged

I am going to North Carolina this weekend for a conference. Woot-woot! My friend Sarah is kind of enough to leave me the key to her house so I can save a few hundred bucks on a hotel room, which is AWESOME. But it means that I'll be finding my way between her house in Charlotte and the Embassy Suites late at night and early in the morning. And it means I'll have to find my way to the Starbucks in the dark.
Which makes me so grateful for Googlemaps. I have a neat stack of papers now with explicit directions to get me from point A to B to C to D and the odds of me getting lost drop from 72% to a mere 3%--even Googlemaps gets confused every once in a while.
I love being able to look down the list and know I've got seventeen miles, or only two blocks before I have to turn or exit. Whereas with one of those newfangled GPS things, I'd have to wait for the snooty lady to tell me when my turn was approaching. And what about when she's wrong and tells you to turn left into a cement wall? Or she doesn't want to let you stop for a coffee and yells "U-turn, U-turn" while you're trying to tell some poor barista you want a tall light-roast?
Yes. I have control issues.
And on occasion those bleed into my relationship with God. Sometimes I think it would be fabulous if God would give me a Googlemap instead of turn-by-turn directions. I want to know where we're going specifically, how many miles it is, and how long it will be. But instead, he says, "In half a mile, turn right."
Hmph.
But when I set aside my control issues, or at least peer over the top of them, I don't really want that. I mean, I have a hard enough time living in the moment as it is. How many really cool views would I miss if I were so fixated on the end? The not knowing makes life a beautiful adventure instead of a trek.
And what if the map led over Mount Saint Helen? Looking at it from here in Little Rock, I'd be sorely tempted to give up and sprawl on my dirty floor for the next eighty years. But instead, if there is a mountain in my path, God will use the journey between here and the base to prepare me, strengthen me, and provide what I'll need to climb the summit. And boy, what a view I'd have missed.
Or, what if my journey ended in like two miles? I think I'd rather not know...
So, while I'm incredibly glad for the stack of complete directions I have leading to and from the Charlotte airport, I'm grateful that God maps our lives GPS-style. And I'm glad God's voice doesn't sound like an uppity woman.

Inhale at your own risk

Today I found myself wending a two-lane road north to a little town called....well, to protect the innocent we'll say it rhymes with Latesville, Arkansas. As I cruised in, Bates--uh, Latesville looked much like its sister towns. There was a Sonic, some Mom'n'Pop businesses, lots of trucks. But just after the golden arches came into view, I noticed something different. All kinds of different. And not the good different, like fresh music. The kind of different people use when you ask if they like your new mullet. The best description I can come up with is this: imagine a fresh can of moist dog food. Heated. Now put your nose in the can. This smell, my friends, tickled my nose at the bridge. Then, a mile further it coated my tongue. And by the time I made it to town center it had a choke hold on my nasal passages. I couldn't even think about anything but Alpo, much less locate the address of the business I had come for. Now, the aroma of Batesville is due to a large food processor that had the inhumane idea of putting their factory right downtown, so it's not really the poor Latesvillians fault. But as I looked around, a full on oh-my-gosh-that's-gross snarl on my face, I was the only one concerned. People were actually going in to McDonald's. To eat. And about a few minutes later, I understood why. The smell fades. Like, ten minutes in Latesville, and you don't smell Purina One, it's just...air. Which made me grateful that God designed our noses with a limited number of scent receptors. So that if you're one of the unlucky few who look up one day to find a cannery next door, you've only got to suffer a short while before your nose has literally had enough. And it made me grateful that in a town where the air is pure and the rocks are little.

Uh....

I went to a small Arkansas town today. When I finished my business survey, there was a truck parked next to me with a bullet hole in it.
I'm thankful Dirk the Impala hasn't been shot.

Fly

I have said before that while I love being new places, I don't so much like getting there. Last week I left Monday at an ungodly hour and flew to Chicago for the week. Much as I love that city, I wasn't about to walk around in six degree weather to enjoy it. I got back late Friday (this is my lame excuse for not keeping up with my blog) and left early Saturday for OKC.
Being in Chicago wasn't bad, aside from the fact that my ears, fingers, toes, and nose just defrosted yesterday, and OKC was great because I got to celebrate my niece's birthday.
But, this little tour has made me so grateful for airplane travel. I flew to Chicago in about the same time I drove to OKC. My traveler spirit would be hard-pressed to endure car trips everywhere, or, God forbid, horse buggies.
Thank you, Lord, for physics and technology and the Wright brothers, and Delta. Thank you for places to go and fast ways to get there.
All my love.

Just plain good.

I was in South Arkansas today to meet with an account and agent. We ate lunch at this little country hole-in-the-wall buffet--pronounced BUF-fay, here in the South--because it was chicken-fried steak day and the agent was pretty excited about that.
The pretty little greeter knew my lunch companions and told us that, although she didn't manage to shoot any deer over the weekend, her two boys did, so it was a good weekend. I share this so you understand that we're talking real and true Southern country food.
For dessert you could pick from the requisite banana pudding, a square of yellow cake with chocolate icing, or cherry cobbler.
It was no contest. I reached for the dish holding a mashed pile of artificially brilliant red goo and the uniform thumb-sized cherries.
You see, even in the best holes-in-the-wall, they know better than to compete with canned cherry pie filling. That stuff will be at the Feast of the Lamb when we get to heaven.
Some things are just plain good. Like God and cherry pie filling. Being perfect, they don't change. And for that I'm very thankful.
Thank you, God, for cherries, and for red #40 and the folks who make it, and for the marvel of canned cherry pie filling. Thank you for that tart-sweet taste that will always be the same no matter how foreign an environment might seem. And thank you that, much like this gem among desserts, you are sweet and you do not change.