So I go down to my Gate C40. They tell me my Gate has been re-assigned it C36. I walk to C36 and it says Fort Walton Beach. I co-miserate while I am standing in line with two Pentacostal women, a French woman and a Lesbian that all want to get to Tallahassee, also. We finally find out all flights have been delayed. Ours will leave at 6:02, hopefully.
I walk back to my restaurant & it is filled completely. I eye the guy who is sitting in my old seat. Jerk.
I walk down a ways looking for plugs for my computer. They are all located by the little black trash compactors. The smell is lovely while I type...
Can you imagine that this entire airport is filled with people who feel just like I do?
My random thoughts as I sit here:
Men - stop with the toupe' addiction. Just say no. Accept the weird shape of your head & go with it. Sorry. I know it's not fair. Neither is PMS but we deal.
Women - NO squatters. Never squat. If you do... wipe the seat. You know you miss. Alot. I am a sitter. I carefully arrange toilet paper after I wipe up the remains of all you nasty, rude squatters. I carry Germ-X with me. Please - stop squatting.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
OMG - Right???
So I make my 10:20 flight and get into ATL… my least favorite hub of all time. I have to shuttle over from Concord A to Concord D. Down the escalator, into the shuttle, back up the escalator. Hate this spread out place. And I go to my gate to get my boarding pass. She tells me the flight at 2:52 has been cancelled. Grrrrrr. Breathe deep Alicia.I politely & with resign reply, “That seems to be my luck today.” She types for what seems like 5 minutes and I finally say, “Well, as long as I get to Tallahassee tonight, that is all that matters.” More typing… and typing… and typing. “Do you have anything for later,” I inquire. She looks up at me and says, with all the attitude of Weezie Jefferson, “Do you think all this tapping on this key board means I am counting sheep? I am workin’ on it.”
OMFrigginG. Now I feel like Fred Samson! “Jesus! Help me!”
I just stared at her with my laser death ray. I spoke soothing words to myself inside my head. This is no ordinary schizophrenia. Are they TRYING to provoke an out of body episode with me??? I finally say, very calmly for my mood might I add, “Customer service is dead in this industry.” Oooooooh… but I am thinking much worse. She gives me a stand-by ticket for 4:36 and a confirmed seat for 6:05 if that one doesn’t pan out. That gate is on Concord C. Down the escalator, into the shuttle, back up the escalator and into the nearest Paschal’s for a large & continuous glass of wine. Couldn’t help thinking of Jesus’ first miracle. Those barrels never ran dry. A girl can hope, right???
Waxing spiritual just once more… this is proof positive that the old spiritual cliché that says, “What’s in your heart comes out through your mouth” is absolutely untrue. It would have been a scene from Kill Bill if that were true.
OMFrigginG. Now I feel like Fred Samson! “Jesus! Help me!”
I just stared at her with my laser death ray. I spoke soothing words to myself inside my head. This is no ordinary schizophrenia. Are they TRYING to provoke an out of body episode with me??? I finally say, very calmly for my mood might I add, “Customer service is dead in this industry.” Oooooooh… but I am thinking much worse. She gives me a stand-by ticket for 4:36 and a confirmed seat for 6:05 if that one doesn’t pan out. That gate is on Concord C. Down the escalator, into the shuttle, back up the escalator and into the nearest Paschal’s for a large & continuous glass of wine. Couldn’t help thinking of Jesus’ first miracle. Those barrels never ran dry. A girl can hope, right???
Waxing spiritual just once more… this is proof positive that the old spiritual cliché that says, “What’s in your heart comes out through your mouth” is absolutely untrue. It would have been a scene from Kill Bill if that were true.
Introducing road rage – in the air
I have been lucky with flights in my 4 years of having a “traveling” corporate career. The only other time I have ever missed a flight was completely my fault. Even then, if it hadn’t been for a merciless 20 year old supervisor, I could have easily made my flight. But I definitely was 5 minutes late to check in at the tiny TLH airport that takes 10 minutes to navigate, security and all… so I accepted my responsibility in it. I did tell the supervisor that if she were 10 years older she would have had mercy on me. What comes around goes around sweetie. She will regret me one day. ;)
But this morning was another story. So here I sit doing blog therapy instead of throwing the hissy fit I have bottled up inside. I arrive an hour and a half before my 8:50 am flight. Usually ample time to navigate with carry on bags. I go to the first kiosk to pick up my boarding pass, which usually eliminates standing in line, and it keeps telling me it cannot find my reservation. I ask an attendant and she asks me for a confirmation #. I can only find an itinerary #. So she asks me to go stand in the first class line. It is three stretchy bands long. I stand in line & start scrolling through my blackberry email looking for the confirmation #. I get ½ way through the line when I find it! Gleeful I get out of line & head back to the kiosk with my hope running high. Still nada. I ask another attendant and she tries to do what I just did with the same result. She asks me to go stand in the first class line, which is now 4 stretchy bands long. The lady at the entry to the first class line barks at each person who passes, “Are you first class??” I did not say what I was thinking. 40 minutes later I am at the desk. Even with my itinerary # & confirmation # Delta does not have my boarding pass in the system. She prints me a ticket anyway & I explain to her that at this point I need to reschedule the whole trip because I will never make it through the Detroit security line & to my flight in 45 minutes. She insists I can - 3 times - as I was insistent that I couldn’t, and she sends me off, much disgruntled, to stand in the security line.
Let me preface this next section with this: I am happy to be safe. Safety can be obtained with courtesy, however.
So I stand in line for 30 minutes. During my stay at the TSA Inn, I visit with a sweet little elderly couple who are headed to San Francisco. They suggest I explain my plight to the TSA officer and ask if I could get in the first class line to speed my progress. I won’t even tell you how that went… but I will confess that a near road rage venom was induced into my blood. I knew better. Mercy & courtesy has no place with airport staff anymore. I should have kept my head low & stood in line with the other cattle, awaiting my turn to be prodded. The poor little couple who had suggested it were shocked at his attitude and demeanor toward me. They clearly do not fly often. I told them that customer service is dead in the airlines today. The little man said “Evidently so.”
And then I felt it. The special warm sensation that announces the untimely arrival of our monthly visitor. If only once, just once, a man could experience this joy, while trapped in a line 30 minutes long, they would never again complain about our moodiness & cranky dispositions. No wonder I was having murderous thoughts, even if I was containing my actions. Hormones stink.
Luckily, I am a pro at getting through security quickly, knowing exactly what & where to disrobe & how & in what order to shuffle things into separate little bins as needed. Jewelry, 3 oz liquids in a plastic ziplock & pocket book in one bin. Laptop in one. Shoes lying flat in another. Shoes must now be in a bin alone. That is a recent change. I learned long ago to wear no belt and don flip flops. Just makes airport life easier. By the time I breeze through the metal detector it is 8:40. My gate is not too far. I RUN in a last futile flight of desperate desire to NOT be in the airport all day, only to be dashed at the gate. A closed door at the gate is never a good sign. I stood staring at the door thinking some retail therapy might feel REALLY good right now if it involved really expensive high heels. And someone elses money. Not even that thought could soothe me. The attendant at the gate was a dead pan figure. That was probably a good thing. He had just been given the honorary position of therapist to Alicia New. Hormones raging, I unloaded to him thoroughly. Not at him, but to him. Well, everything except the “special” visitor part. He smiled and told me he could help me in a minute. I made a much needed trip to the restroom, picked up a Mountain Dew & when I returned he was ready to assist. The next flight is 10:20 am. I am on stand-by. He said the trick would be getting me on that flight. Oh joy. I may blog again at 10:25 if I don’t make it.
But this morning was another story. So here I sit doing blog therapy instead of throwing the hissy fit I have bottled up inside. I arrive an hour and a half before my 8:50 am flight. Usually ample time to navigate with carry on bags. I go to the first kiosk to pick up my boarding pass, which usually eliminates standing in line, and it keeps telling me it cannot find my reservation. I ask an attendant and she asks me for a confirmation #. I can only find an itinerary #. So she asks me to go stand in the first class line. It is three stretchy bands long. I stand in line & start scrolling through my blackberry email looking for the confirmation #. I get ½ way through the line when I find it! Gleeful I get out of line & head back to the kiosk with my hope running high. Still nada. I ask another attendant and she tries to do what I just did with the same result. She asks me to go stand in the first class line, which is now 4 stretchy bands long. The lady at the entry to the first class line barks at each person who passes, “Are you first class??” I did not say what I was thinking. 40 minutes later I am at the desk. Even with my itinerary # & confirmation # Delta does not have my boarding pass in the system. She prints me a ticket anyway & I explain to her that at this point I need to reschedule the whole trip because I will never make it through the Detroit security line & to my flight in 45 minutes. She insists I can - 3 times - as I was insistent that I couldn’t, and she sends me off, much disgruntled, to stand in the security line.
Let me preface this next section with this: I am happy to be safe. Safety can be obtained with courtesy, however.
So I stand in line for 30 minutes. During my stay at the TSA Inn, I visit with a sweet little elderly couple who are headed to San Francisco. They suggest I explain my plight to the TSA officer and ask if I could get in the first class line to speed my progress. I won’t even tell you how that went… but I will confess that a near road rage venom was induced into my blood. I knew better. Mercy & courtesy has no place with airport staff anymore. I should have kept my head low & stood in line with the other cattle, awaiting my turn to be prodded. The poor little couple who had suggested it were shocked at his attitude and demeanor toward me. They clearly do not fly often. I told them that customer service is dead in the airlines today. The little man said “Evidently so.”
And then I felt it. The special warm sensation that announces the untimely arrival of our monthly visitor. If only once, just once, a man could experience this joy, while trapped in a line 30 minutes long, they would never again complain about our moodiness & cranky dispositions. No wonder I was having murderous thoughts, even if I was containing my actions. Hormones stink.
Luckily, I am a pro at getting through security quickly, knowing exactly what & where to disrobe & how & in what order to shuffle things into separate little bins as needed. Jewelry, 3 oz liquids in a plastic ziplock & pocket book in one bin. Laptop in one. Shoes lying flat in another. Shoes must now be in a bin alone. That is a recent change. I learned long ago to wear no belt and don flip flops. Just makes airport life easier. By the time I breeze through the metal detector it is 8:40. My gate is not too far. I RUN in a last futile flight of desperate desire to NOT be in the airport all day, only to be dashed at the gate. A closed door at the gate is never a good sign. I stood staring at the door thinking some retail therapy might feel REALLY good right now if it involved really expensive high heels. And someone elses money. Not even that thought could soothe me. The attendant at the gate was a dead pan figure. That was probably a good thing. He had just been given the honorary position of therapist to Alicia New. Hormones raging, I unloaded to him thoroughly. Not at him, but to him. Well, everything except the “special” visitor part. He smiled and told me he could help me in a minute. I made a much needed trip to the restroom, picked up a Mountain Dew & when I returned he was ready to assist. The next flight is 10:20 am. I am on stand-by. He said the trick would be getting me on that flight. Oh joy. I may blog again at 10:25 if I don’t make it.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
My Missions Blog, Part III
The next day is sort of a free day. We can choose what we want to do during the morning. I asked the camp directors if there was some project that I could tackle for them personally. I know people come all the time to repair things for the camp but I wanted to do something for them & not just the camp. Low and behold if they didn’t come up with a doosie of a job for me. Well, I came to serve didn’t I?? The director has this work shop that lays bare the fact that organization is not his gifting and hasn’t been for the last 30 years. They asked me to tackle it & organize what I could. So I picked one little area & started wading through. I have never seen such in my life. My first goal was to just pick up the trash. They evidently have an affinity for Micky Dee’s, Taco Bell, and Wendy’s. I threw away probably 30 wrappers that had just been tossed on the floor. I organized fishing lure, rat poison, random tools & etc. I had to call on the men sometimes to define for me what a thing was so I could file it properly. After 3 hours of working there was one small shelf that was dust free and organized… out of an entire shed that was probably 1200 square feet. I was so proud of it though and boasted gleefully during lunch about what I had found & where I had put it.
We ate lunch, cleaned up a bit & then went off to hunt for Amish. This is Amish country and we intended to spy some. We took two separate vehicles because if you come on a bus they consider you a tourist group & won’t let you come into their shops. No one likes to be gauked at, I suppose. So we rambled around the hills of Western New York in search of horse drawn buggies & the like. We found various little shops for iron working, crafts, & toys. The man at the iron working shop had 7 children under the age of 9 and I felt like I was trapped in an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Except perhaps somewhere in a Dutch colony. Crazy accents. Of course our kids had to stop at the toy store. I had a blast there too. These Amish were definitely used to talking to the public & hammed it up with the kids, showing them how to use various toys & puzzles. They randomly accused all adults of being cheap & tried to guilt us into buying more toys for our poor neglected children. Who can get mad at a fair faced Amish lady, even when she calls you cheap? I bought a thing called a “stool sample” for my 83 year old Daddy. It is a tiny wooden foot stool in a film canister. The kids played with Amish hand cuffs and put their quarters into an exploding wooden bank. A good time was had by all. Then it was off to camp to get cleaned up & go out to our main event. Ministering at a concert in the park.
So here it was: Time for me to do the unthinkable. I was gonna push tracks in a park. We had made little tags for 100 water bottles that invited people to the church we were being missionaries for & it had the gospel on the back. The poofy mustached leader also had the dubious skill of making things out of balloons. You know… bees, dogs & the like. When we first arrived at the park it looked like the lobby of a geriatric center, though. No kids or young people at all. Gray hair, canes & walkers everywhere. We gave out water anyway and tried to explain, loudly so their hearing aide’s could pick it up, that the water was free. They kept thinking we were selling something. Soon the young people and children started arriving & the balloons were a huge hit. The band even played a march and asked us to do a balloon parade. So we led all the kids in the park with balloons in a big conga line around the park. I had to admit I felt a warm fuzzy or two. It was a happy night with a lot of good people having fun and sharing a little of that with the people in the park. At the end of the night Morgan & I snuck over to the ice cream shop & got 14 ice creams in all sorts of flavors & surprised our team with them as we boarded the bus. Aw, ain’t that precious?
So we went back to camp intent on going to bed, until I realized that it was skit night. And pillow fight night. Morgan had mostly been staying with the campers all week & the girls had practiced a skit she wanted me to come watch. The skits started around 10:30pm. They were lots of fun but the real fun started afterwards. I would guess it was 11:15pm. The director & junior counselors strung a log from two beams in the main lodge. Pillow fights generally end in someone getting mad or hurt or both. So the idea here is that two kids straddle the log like a horse with their feet not touching & they schwack each other with pillows until one or both fall off onto the gym mats below. Too much fun. This lasted until at least midnight. Sleep came easily this night because I was tired from the sleepless night before.
Thursday was Niagara Falls day. We finished up some of the main chores in the morning, warmed leftovers for lunch and then headed North. The campers left at 11am and I have to say I was glad. I noticed on this day that the normally jovial poofy mustached leader was very sullen. He spent most of his time away from the group. He was quiet and short when he did speak. We loaded into the bus about 1pm and with a determined SIX! we were on our way. Riding has become an accepted part of this trip. The camp is in the middle of no where. Riding to town takes 30 – 40 minutes. Niagara was about 1 ½ hours away. I found Buffalo, NY to be interesting as we drove by a river with Canada on the other side. Once we were at the falls we decided to go on the walking tour that basically takes you out on this wooden boardwalk built into the side of the falls on the American side. With your admission you get a sporty pair of sandals that will keep you from sliding off the side of the mountain & a poncho. My personal favorite was the Hurricane Deck. It boasts hurricane strength wind & water. It took your breath away & laughter was mandatory because it seemed so incredible to be voluntarily walking into it. We, of course, were soaked but my poncho did keep my camera reasonably dry. I couldn’t help thinking about the guys who had built this walk way. What must that job have been like? How was it accomplished? Did they do a good job???? Good enough to get us across at least. And what a way to turn 15 years old! The lone 14 year old traveler turned 15 the day we went to Niagara Falls. Whatever will he do for his 16th?? After we dried off and bought $25 ice cream cones and tee-shirts, hats, teddy bears with Niagara Falls written on them & the like, it was time to drive all the way back to camp. We got back around 8pm and dinner was waiting on us courtesy of the camp director’s family and the junior counselors who were staying the night. The campers were returning the next morning for a day trip. We ate & then started packing for the trek home. I tell ya, I have never seen so much mud. It is a wet place, this camp. My kids experienced every inch of it all over every piece of clothing they have worn. Some of their pants could stand up by themselves. Our suite cases were mostly empty because everything got piled into, not one but, two trash bags. That night at devotions the leader came in sullen as before. And late. Very uncharacteristic for him. He didn’t smile once all night even when I smiled at him. I decided something must be wrong back at home. I went over after prayer and asked him if he was ok. He said he was just tired. I asked if everything was ok at home and he looked at me kinda bewildered & said, “Well, something is wrong back home. I can’t really talk about it but it is a gut wrenching thing. Just pray that I will have wisdom.” He apologized for being down & I told him I didn’t want him to be sorry. I wanted him to be OK. Please pray for this sincere, giving, sometimes irritable but always serving poofy mustached man as he goes through this gut wrenching ordeal. Pray for him to have wisdom. I told him I would. I have & I will.
Once everything was packed away except the overnight things for our stay in Kentucky and the clothes on our back, be settled in for the night. As was Morgan’s custom, as soon as I was asleep she tried to sneak noisily into the room to retrieve something. She was sleeping with the camp director’s daughter & best friend in the room next door for the night. Once she was out for the night I don’t think I moved once until the alarm went off at 6:30am. Except for the usually sleep talking my sweet little grey haired room mate did once or twice. She is very busy cleaning & organizing things when she sleeps. But I easily nodded right back off once she was done directing the invisible people in our cabin.
Well that is pretty much that. Missions trip accomplished. We decided to drive all night and got home at 5am instead of staying the night in Kentucky. By 2am everyone was cranky, especially when some of the younger kids were being noisy. By 3:30 everyone settled down to sleep in the bus... except me of course. I played brick breaker until I was thoroughly frustrated and then just fidgeted uncomfortably until we arrived.
And so... New York may never be the same. Nor will we.
We ate lunch, cleaned up a bit & then went off to hunt for Amish. This is Amish country and we intended to spy some. We took two separate vehicles because if you come on a bus they consider you a tourist group & won’t let you come into their shops. No one likes to be gauked at, I suppose. So we rambled around the hills of Western New York in search of horse drawn buggies & the like. We found various little shops for iron working, crafts, & toys. The man at the iron working shop had 7 children under the age of 9 and I felt like I was trapped in an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Except perhaps somewhere in a Dutch colony. Crazy accents. Of course our kids had to stop at the toy store. I had a blast there too. These Amish were definitely used to talking to the public & hammed it up with the kids, showing them how to use various toys & puzzles. They randomly accused all adults of being cheap & tried to guilt us into buying more toys for our poor neglected children. Who can get mad at a fair faced Amish lady, even when she calls you cheap? I bought a thing called a “stool sample” for my 83 year old Daddy. It is a tiny wooden foot stool in a film canister. The kids played with Amish hand cuffs and put their quarters into an exploding wooden bank. A good time was had by all. Then it was off to camp to get cleaned up & go out to our main event. Ministering at a concert in the park.
So here it was: Time for me to do the unthinkable. I was gonna push tracks in a park. We had made little tags for 100 water bottles that invited people to the church we were being missionaries for & it had the gospel on the back. The poofy mustached leader also had the dubious skill of making things out of balloons. You know… bees, dogs & the like. When we first arrived at the park it looked like the lobby of a geriatric center, though. No kids or young people at all. Gray hair, canes & walkers everywhere. We gave out water anyway and tried to explain, loudly so their hearing aide’s could pick it up, that the water was free. They kept thinking we were selling something. Soon the young people and children started arriving & the balloons were a huge hit. The band even played a march and asked us to do a balloon parade. So we led all the kids in the park with balloons in a big conga line around the park. I had to admit I felt a warm fuzzy or two. It was a happy night with a lot of good people having fun and sharing a little of that with the people in the park. At the end of the night Morgan & I snuck over to the ice cream shop & got 14 ice creams in all sorts of flavors & surprised our team with them as we boarded the bus. Aw, ain’t that precious?
So we went back to camp intent on going to bed, until I realized that it was skit night. And pillow fight night. Morgan had mostly been staying with the campers all week & the girls had practiced a skit she wanted me to come watch. The skits started around 10:30pm. They were lots of fun but the real fun started afterwards. I would guess it was 11:15pm. The director & junior counselors strung a log from two beams in the main lodge. Pillow fights generally end in someone getting mad or hurt or both. So the idea here is that two kids straddle the log like a horse with their feet not touching & they schwack each other with pillows until one or both fall off onto the gym mats below. Too much fun. This lasted until at least midnight. Sleep came easily this night because I was tired from the sleepless night before.
Thursday was Niagara Falls day. We finished up some of the main chores in the morning, warmed leftovers for lunch and then headed North. The campers left at 11am and I have to say I was glad. I noticed on this day that the normally jovial poofy mustached leader was very sullen. He spent most of his time away from the group. He was quiet and short when he did speak. We loaded into the bus about 1pm and with a determined SIX! we were on our way. Riding has become an accepted part of this trip. The camp is in the middle of no where. Riding to town takes 30 – 40 minutes. Niagara was about 1 ½ hours away. I found Buffalo, NY to be interesting as we drove by a river with Canada on the other side. Once we were at the falls we decided to go on the walking tour that basically takes you out on this wooden boardwalk built into the side of the falls on the American side. With your admission you get a sporty pair of sandals that will keep you from sliding off the side of the mountain & a poncho. My personal favorite was the Hurricane Deck. It boasts hurricane strength wind & water. It took your breath away & laughter was mandatory because it seemed so incredible to be voluntarily walking into it. We, of course, were soaked but my poncho did keep my camera reasonably dry. I couldn’t help thinking about the guys who had built this walk way. What must that job have been like? How was it accomplished? Did they do a good job???? Good enough to get us across at least. And what a way to turn 15 years old! The lone 14 year old traveler turned 15 the day we went to Niagara Falls. Whatever will he do for his 16th?? After we dried off and bought $25 ice cream cones and tee-shirts, hats, teddy bears with Niagara Falls written on them & the like, it was time to drive all the way back to camp. We got back around 8pm and dinner was waiting on us courtesy of the camp director’s family and the junior counselors who were staying the night. The campers were returning the next morning for a day trip. We ate & then started packing for the trek home. I tell ya, I have never seen so much mud. It is a wet place, this camp. My kids experienced every inch of it all over every piece of clothing they have worn. Some of their pants could stand up by themselves. Our suite cases were mostly empty because everything got piled into, not one but, two trash bags. That night at devotions the leader came in sullen as before. And late. Very uncharacteristic for him. He didn’t smile once all night even when I smiled at him. I decided something must be wrong back at home. I went over after prayer and asked him if he was ok. He said he was just tired. I asked if everything was ok at home and he looked at me kinda bewildered & said, “Well, something is wrong back home. I can’t really talk about it but it is a gut wrenching thing. Just pray that I will have wisdom.” He apologized for being down & I told him I didn’t want him to be sorry. I wanted him to be OK. Please pray for this sincere, giving, sometimes irritable but always serving poofy mustached man as he goes through this gut wrenching ordeal. Pray for him to have wisdom. I told him I would. I have & I will.
Once everything was packed away except the overnight things for our stay in Kentucky and the clothes on our back, be settled in for the night. As was Morgan’s custom, as soon as I was asleep she tried to sneak noisily into the room to retrieve something. She was sleeping with the camp director’s daughter & best friend in the room next door for the night. Once she was out for the night I don’t think I moved once until the alarm went off at 6:30am. Except for the usually sleep talking my sweet little grey haired room mate did once or twice. She is very busy cleaning & organizing things when she sleeps. But I easily nodded right back off once she was done directing the invisible people in our cabin.
Well that is pretty much that. Missions trip accomplished. We decided to drive all night and got home at 5am instead of staying the night in Kentucky. By 2am everyone was cranky, especially when some of the younger kids were being noisy. By 3:30 everyone settled down to sleep in the bus... except me of course. I played brick breaker until I was thoroughly frustrated and then just fidgeted uncomfortably until we arrived.
And so... New York may never be the same. Nor will we.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
My Missions Blog, Part II
The next day was down to the nitty gritty of the trip. There is a bell that rings when it is meal time, gathering time or some emergency. It means come to where the bell is. It rings every morning in the 7:30 – 8:15 range. There is no real schedule in these parts and the camp leaders are rather proud of that fact. They are an interesting family. The wife’s father built the lodge. The husband is a tall, gangly man with terrible teeth, bowl cut hair and a face only the best of Christian’s could love. He is a good man though with a great heart for the kids who come to camp each year. His wife has this generic northerner look. Nordic features with dark hair. She plays the guitar and leads worship for the camp. They both cook because it is a never ending job with 44 people to feed three times a day. They have two children who are both home-schooled and have the social skills to prove it. Sweet kids. The girl is very shy and smiles eagerly through her long red hair & freckles. The son is… well… all boy. They all have great immune systems because in this neck of the woods, cleanliness is NOT next to godliness. Their home and the entire lodge is maintained rather minimally. I am growing fond of this place and these people despite it’s peculiarities.
Today is chinking day. It is repairing the girl’s cabin day. And sharing the gospel day. Our group is split into two groups. One will do manual labor & the other will go door to door hanging literature on door knobs. My hand cannot fly up fast enough to do manual labor. I really do not like it when Jehovah’s Witnesses & Mormons come to my home. It feels like an invasion of my privacy. I do not want to be that person. I believe sharing your faith should be a natural extension of the life you live. Either your life shares it or it doesn’t. Mine is rather iffy on that account. Actions always speak louder than words and words tend to be empty all too often. There are definitely times when words of encouragement & guidance can lead someone closer to or into their personal relationship with Jesus, but if our lives don’t match what we say then it is hard for other’s to trust. In this skeptical culture we have developed in America a pamphlet on my door knob might as well be a Walmart sale advertisement. I feel it carries very little weight but I do occasionally take advantage of their roll back prices so I won’t knock it too hard. Just not my cup of tea.
So I spend my day chinking logs. I learned that Oaken is this kind of rope that looks like it is made out of horse hair that gets stuffed between the logs in a log cabin. It acts as insulation. My job was to take the flat end of a crow bar & stuff it back in. All around the lodge. We did not have any new Oaken so we had to just stuff the existing Oaken back in that had fallen out. I found a rat’s nest that had been made of the stuff above the cabinet in the dining area. I recycled most of it but the little rodent had also shred a stuffed ball into the mix so I had to try to shake that part out. The things you do for missions. I also helped prepare meals the whole day in between chinking. The campers arrived at 11am and chaos ensued. I just kept chinking and ignored them mostly. I am not a really good kid person. I love mine, but…
It was a tedious day. And then my employment back in Georgia started invading my space for a while. The poor camp directors had to let me into their house to use their internet connection, not once but twice, so I could send a few documents over for work. They did not have a scanner or a fax machine so I had to get one of them to drive me to the nearest town to fax a document that had to have my signature on it. By the time I got done with that it was time to help prepare dinner. My 73 year old room mate & I made chocolate chip muffins and had the funniest time doing it. They were the hit of dinner, of course, and we beamed proudly at each other as we ate dinner side by side. I sat there admiring my chinking and feeling pretty accomplished.
Eating with the little campers all around is noisy & hectic but they all seem very happy to be at camp & are generally cooperative. We went out to a camp fire later and froze our toes off while singing choruses & listening to a Bible story. Three little boys accepted Christ that night and the bell rang 3 times. I took a long hot shower afterwards and fell asleep with my hair still wet, out of sheer exhaustion.
I must admit I felt almost drugged the next morning when I woke up. All the travel, work & general hoopla had me dragging. I woke up with medusa hair from sleeping on it wet & decided it was definitely a hat day. I got into the kitchen early enough to help slice some nectarines & pull grapes off the stem for breakfast. After a meal of French toast, bacon, fruit and hot chocolate we met as a team in this little trailer along the path to the RV graveyard. Everything here is orange, green & brown plaid. Most of the furniture is from the 70’s and has the original fabrics still on them. We decided at the trailer meeting that some of us would go out on the streets again and some would paint the ceiling in the basement of the church in town that was associated with the camp. Wow. Painting a ceiling. It was tough work but you know I volunteered for it. My hands would go numb and my head was throbbing while I looked up to paint some sort of cork board that seemed to drink in the paint like a sponge. We ate salami & turkey sandwiches for lunch and painted some more. I finally decided my pounding head was from caffeine withdrawal. I had not had a Mountain Dew in probably 36 hours and not even 4 Ibuprofen dulled the pain. I took a break and swang on the tree swing with the kids for a while and then started back painting. Soon we were ready to head back to camp but not before the kids were stained red & purple from eating Mulberries straight from the trees and Raspberries from the field. I guess we abandoned the counting off system because we were off to Walmart when we pondered if we had left anyone behind. We decided we hadn’t. I bought $150 worth of warmer clothes at Mr. Walton’s boutique and we headed back to camp. Morgan decided to abandon me for the night and sleep in the tree house with the camp girls. Staying with a 73 year old and your Mom can’t really compete, huh? I guess it could more accurately be described as a Tree Bus since it is an old camp bus they put up in the tree. My roommate & I were silly, I suppose, for wanting to actually sleep at 11pm. About midnight we realized our room was the closest route for 8 campers to get to the tree house as they trounced through our bedroom giggling and talking loudly. This was also the night that my little critter friends came to visit. I guess Morgan had gotten something out of the zipped bag & forgot to re-zip it. About 4am I heard the little whatever-it-was rustling the plastic & snapped up out of bed clapping my hands. I got up and secured everything & could not go back to sleep. Of course. I tried to find a place where I could type without disturbing someone but every corner seemed to have someone on a pallet or air mattress. Even the main lodge. So I laid in bed trying to play brick breakers on my blackberry but even that had some kind of glitch in it. Grrr. So I harrumphed and just laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour or so until sleep finally came.
Everyone’s personality is definitely coming out by this point in the journey. Our parolee is a funny guy. Very child like but with the strong opinions of an adult. He is starting to annoy some of the adults. He speaks with strong Ebonics and the young preacher’s wife is determined to get him to say S-TR-EETS but every time it comes out Skreets. I told her she needed to give up & expand her linguistics skills. He really has a good heart and is pretty amazing over all considering what he has been through in his 33 years. I am getting a little annoyed with the adults for being annoyed with him. He has been a Christian for 1 year. What is their excuse?
I have found the leader with the poofy mustache to be a roller coaster ride of mood swings. He is never completely unpleasant but he gets irritated and snippy sometimes and then can be almost annoyingly chipper and bouncy other times. For some reason he walks around every parking lot we pull into & picks up trash & returns buggies to the holding corral. He is a flurry of motion at all times. Oh gosh, and the crocs. He has red crocs. Camo crocs. Blue crocs. He is a lover of crocs. He really doesn’t like it if anyone second guesses his instructions and he is very knowledgeable about what to do when. I was especially frustrated with him when he lost his patience with the parolee once over something that was so petty it shouldn’t have been an issue… in my mind. But we are all getting tired now & I know these things are going to happen.
The almost 14 year old boy who came by himself is quiet and then alternately hyper and a very sweet guy. Super polite. As far as almost-15-year-old boys go, though, he is way above the curve. That one has a bright future!
The 17 year old girl has a neat story. She lived with her Mom until she was 10 but never sees her now. From 10 years old she has lived with her Dad & step mom whom she calls her Mom. She went to church alone for years and has been praying for her family to come too. Her Dad just got saved last year and now her whole family goes to church together. She asked lots of questions about life & church while we painted the ceiling together. Hope I didn’t ruin her with my answers. She is one of my favorites. Her and the 4 ½ year old boy. He is a HAND FULL but he is one of those with personality plus. He just cracks me up the whole trip with his antics, making his parents crazy and getting into all kinds of trouble. Sometimes I think to myself that the things they are expecting of him lead him into getting in trouble because no 4 year old can have that much endurance, discipline & pay attention for the lengths of time required. His family are work, work, workers. They volunteer quickly to go door to door. They have much more patience than I do and I am beginning to admire them as well. I would probably not hang out with them much without them becoming disapproving of aspects of my life but I like them. I think I am an OK Christian but not a very good Baptist and these guys, all of these guys on the trip, are thoroughbreds in that area. But this little couple is very laid back & sincere. They do exhaust me from afar because I remember how much work little kids are. Their 9 year old daughter is a saucy little thing who gets along well with most of the kids & is easily corrected when she goes astray. She spends a lot of time with Morgan, playing her Nintendo DS Fashion game. Divas!
Another favorite of mine is my 73 year old room mate. Talk about spunky. She was married to the music director at her church for 48 years. He died about 1 ½ years ago, so she is really figuring out what to do with her life now. I found out she lives in my neighborhood. So much for mowing the grass with a Corona in hand, anymore. She has been away from home for almost 3 weeks now. She has a wry sense of humor like mine & finds the leader a bit too perky at times as well. She is a servant at heart & works easily in the kitchen with the rest of us ladies, although she is occasionally a little too helpful and kinda gets on the leader’s wife’s nerves. It has all gone very smoothly though. Her 14 year old grandson has been on the three week trek with her. They will be riding home with us, so now our head count will go up to 14 instead of 12. I am and will always be SIX, however.
My son Noah is such an easy going laid back kid. He has fit in easily with the guys in his cabin. Sometimes he hangs with the 14 year old who came with his grandmother, my room mate, and sometimes he plays with the campers. Morgan & Noah both are generally quiet & compliant. I am so proud of both of them. Neither of them were the hardest workers but they are genuinely sweet, loving kids. More to come...
Today is chinking day. It is repairing the girl’s cabin day. And sharing the gospel day. Our group is split into two groups. One will do manual labor & the other will go door to door hanging literature on door knobs. My hand cannot fly up fast enough to do manual labor. I really do not like it when Jehovah’s Witnesses & Mormons come to my home. It feels like an invasion of my privacy. I do not want to be that person. I believe sharing your faith should be a natural extension of the life you live. Either your life shares it or it doesn’t. Mine is rather iffy on that account. Actions always speak louder than words and words tend to be empty all too often. There are definitely times when words of encouragement & guidance can lead someone closer to or into their personal relationship with Jesus, but if our lives don’t match what we say then it is hard for other’s to trust. In this skeptical culture we have developed in America a pamphlet on my door knob might as well be a Walmart sale advertisement. I feel it carries very little weight but I do occasionally take advantage of their roll back prices so I won’t knock it too hard. Just not my cup of tea.
So I spend my day chinking logs. I learned that Oaken is this kind of rope that looks like it is made out of horse hair that gets stuffed between the logs in a log cabin. It acts as insulation. My job was to take the flat end of a crow bar & stuff it back in. All around the lodge. We did not have any new Oaken so we had to just stuff the existing Oaken back in that had fallen out. I found a rat’s nest that had been made of the stuff above the cabinet in the dining area. I recycled most of it but the little rodent had also shred a stuffed ball into the mix so I had to try to shake that part out. The things you do for missions. I also helped prepare meals the whole day in between chinking. The campers arrived at 11am and chaos ensued. I just kept chinking and ignored them mostly. I am not a really good kid person. I love mine, but…
It was a tedious day. And then my employment back in Georgia started invading my space for a while. The poor camp directors had to let me into their house to use their internet connection, not once but twice, so I could send a few documents over for work. They did not have a scanner or a fax machine so I had to get one of them to drive me to the nearest town to fax a document that had to have my signature on it. By the time I got done with that it was time to help prepare dinner. My 73 year old room mate & I made chocolate chip muffins and had the funniest time doing it. They were the hit of dinner, of course, and we beamed proudly at each other as we ate dinner side by side. I sat there admiring my chinking and feeling pretty accomplished.
Eating with the little campers all around is noisy & hectic but they all seem very happy to be at camp & are generally cooperative. We went out to a camp fire later and froze our toes off while singing choruses & listening to a Bible story. Three little boys accepted Christ that night and the bell rang 3 times. I took a long hot shower afterwards and fell asleep with my hair still wet, out of sheer exhaustion.
I must admit I felt almost drugged the next morning when I woke up. All the travel, work & general hoopla had me dragging. I woke up with medusa hair from sleeping on it wet & decided it was definitely a hat day. I got into the kitchen early enough to help slice some nectarines & pull grapes off the stem for breakfast. After a meal of French toast, bacon, fruit and hot chocolate we met as a team in this little trailer along the path to the RV graveyard. Everything here is orange, green & brown plaid. Most of the furniture is from the 70’s and has the original fabrics still on them. We decided at the trailer meeting that some of us would go out on the streets again and some would paint the ceiling in the basement of the church in town that was associated with the camp. Wow. Painting a ceiling. It was tough work but you know I volunteered for it. My hands would go numb and my head was throbbing while I looked up to paint some sort of cork board that seemed to drink in the paint like a sponge. We ate salami & turkey sandwiches for lunch and painted some more. I finally decided my pounding head was from caffeine withdrawal. I had not had a Mountain Dew in probably 36 hours and not even 4 Ibuprofen dulled the pain. I took a break and swang on the tree swing with the kids for a while and then started back painting. Soon we were ready to head back to camp but not before the kids were stained red & purple from eating Mulberries straight from the trees and Raspberries from the field. I guess we abandoned the counting off system because we were off to Walmart when we pondered if we had left anyone behind. We decided we hadn’t. I bought $150 worth of warmer clothes at Mr. Walton’s boutique and we headed back to camp. Morgan decided to abandon me for the night and sleep in the tree house with the camp girls. Staying with a 73 year old and your Mom can’t really compete, huh? I guess it could more accurately be described as a Tree Bus since it is an old camp bus they put up in the tree. My roommate & I were silly, I suppose, for wanting to actually sleep at 11pm. About midnight we realized our room was the closest route for 8 campers to get to the tree house as they trounced through our bedroom giggling and talking loudly. This was also the night that my little critter friends came to visit. I guess Morgan had gotten something out of the zipped bag & forgot to re-zip it. About 4am I heard the little whatever-it-was rustling the plastic & snapped up out of bed clapping my hands. I got up and secured everything & could not go back to sleep. Of course. I tried to find a place where I could type without disturbing someone but every corner seemed to have someone on a pallet or air mattress. Even the main lodge. So I laid in bed trying to play brick breakers on my blackberry but even that had some kind of glitch in it. Grrr. So I harrumphed and just laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour or so until sleep finally came.
Everyone’s personality is definitely coming out by this point in the journey. Our parolee is a funny guy. Very child like but with the strong opinions of an adult. He is starting to annoy some of the adults. He speaks with strong Ebonics and the young preacher’s wife is determined to get him to say S-TR-EETS but every time it comes out Skreets. I told her she needed to give up & expand her linguistics skills. He really has a good heart and is pretty amazing over all considering what he has been through in his 33 years. I am getting a little annoyed with the adults for being annoyed with him. He has been a Christian for 1 year. What is their excuse?
I have found the leader with the poofy mustache to be a roller coaster ride of mood swings. He is never completely unpleasant but he gets irritated and snippy sometimes and then can be almost annoyingly chipper and bouncy other times. For some reason he walks around every parking lot we pull into & picks up trash & returns buggies to the holding corral. He is a flurry of motion at all times. Oh gosh, and the crocs. He has red crocs. Camo crocs. Blue crocs. He is a lover of crocs. He really doesn’t like it if anyone second guesses his instructions and he is very knowledgeable about what to do when. I was especially frustrated with him when he lost his patience with the parolee once over something that was so petty it shouldn’t have been an issue… in my mind. But we are all getting tired now & I know these things are going to happen.
The almost 14 year old boy who came by himself is quiet and then alternately hyper and a very sweet guy. Super polite. As far as almost-15-year-old boys go, though, he is way above the curve. That one has a bright future!
The 17 year old girl has a neat story. She lived with her Mom until she was 10 but never sees her now. From 10 years old she has lived with her Dad & step mom whom she calls her Mom. She went to church alone for years and has been praying for her family to come too. Her Dad just got saved last year and now her whole family goes to church together. She asked lots of questions about life & church while we painted the ceiling together. Hope I didn’t ruin her with my answers. She is one of my favorites. Her and the 4 ½ year old boy. He is a HAND FULL but he is one of those with personality plus. He just cracks me up the whole trip with his antics, making his parents crazy and getting into all kinds of trouble. Sometimes I think to myself that the things they are expecting of him lead him into getting in trouble because no 4 year old can have that much endurance, discipline & pay attention for the lengths of time required. His family are work, work, workers. They volunteer quickly to go door to door. They have much more patience than I do and I am beginning to admire them as well. I would probably not hang out with them much without them becoming disapproving of aspects of my life but I like them. I think I am an OK Christian but not a very good Baptist and these guys, all of these guys on the trip, are thoroughbreds in that area. But this little couple is very laid back & sincere. They do exhaust me from afar because I remember how much work little kids are. Their 9 year old daughter is a saucy little thing who gets along well with most of the kids & is easily corrected when she goes astray. She spends a lot of time with Morgan, playing her Nintendo DS Fashion game. Divas!
Another favorite of mine is my 73 year old room mate. Talk about spunky. She was married to the music director at her church for 48 years. He died about 1 ½ years ago, so she is really figuring out what to do with her life now. I found out she lives in my neighborhood. So much for mowing the grass with a Corona in hand, anymore. She has been away from home for almost 3 weeks now. She has a wry sense of humor like mine & finds the leader a bit too perky at times as well. She is a servant at heart & works easily in the kitchen with the rest of us ladies, although she is occasionally a little too helpful and kinda gets on the leader’s wife’s nerves. It has all gone very smoothly though. Her 14 year old grandson has been on the three week trek with her. They will be riding home with us, so now our head count will go up to 14 instead of 12. I am and will always be SIX, however.
My son Noah is such an easy going laid back kid. He has fit in easily with the guys in his cabin. Sometimes he hangs with the 14 year old who came with his grandmother, my room mate, and sometimes he plays with the campers. Morgan & Noah both are generally quiet & compliant. I am so proud of both of them. Neither of them were the hardest workers but they are genuinely sweet, loving kids. More to come...
Monday, July 6, 2009
My Mission Blog
We began our trip at 8am on a Friday. I was expecting the usual. Church bus. Bouncy roads. A 17 hour drive to Western New York. There’s an assorted array of participants. The leader is a middle aged man with a large bushy mustache and clogs to match most sports team shirts that he wore. He is a jolly soul who I am certain has lived a good life full of character and moral excellence. There is the elderly man who really came along to monitor his very young pastor’s behavior, I suspect. And to support and encourage him. He is a kind man who doesn’t sleep well but has a sweet spirit anyway. His 30 year old pastor brought his entire family along. The wife and two kids, 4 & 9, had just returned from a youth camp and immediately turned around and went on this mission trip. They are clearly a family immersed in the “doing” of church. They have sincere hearts with a steady determination in their eyes. There is also the parolee who is a reformed and now evangelical ex-criminal and the only black person on the trip. Special arrangements have been made for him to come on this trip while on parole. For a man of 33 with such a past, it is amazing how child-like he seems. He has a multitude of fears but is going on this trip anyway. True courage. There is a 14 year old boy who came along by himself and a 17 year old girl who is also flying solo. The 17 year old girl has been away from home at the youth camp with the 30 year old pastor’s family and she is now home sick and tucks up under them for most of the trip. And then there is us: A single mom with two amazing kids who must seem such a mystery to all of these good church folk. Everybody from these parts knows everyone’s cousin’s mama’s sisters. I know they are terribly curious as to my story but everyone is respectful and no one pries. Twelve passengers ready to make a difference.
We discovered the morning of the trip that there was no hitch on the bus. All of the luggage that was to go in the trailer must now be piled in the back two rows of seats. We head out in the usual form. Everyone is assigned a number and every time we exit & re-enter the bus we sound off. “SIX!” is my road warrior cry each time we head out. We drive through Georgia for most of the first day and sleep in the basement of a church in Kentucky that first night.
No snorers.
There is a God.
We rise and leave at 7:30am and travel through Ohio & Pennsylvania on the fourth of July. The roads up north are much bumpier than our southern roads and the mountain of luggage in the back row, which has been packed & unpacked once already, begins to landslide. This is only of significance if you are the one sitting in the next to last row, which my children & I were. I spent that whole day getting pelted by various hanging bags, air mattresses & boxes of supplies. I pinched a nerve in my neck that day, somewhere between sleeping crookedly in a bus seat and shoving luggage back onto the top of the heap. Just a nagging crick to keep me company for the next 2 days. We eat at the assorted food establishments along the way: Chick-fil-a, Arby’s, and of course Bob Evans. Can’t forget Bob. Shortly after we fill up on salads, ribs, and other miscellaneous foods courtesy of Mr. Evans in Jamestown NY, we head to the camp.
As we drive into the camp there are random broken down RV’s along the road on either side. It feels more like a processional to an RV grave yard than a summer camp site. When we arrive it is dusk and the ducks are meandering through the construction debris to the right and the pot belly pig is tucked away in her bed inside a work shed on the left. Her name is Mayberry and she gets grumpy at night in her “house” so we must tread lightly. It has rained for several weeks and the camp site is a mud slide. We slip & slide our way into the lodge with bags in tow. Plus it is cold. Very cold. Must be in the mid to low 40’s. Most of us are dressed in shorts. I skid my way to our cabin covered in goose bumps in my mud covered flip flops and find my bunk. Our fearless leader described it as rustic and his words did not fail him. I choose the bottom bunk with the double mattress and assess the bathroom that looks somewhat like those porta-potties you see at festivals, but with a shower. I think UGH. I walk back into the cabin room and my daughter is perched on the top bunk above me, grinning with satisfaction & says “This is going to be so awesome!” I smiled, rubbed her hair and said, “Yes it is sweetie. Yes it is.”
We made it through the first night with just a few pitter patters from our rodent room mates. I had been warned about both chipmunks and mice. I had showered in the porta-potty the night before, so getting to breakfast & then the bus on time was a cinch. With a hearty SIX! we were off to church. Church came and went rather un-ceremoniously. Ironic, I know. There were all sorts of interesting characters there, however. Most of the members ride over on a bus from a group home. Bi-polars. Mentally disabled. Physically disabled. They came in all shapes, sizes and ages. Then there was ZZ Top. At the last minute a lady, a young girl and three extraordinarily tall men with long hair & beards walked in and sat down. Well, only the men had beards. You can imagine my surprise when, later at the spaghetti social, they spoke with this odd Swedish/Dutch accent. It was like Bruno from Popeye having Minnie Mouse’s voice. Evidently the Swedish don’t bathe too often either, if you get my drift. Lunch was finished, dishes were cleaned and with a swift SIX! we were back at the camp site napping until time for evening services.
Evening service was rather unremarkable as well, and we were back at camp before I knew it. I spent some time blogging about the day and then joined the crowd around the grill where Bubba Burgers were cooking. I exchanged children stories with the young pastor’s wife and noted that they were young pups compared to me. I will be 39 next month. I don’t feel almost 40. I am the second most senior woman on this trip. The next eldest is 73. We ate and watched the kids have a roller derby in the lodge lobby with what looked like furniture movers like the ones you put under piano’s. After an hour with no injuries we decided we had pushed our luck far enough and bedtime was called. More to come…
We discovered the morning of the trip that there was no hitch on the bus. All of the luggage that was to go in the trailer must now be piled in the back two rows of seats. We head out in the usual form. Everyone is assigned a number and every time we exit & re-enter the bus we sound off. “SIX!” is my road warrior cry each time we head out. We drive through Georgia for most of the first day and sleep in the basement of a church in Kentucky that first night.
No snorers.
There is a God.
We rise and leave at 7:30am and travel through Ohio & Pennsylvania on the fourth of July. The roads up north are much bumpier than our southern roads and the mountain of luggage in the back row, which has been packed & unpacked once already, begins to landslide. This is only of significance if you are the one sitting in the next to last row, which my children & I were. I spent that whole day getting pelted by various hanging bags, air mattresses & boxes of supplies. I pinched a nerve in my neck that day, somewhere between sleeping crookedly in a bus seat and shoving luggage back onto the top of the heap. Just a nagging crick to keep me company for the next 2 days. We eat at the assorted food establishments along the way: Chick-fil-a, Arby’s, and of course Bob Evans. Can’t forget Bob. Shortly after we fill up on salads, ribs, and other miscellaneous foods courtesy of Mr. Evans in Jamestown NY, we head to the camp.
As we drive into the camp there are random broken down RV’s along the road on either side. It feels more like a processional to an RV grave yard than a summer camp site. When we arrive it is dusk and the ducks are meandering through the construction debris to the right and the pot belly pig is tucked away in her bed inside a work shed on the left. Her name is Mayberry and she gets grumpy at night in her “house” so we must tread lightly. It has rained for several weeks and the camp site is a mud slide. We slip & slide our way into the lodge with bags in tow. Plus it is cold. Very cold. Must be in the mid to low 40’s. Most of us are dressed in shorts. I skid my way to our cabin covered in goose bumps in my mud covered flip flops and find my bunk. Our fearless leader described it as rustic and his words did not fail him. I choose the bottom bunk with the double mattress and assess the bathroom that looks somewhat like those porta-potties you see at festivals, but with a shower. I think UGH. I walk back into the cabin room and my daughter is perched on the top bunk above me, grinning with satisfaction & says “This is going to be so awesome!” I smiled, rubbed her hair and said, “Yes it is sweetie. Yes it is.”
We made it through the first night with just a few pitter patters from our rodent room mates. I had been warned about both chipmunks and mice. I had showered in the porta-potty the night before, so getting to breakfast & then the bus on time was a cinch. With a hearty SIX! we were off to church. Church came and went rather un-ceremoniously. Ironic, I know. There were all sorts of interesting characters there, however. Most of the members ride over on a bus from a group home. Bi-polars. Mentally disabled. Physically disabled. They came in all shapes, sizes and ages. Then there was ZZ Top. At the last minute a lady, a young girl and three extraordinarily tall men with long hair & beards walked in and sat down. Well, only the men had beards. You can imagine my surprise when, later at the spaghetti social, they spoke with this odd Swedish/Dutch accent. It was like Bruno from Popeye having Minnie Mouse’s voice. Evidently the Swedish don’t bathe too often either, if you get my drift. Lunch was finished, dishes were cleaned and with a swift SIX! we were back at the camp site napping until time for evening services.
Evening service was rather unremarkable as well, and we were back at camp before I knew it. I spent some time blogging about the day and then joined the crowd around the grill where Bubba Burgers were cooking. I exchanged children stories with the young pastor’s wife and noted that they were young pups compared to me. I will be 39 next month. I don’t feel almost 40. I am the second most senior woman on this trip. The next eldest is 73. We ate and watched the kids have a roller derby in the lodge lobby with what looked like furniture movers like the ones you put under piano’s. After an hour with no injuries we decided we had pushed our luck far enough and bedtime was called. More to come…
Learning to Respect Myself Part II
I will never regret giving someone I care about the benefit of the doubt. I will never think twice about waiting, listening, sizing up all of the information. It is easy in personal relationships to have widely ranging emotions. It is not always easy to manage them appropriately. I am queen bee in that area. Passionate to a fault. But I am learning where the lines are.
The line for me these days is respect. In my life, generally, I feel that I am well respected. Maybe not always liked… but mostly respected. I don’t demand respect. It is just a part of who I am to work hard to respect other & expect that in exchange. I think it is a natural reciprocal relationship when respect is mutual.
However, when respect is a one way street it has become adamantly, strongly & sometimes vehemently unacceptable to me. Disrespect is offensive and often times surprising. Sometimes shocking. I recently had this encounter with someone that I had considered a friend. I have completely walked away from that relationship, realizing that if they do not respect me enough to show basic civil and moral decency, there is no place in my life for them. I work hard to be a good woman, a good mother, daughter, worker. Not because I want to impress anyone but because I want to like myself. I want to live my life without regrets as much as possible and I want to respect the life I lead. I have worked to try to be a high caliber woman. I will not be treated as anything but. If someone in your life does not realize the caliber of person you are and treats you as less, it will only lead to pulling you down to the level in which they regard you rather than keeping you on an upward climb. If I allowed this abuse of my self esteem to continue it would only drag me down. My life is in too much of an upward turn for me to risk it now on unproductive and damaging relationships.
As I age, self respect is becoming more concrete. More defined. I like myself & loath my missteps more with each passing year. But I am finding who I am, and that is amazing.
The line for me these days is respect. In my life, generally, I feel that I am well respected. Maybe not always liked… but mostly respected. I don’t demand respect. It is just a part of who I am to work hard to respect other & expect that in exchange. I think it is a natural reciprocal relationship when respect is mutual.
However, when respect is a one way street it has become adamantly, strongly & sometimes vehemently unacceptable to me. Disrespect is offensive and often times surprising. Sometimes shocking. I recently had this encounter with someone that I had considered a friend. I have completely walked away from that relationship, realizing that if they do not respect me enough to show basic civil and moral decency, there is no place in my life for them. I work hard to be a good woman, a good mother, daughter, worker. Not because I want to impress anyone but because I want to like myself. I want to live my life without regrets as much as possible and I want to respect the life I lead. I have worked to try to be a high caliber woman. I will not be treated as anything but. If someone in your life does not realize the caliber of person you are and treats you as less, it will only lead to pulling you down to the level in which they regard you rather than keeping you on an upward climb. If I allowed this abuse of my self esteem to continue it would only drag me down. My life is in too much of an upward turn for me to risk it now on unproductive and damaging relationships.
As I age, self respect is becoming more concrete. More defined. I like myself & loath my missteps more with each passing year. But I am finding who I am, and that is amazing.
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