Dates of the Up Variety

No, this post is not about dates, but you knew that.  The summer has been a little slow on the blog because I haven't had the PCs to keep me supplied with laugh-attacking, heart breaking, pull my hair out-ing moments.  Shoot, what HAVE you been doing all summer, you ask?

Well, there was that month of weddings…

After that, I came home for a couple of weeks and unpacked/did laundry/post travel stuff.  Oh, and I slept.  A lot.  I remember Cami Jones always saying that she slept a week straight after coming home from college in the summers.  Since I'm going to be in school schedule for a while, I probably will be doing that for years.

At the end of June, I ditched the desert for the country in northern Colorado.  You probably don't know how much I love the country.  And cows.  And fields.  And the smell of hay and horse.  And banjo.  And most things country.  We went to the Greeley Stampede and watched the rodeo a few nights and listened to some country music.  On the 4th, we decked ourselves in red, white and blue and watched the parade.  (And hollered our lungs out.)  We set off fireworks too, thanks to Preston and Elliot who went on a mission to Wyoming to get them. 

Friday morning, Dora dropped me off in Denver for my family reunion. 

A word about our family reunions…

My mom's side of the family is loud, competitive, crazy, and loves being together.  The logical consequence of that is our family reunions are LOUD, competitive, and crazy happy fests.  Aunt P organized a Minute to Win It Family Tournament, and she and Mal coordinated the food department.  There were a jillion details I don't even know who to credit, but let's just say it was an all-star family reunion. 

Oh, somewhere in there, I got a job.  I guess I should mention that.  This year, I'll be teaching 3rd grade at a little charter school near my house.  I'm so thankful to be teaching 3rd again this year, and ecstatic to have the details of licensure behind me (for now). 

Of course, as is the case in my non-summer life, there has been plenty of spending time with my community group from church, playing volleyball, dancing, and things that can be categorized as "general adventuring" like a roadtrip to Sedona with Bethany and riding wave runners with Mike, Jared and Chelsey (I'm still sore from that one). 

This week, I'll be finishing up decorating my classroom, and school starts August 5.  Am I excited?  Duh.  Also, I'm shaking in my boots, but that's OK.  There will be a more substantial post about the new year of PCs coming soon. 

I don't think I've left too much out.  The littlest bro is going off to *gasp* college and the older younger bro is happily married (and I get to reap the benefits of having a sister!). 

There's my summer in a nutshell,

-Little Miss Sunshine

4 Weddings in 4 Weekends, #4. Katie and Mark

The title of grand finale wedding in the four weekends four weddings tour goes to Katie and Mark.  I didn't plan it this way, but it's fitting because Katie holds a degree in Theater.  Thanks for that, Katie.  The week in between Audrey & Jordan and Katie & Mark, I got to hang out with my friends Hannah and Sam.  We crafted, watched Elementary, and did a little bargain hunting.  (Plato's Closet!)  (Hannah was my roommate in my senior year of college, and I was around when she in Sam were falling deeply, madly, truly in love.)

On our way to the rehearsal dinner, we were trying to guess what the menu would be.  The venue was a country club nestled in suburban Richardson.  I guessed we'd be eating country club chicken or salmon with the standard mixed vegetables and bread.  Sam was quick to say he wished they'd just serve BBQ instead.  Lo and behold, we walked in to great steaming dishes of brisket!  Hallelujah, no chicken breast and green beans!  I didn't make it to the food for a while because I was too socially distracted catching up with all our college friends that I hadn't seen in a while. 

The day of the wedding, I hung out with Sarah & Alex, who had driven up early from Houston.  We got ready together at The Heights Chapel before the ceremony.  The Chapel was the perfect Southern city wedding venue.  The tall wooden ceilings arched to form a peak, and the focal point were the quartet of stained glass windows at the front.  The ring bearer - the groom's nephew (who had just learned to walk a month before the wedding) made it down the long aisle without mishap and almost stole the show. 

The nine bridesmaids, dressed in punchy pink satin, and carrying a mix of hydrangeas, daisies and baby roses stood in couples with the nine groomsmen at the altar.  Katie, escorted by her brother, glowed in a sparkling strapless dress and classic scalloped lace veil.  During this part of the ceremony I like to watch the groom's face taking in his beautiful bride.  Mark, in his usual steady, quiet way, smiled and couldn't take his eyes off of her. 

 

The service was performed by one of our Bible professors from college, and the text was taken from a letter Katie's dad had written to her as a little girl.  You would have been hard pressed to find a dry eye.  After that, the bridal party prayed over them.  Watching my dear friends exchange vows, it felt surreal, these were my friends Mark and Katie!  Now they were suddenly grown up and married.  They recessed in a cloud of bliss amid decorous whoops and hollers from their friends.

From the Chapel, we drove to the reception, a ballroom with a sweeping staircase tucked away inconspicuously in Carollton.  Continuing the theme of serving unconventionally flavorful food, Mark and Katie treated us to a fajita bar and Southern sweet tea.  A DJ kept the dance floor teeming by mixing retro and current hits.  We wore ourselves out between feather-boa-swathed stints in the photo booth and kicking it on the dance floor.  (Have you ever tried doing the Wobble in 5 inch heels?)

We saw them off in a shower of cheers and white rose petals.  They took off for island paradise the next day on their Hawaiian honeymoon.  By now they're settling into their new Dallas digs and unwrapping towers of eggshell/ecru/champagne - white wrapped wedding presents. 

After wedding #4, I stayed with my friend Liz for a few days.  Her couch is fantastic.  She's off for the summer before starting her doctorate in English at SMU in the fall.  We watched Cool Hand Luke, slept in, went shopping and I got to sit in on this sermon at the Village while Liz worked in the nursery.  Liz is one of those slightly scary people that I love having in my life because she knows me so well.  We can talk about anything, and she can always tell when I'm not giving her the full story.  We even sipped sweet somethings through straws while we increased the melanin levels in our epidermis… ok, we drank soda and laid by the pool.  It was a great way to end the trip. 

I would tell you that I flew home and started crafting for my classroom next year, but that would be a lie.  I got in at midnight Wednesday night, got up at 6:30 Thursday, unpacked, did three loads of laundry, repacked and was back on the road by 1 for Jarrett's volleyball tournament in California.  

C'est la vie, and it's a good one.

Little Miss Sunshine

4 Weddings in 4 Weekends, #3. Audrey and Jordan

I'm not going to lie.  This post is going to be a difficult one to write, not because I'm lacking material or because I don't know the wedding party very well, but because the groom is my brother.  I fear it's going to be not unlike writing about one's own hand.  I mean, what is there to say about my hand?  Right now it's sporting this Essie peachy/pink polish and it has five fingers.  But then there's the way it conducts the music I'm listening to while I run, or the time it made Thanksgiving dinner in Australia or got burned this morning on the tea kettle.  At once, I have everything significant to say and have been struck inarticulate by plunging crevasse of detail.  Similarly, this post will either be boring and short or rich and long, well, I hope if it's long that it's rich.  If it's long and boring, you should go do something else. 

For the sake of linear chronology, I'll start with the adorable picnic themed rehearsal dinner my mother dear threw.  Aunt D, Uncle T, Aunt S, Gma and Papa were in town early, so they helped us set up in the tiny church sanctuary.  I put myself in charge of centerpieces, as I was being entirely un-helpful in deciding whether the tables should be in a horse shoe, rows, or the shape of a Christmas snowflake.  Somehow I find cutting diagonals on daisy stems therapeutic.  All the tables got arranged, red gingham was everywhere, and the daisies found their way into the Mason jars at the appropriate height.

That night, we practiced not tripping on the steps, processing and recessing in the correct order, and Noah James ran through the music.  Afterwards we dined on BBQ and sipped our sweet tea.  Then it was time for the speeches.  My younger younger brother, Jarrett, was the best man, so he went first.  He'd been telling me for weeks that he was just going to tell a funny story and keep it light.  Turns out, the only shred of truth in that was he told a story.  Oh, it was a nice story. He talked all about how he knew Audrey was the girl for Jordan when she got up one morning to watch he and Jarrett play sand volleyball at 4:30AM.  Solid choice, great for the occasion.  The trouble was, as he was talking, he paused, so I looked up, thinking he'd lost his place in his notes.  Nope, that 6'1" emotional rock of a brother of mine was tearing up talking about his brother getting married.  

I'm not going to describe my crying face at this point, one, because I wasn't looking at it, and two, because it wasn't a graceful cry.  After that, I kept up the ungraceful cry as Audrey's sister, Katherine, spoke as the maid of honor about what an amazing example her sister has been to her all these years.  I was a puddle of saltwater and mascara.  

Somehow we made it out the other side of dinner without too much tear-loss-induced dehydration.  That night, all the girls stayed at the reception venue, which also happened to be a sprawling Southern bed and breakfast.  The bachelorette party got a little wild, OK, we ate Oreos and drank sparkling cider.  The next morning we feasted on cinnamon cake, quiche, fruit, and coffee.  

The weather was far from cooperative, which we'd anticipated from the forecast.  I made two trips to Walmart for umbrellas, and almost drowned in the process- but that's inconsequential.  We went from wet to pretty over the course of a few hours thanks to Mary and Kate who were on hand for hair and makeup.  Our dresses were sea glass blue/green with a hint of grey, one shoulder, ruched at the natural waist and flowing barely past the knee.  The groomsmen wore grey vests and black ties over white button up shirts.  

The wedding venue was the university chapel - classically, beautifully Southern architecture marked by towering white pillars and red brick.  The pews were decked with daisy bouquets, Audrey's favorite flower. Clusters of creamy white pillar candles stood in the window sills.  When the time came for us to make our way down the aisle, we pep talked each other about how slowly to walk and where to hold our bouquets.  

Suddenly, we were all down front, and my little brother was saying his vows, the same ones we've been saying for hundreds of years.  Lots more happy proud big sister crying.  Suddenly Audrey was saying "I do" and they were exchanging rings.  Then it was "you may kiss your bride" and "may I present" and then it was over.  All those months of emails and details and planning and showers were over.  It was a wistful happy.  Emotions tend to be like that.  They aren't pure.  They're all thrown together like a cafeteria casserole, not that I really had time to analogize emotions and casseroles... 

We took a few family photos and piled into cars to make our way to the sprawling Southern B&B.  The wooden floors and ceilings glowed a red amber, there were daisies everywhere, and lots of people talking and laughing.  It was like the best kind of summer dinner party.  I don't think people usually throw garters and bouquets at summer dinner parties, but we did that too.  The cake was the pinnacle of buttercream-y-ness.  

It had all the basics of a great wedding, minus the torrential downpour, but beyond having a great structural event skeleton, the very heartbeat of Jordan and Audrey's wedding was beautiful.  I'm so glad to have a sister-in-law, and so glad they won't be living very far away.  

And they will live happily ever after.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

4 Weddings in 4 Weekends, #2. Sarah and Alex

The venue Sarah and Alex chose was a local country club.  The ceremony was on the back stone patio, which overlooked the golf course.  They suspended tiny flower-filled vases from the wooden beams overhead.  Al that was beautiful, but the true piece de resistance was a rustic wooden cross that the florist had twined with vines and white blooms.  It stood as a stunning aesthetic and symbolic centerpiece at the altar.  We bridesmaids wore a combination of dresses in David's Bridal Peacock Blue and carried bouquets of yellow and white, showcasing ranunculus and fragrant freesias.  

After Carlie and Austin's wedding, I taught my very first last week of school [which will have its own post].  After the chaos of eating watermelon, passing out farewell presents and all manner of dramatic speeches and entreaties, I filled my arms with school supply remains.  I staggered out the front door with an over the shoulder farewell and half tumbled into my dad's XTerra.  He dropped me off at the airport to catch my 3:50 to Little Rock via DFW.  Wedding #2, here we go.

Well, I made it to DFW... eventually.  As we neared the airport, the captain came on air and uttered the traveler's death sentence: holding pattern.  Apparently there was a Texas sized downpour over Dallas, and the airport wasn't accepting any incoming flights.  We flew in circles for a while, but the weather didn't get our hint.  The pilot came on again and said we were down to our reserve tank of fuel, so we were going to Austin to refuel and wait out the storm.  I thought that would have been a pretty good idea, except that Austin is in the opposite direction of Sarah's wedding.  Much to my chagrin, we made it back to Dallas around 1AM.  Hasta la never, connection to Little Rock.  Thankfully, I have the best friends in the whole wide world, and one of them (thanks, Chris!) picked me up from the airport.

Our friends, the Paullings, have two extra guest rooms, so we stayed with them, planning to drive to Arkansas together the next morning [Chris's wife was already in Arkansas for the wedding].  Having been properly caffeinated and saying all the perfunctory exuberant hellos and hurrahyou'reheres, we hit the road for the far off land of Arkansas.  I missed the rehearsal and other festivities, but I did make it in time to brush on some makeup and coax some curl into my reluctant hair before pictures (Thanks, Mrs. Paulling!).

The bride and groom for wedding #2 are Sarah and Alex.  I met Sarah my freshman year of college.  She was also my travel buddy to Australia the year after we graduated.  Suffice it to say, she's one of my nearest and dearest and knows me better than most people on this planet.  Her fiancee, Alex, fell in love with her in 8th, wait for it, grade.  Yes, ladies and gents, they've been dating for roughly a decade. Alex popped the question with a sparkling solitaire, and Sarah's yes was out before you could say Jimminy Cricket.


Sarah walked in on her dad's arm to Pachelbel's Canon in D played by a string quartet.  Her dress was a simple A-line, strapless gown with delicate ruching on the bodice, sweetheart neckline and shimmering silvery gem-studded belt.  [I know, I could totally work for Say Yes to the Dress.]  The bride and groom, both adept writers, crafted their own vows in addition to the traditional "I do" and "with this ring".  They took Communion together and invited family members to the front to pray together for Sarah and Alex.  Yep, you caught me, I was crying.

After we all, uh, recessed, the bride and groom took a few photos with their families before we kicked off the party that was the reception.  As luck may have it, Sarah and Alex weren't into wedding chicken and green beans either, so they opted for fun hors d'oeuvres [what is it with French words having a million vowels?!] like chicken tenders, fruit, veggies, chips and guacamole!  Note - just serve food you like at your wedding!  Chances are, unless your taste is just weird, your guests will like it too.

The groom's aunt had crafted a scrapbook for the couple.  On the table were glue sticks, pens and pieces of cardstock with writing prompts like "What should Sarah and Alex name their children?" and "A word I would use to describe Alex is _______" and "My favorite part of today was ________" for guests to fill out and glue into the book.  What a fun way to engage your guests!  Speaking of guest engagement, they also had a photo booth with fabulous props and a canvas tree thumbprint guestbook.  And, no surprise, the cake was adorable.

Sarah made me promise not to let the dance floor become a barren wasteland of awkwardness, so I tore it up with Ian, my 76 year old Australian host dad [both sets of our host parents flew in for the wedding AND we live streamed it to our church in Australia - satellite wedding, anyone?], my friend Nate who taught me how to two step, my good natured groomsman, and random wedding guest guy.  Needless to say, the dance floor was well looked after.  Can you say Cupid Shuffle?

All in all, it was a fantastic wedding!

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

4 Weddings in 4 Weekends, #1. Carlie and Austin

I know some people [read: guys] think most weddings are a social convention that devour entire bank accounts and cause more female breakdowns than they'd care to clean up after.  The grooms I know are famously good sports and become well acquainted with colors they didn't know existed (what the heck is ochre, anyway?), the merits of Pachelbel's Canon in D, and the difference between tulle and toile.

I feel a bit differently about weddings.  Weddings are an intersection of almost all the things I love best in life - music, dancing, flowers, love, friends, family, dresses, food, tradition, innovation, and promises that God ordained to create marriages that look like His love for the church.  Culturally, they stand as one of our last symbols in support of marriage and family, with vows going back hundreds of years to Jolly Old England's Book of Common Prayer ("for better or for worse" sound familiar?).

Oh, sure, you can go to boring weddings, or stuffy weddings, or weddings that are just plain awkward, but weddings done well don't have to be any of those things.  Incidentally, they don't have to be expensive, either.

Well, friends, as the title suggests, I'm on the wedding circuit.  May 18 was number one of four in four consecutive weekends.  Huzzah!  Let's eat, drink, and get married!

Carlie and Austin
I've known Carlie since I was about 5 years old.  She was the spunkiest, most impish, adorable little tomboy you ever saw.  We were fast friends from day 1.  We've kept in touch in the last (oh dear heavens) almost 20 years by snail mail, family vacations and now, social media.  I met Austin over Spring Break, when I was in Colorado hanging out with Carlie and her family.  He loves Jesus and is head over heels for Carlie.  I was sold.

Two and a half months later, the parentals and I hopped on a jet plane and headed to our old stomping grounds in northern Colorado.  We wined and dined Friday night (ok, not really) at Beau Jo's Pizza in Ft. Collins, which I recommend without hesitation.  Saturday, we stopped by wedding HQ to lend a hand setting tables and fluffing tissue paper poofs.  Bride et al were in good spirits, there was no sign of stress, and all the details were falling into place.  We made our exit to don our dresses and tame our tresses.

The venue was the bride's parents' farm.  They set up rows of white chairs on the front lawn.  A flock of pink tulle-clad flower girls were herded down the aisle by Carlie's brother-in-law.  The bridesmaids, all in stunning charcoal grey maxi convertible dresses [read: long flowing dresses with straps that can tie in almost any way you can imagine] followed down the grassy aisle carrying bouquets they had made themselves from selections of calla, orchid, camellia and other yellow and pink blooms.  The bride walked down with her sweet father in a gorgeous dress with billowing skirt and classy lace shoulder straps.  It was an incredible transformation from barefoot, tree climbing little squirt to beautiful woman walking down the aisle on her father's arm.  (Though she hasn't grown out of the glint of mischief, it still sparkles in her brown eyes.)

All was calm, all was bright until... Colorado's unpredictable weather made an appearance and the wind began blowing sideways, a few notches up from "light spring breeze".  The wedding party was far from nonplussed, hair being tossed in the breeze.  Then we saw it.  About 5 fields away was a wall of water, and it wasn't standing still like Moses at the Red Sea.  It was steadily getting closer, and we knew if it reached us, we'd be soaked and freezing in seconds.

When it was about two fields away, almost as if they had choreographed it, or ordered it online from the weatherman, the wall of water slid to the side.  The gray clouds accumulating overhead parted, and the sun broke through.  It was a touch you could only hope for on your wedding day.  And yes, later there was a rainbow without the hassle of rain, so their wedding party shots are framed by a rainbow.  And yes, I'm serious.

The breeze was still a bit crisp, so we retreated to the reception tent that had been erected in the field next to the house.  Carlie and Austin love Greek food, so that's what they served.  I can speak from many run ins with wedding chicken and wedding green beans, pitas with hummus and salad were a refreshing twist on wedding fare.

And then, drum roll please, one of my favorite things in life - though they can be a real drag at weddings if your DJ doesn't know his bass from his treble - the dance floor.  Let me tell you, Carlie's and Austin's was packed the entire night.  We danced everything from the Cotton Eyed Joe to the Way You Look Tonight to Gangnam Style.  Even after we sent the bride and groom off, the party didn't end.  We cleaned up and went right back to the dance floor.  Carlie's dad pulled his truck into the tent and turned on the radio for us.  We danced until 1 in the morning.

It was a fantastic wedding to attend.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

If You're Gonna Play in Texas, You Gotta Have a Fiddle in the Band

 

Long before I arrived in Texas, it had been decided that my friend Liz, and I would go two-stepping.  This is only unusual for one reason.  Before this summer, Liz was not a country music fan.  She's a dancer to the core, but Keith Urban and Tay Swift were not on her list of iPod favorites.  All that changed when, well, I don’t know what miracle occurred, but now she's all about fiddle and banjo.  

I consulted my resident experts, and the verdict for a Wednesday night of two stepping was "Cowboys" in Arlington.  (Now, mothers, grandmothers and concerned aunts, know that I don't set my pretty painted toes inside a bar to get sloshed, smashed, wasted, etc., etc.  If it is even conceivable to go to a bar and not drink, conceive that thought in your kindly concerned minds, because I go to two step, not two fist.) 

Liz and I went (got lost) and met Cody and some of his friends there.  In Cody's praise, he's not much of a country or dancing fan, but he's a good sport and came along.  All this fall and summer, I've been two stepping in AZ, so I was excited to see if I actually knew anything, or if there was a whole other universe of real Texas two stepping.  We walked in and crinkled our noses at the smoke.  I haven't been in an indoor venue that allows smoking in years.  I thought that was a little 20th century of them, but we forged ahead.  Cody introduced us to his friends and we stood around and talked a little. 

Now, if you've read my other dance posts, you know I don't go dancing to have nice conversation.  I gave Liz and Cody some of my strategy, and they looked at me amusedly.  Going dancing is a lot like fishing, except that you act as both the bait and the fisherwoman.  You should smell nice and look nice- not shady, just nice.  You have to pick good fishing spots that aren't too crowded by other people fishing.  This means staying away from large clusters of girls, but don't pick remote corners either.  You have to keep your hands free in case someone wants to dance with you and he needs to take your hand and get on to the dance floor post haste.  Cody was surprised at that, but I assured him it happens.  Sometimes twirling your hair or doing other (cute/dumb) things has the effect of a fishing lure with a lip to make it skim across the water - eye catching. 

After this brief tutorial, I pointed out a spot I thought was perfect for tipping the odds in getting asked to dance - a stool on the edge of the dance floor where I could watch the dancing but be next to the walkway.  I told them to watch and wait.  Sure enough, as soon as the song ended and people came streaming off the dance floor in search of their next partner, presto, there he was.  "He", we'll call him Mr. Teal Shirt Guy, or Mr. T for short, wasn't a cowboy, wasn't originally from Texas, and probably wasn't originally from America.  He was slightly creepy and had an accent I couldn't place. 

Nevertheless, following my rule, I said yes.  Good thing I did, too, because that guy could dance.  Mr. T flatteringly declared me one of the best dancers there.  His personal space bubble was a little small, but I figured with Cody and his friends around, there wasn't reason for real concern.  He asked me to dance a couple other times that night, which is sort of against general protocol, but some people don't know about general protocol.  At that juncture, a girl has to make some decisions.  Dance with the great dancer who's slightly creepy, or sit on the sidelines?  That's up to you, but I danced. 

As soon as I came off the floor from dancing with Mr. T, I resumed my post and promptly got asked to dance by the guy holding up the pillar opposite me.  His name was RJ and he was huge.  When I say huge, I mean probably 6'5" and muscles the size of Samson.  He had similar transitions to the ones I've seen in AZ, which made him easy to follow.  He didn't say much, but we danced a couple times.  

  [Perhaps this would be a good time to note that guys who are not 6'5" with muscles like Samson should not feel incapable of being a memorable dance partner.  That's silly.  It's just like when you tell your friends about that gorgeous blonde you met at the gym once.  It's just a descriptor, not a condition for being awesome.]

Between these dances, I sat and talked to Liz and Cody or Cody's friends.  Some of Cody's roommates asked me to dance and gee whiz, they knew what they were doing on the dance floor.  They had all kinds of cues (that I kept missing), but they were nice about it.  I also danced with Cody, who completely downplays his dancing talents.  There were line dances and hip hop breaks and general merriment all night.  We quit about, well, sometime before 1, and went home. 

There's just something about fiddle and banjo and boots and twirling and dipping that makes life great.  My first experience with real Texas two stepping was a good one, and I have a hunch there will be a return to it before too long.  Thanks to Cody for being our bodyguard and Liz for falling in love with country music. 

Just remember, girls, boys are fish; you are fisherwomen and bait.  I don't mean bait in a slimy, sparkly chartreuse Power Bait sort of way, more like a clean lined bass lure with a little lip sort of way.  Don't fish where it's crowded, but stay in sight of friends in case you reel in a fish you can't handle and need a little assistance.   

Love and banjo,

Little Miss Sunshine

Chipped Teeth and Longhorn Steers - stories from fall break

You know this, but one perk of being a teacher is the school holidays.  This week is Fall Break at school, so I took off last Friday night for Arkansas for my beloved alma mater's homecoming.  A quick description of the university I went to - all those college brochures you got after you took the SAT.  There are people clustered on the quad, professors doing one-on-one work, social gatherings aplenty.  All those things are real where I went to school. 

As soon as I rolled into town, I tackled my brother and his soon to be wife, cleaned up from my ghastly (though without mishap) red eye flight, and hit the quad.  Homecoming Saturday is spent on the quad seeing people.  The clubs and orgs have their tables set up and alums browse by and reminisce about things they used to be a part of.  I didn't do a whole lot of browsing, more running, screaming and hugging.  Oh, it's good to see old friends.  The professors were much the same, though they didn't really carry their own weight in the screaming department.  That's ok, they have to have a little more decorum than I do. 

I felt like my heart was coming home.  It was as though I'd never left.  On the walk from Audrey's (Jordan's fiancé's apt), which was also my old apt, I felt like I was going to class.  I skipped, and trotted, and twirled.  I considered resisting the urge, but I promptly discarded that idea.  That afternoon, we all went to the homecoming football game.  Don't ask me who won, I don't know.  There were too many people between me and the football field for me to actually watch much of the game. 

Afterwards I threw on a dress and heels and went to the early show of Tiger Tunes.  You don't know what that is, do you?  To say that it's a song and dance show is like saying The Phantom of the Opera is a musical.  It's a big deal, swathed in tradition and sometimes there are glowsticks and lightshows  (thank you, Kappa Miners show).  I screamed and whooped my lungs out, which is a bit unfortunate because the early show isn't that kind of show.  The Saturday early show is usually filled with parents who need to put children to bed early and grandparents who want to see their grandkids perform.  What these two groups of people don't generally understand is the principle of Performer/Audience Reciprocity, which can be understood in this way:

The performers on stage are energized by the feedback of the audience.

The audience will give enthusiastic feedback if the performers on stage are giving an energized performance.

The conclusion of this stage energy conundrum is CHEER LOUDLY whether or not the show is good because the show will get better when you do, giving you a real reason to cheer loudly.  I didn't have time to explain this to the people sitting around me, but I don't know if they would have listened if I had.  I just turned around and went to the late show and enjoyed the more enthusiastic crowd filled with riled up college students and young alums. 

After the Saturday late show, one of the clubs hosts an after party complete with a band on the quad and a truck bed full of ice and rootbeer.  They have a chugging contest, which is how I chipped my tooth.  I danced some line dances and was on my way through the crowd to go to bed (it'd been a while since I'd slept), when they started the contest.  They announced the first round between Girl 1 and Girl 2.  Girl 2 had disappeared or chickened out so they were calling for a replacement. 

[Perhaps this is where I should explain my over eager propensity for raising my hand.  Magic shows, camp games, whatever it is, as soon as they call for a volunteer, the joints in my right arm stiffen and up it goes as though manipulated by an unseen puppeteer.  It is an involuntary action that volunteers me for all kinds of outlandish things.]

Up went my arm and suddenly I was the replacement.  I'd never chugged rootbeer (IBC, to be exact) before, but I'd always wanted to see if I could.  So I did.  And I won.  I also got rootbeer all over Mom's new Banana Republic eggplant cardigan (but it washed out, so it was OK).  A few minutes later and I was competing against a girl they called by her last name.  You can generally assume that girls called by their last names are going to beat you at a chugging contest.  And she did, and it was amazing.  Somewhere between GO! and DONE!, I chipped a tooth.  I felt it after I was finished and walking home, slightly sticky.  I must have smacked the bottle against my front tooth a bit aggressively in the adrenaline rush of trying to force carbonated liquid sugar down my throat. 

The next day, after more [subdued] screaming and seeing people at church, I left for Texas.  I feel as though sometime during my senior year of college, all my friends happened to be gathered together and made a unanimous decision to move to Texas, mostly Dallas, Texas.  I must have been grading things or working on homework or something because I missed the memo.  All that to say, the nearest and dearest all live in Dallas now, so to Dallas I went, where there was more screaming and hugging and exclaiming. 

We ate great food, watched TV, painted our nails, went to Sprinkles and Starbucks and generally did a lot of wonderful nothing.  It's a bit odd to see our grownup selves gathering for dinner, but it's just nice to be together again.  Wednesday night we went dancing, which I will tell you all about in another post.  There were late night conversations and games of spades and lazy breakfasts of cereal and coffee.  There was also the Texas State Fair. 

Yes, I did eat a footlong corn dog and a fried Snickers bar at the State Fair of Texas.  I sat in King Ranch F350 Fords and saw a Texas Longhorn steer.  I spent the day with my aunt, uncle, cousin and some of their friends from back home.  I like Texans.  They're a spirited, down to earth, tough sort of person, enough to make me want to study regionalism in the US, but that's another story. 

That night, Liz took me to the airport, where I met curly-headed-extroverted-Jesus guy.  We chatted about mission projects we'd done and where we'd been in life and our beloved churches back home as we power walked to security, both being late for our flights.  It was a nice way to end a vacation, with a guy asking how he could pray for you, just because you're family. 

That's how Fall Broke,

Little Miss Sunshine

Falling out of Planes on Purpose

(Disclaimer, this is not a picture of me.)

While not characterized entirely by this trait, I have been known to be (at times) a bit impulsive.  I'm not sure if this latest episode of adrenaline overdose is indicative of that or more a product of premeditated madness.  Either way, I spent my Saturday morning doing something regarded by some as a maniac's pastime - falling out of a plane on purpose.  (Marketing reps tend to call it skydiving.)

It started when I got a best friend who liked adventure as much if not more than I do.  We'd talked about jumping out of a plane sometime on purpose together as a fun thing to do.  With me going away to college and Australia and her traipsing around France and various African countries in the summertime, we couldn't seem to find the right time.  Enter Brave Dave (Zanna's also adventurous bf).  Because he is both a good boyfriend and adventurous, he bought her skydiving for her birthday and made it an open invite to whomever wanted to come.

I jumped in (and out of the plane) with both feet.  We picked a day, and I was instantly mentally committed.  It was nuts, and I knew it.  I also knew that if I didn't do it now, well, I'd probably do it in the next five years.  Anyway, I figured I'd carpe the diem and sign up.  I opened the invite up to my small group, but only one friend was game enough to come with.

5:25 comes early on Saturday, somehow earlier than on a Monday-Friday.  Anyway, I rolled out of bed, pried open my eyeballs and shrugged on a t-shirt from working at Compass Wilderness (I thought it might bring a little cotton courage to have "rafting, climbing, hiking" on my shirt), and brushed my teeth - I think.  I made it to Zanna's house where I met up with Brave Dave and Jordan the Adventurous.  We jumped in Brave Dave's truck and set off for sky diving HQ. 

Once we got there, they showed us a video that, in sum, reminded us repeatedly that what we were about to do was statistically safe but that we could still die.  We initialed six pages of releasing ourselves to death by stupidity before paying at the window.  After that, I met my lifeline, whose name was Sam.  He was an old hippie with a goatee.  The way he acted, skydiving wasn't any great feat, so I felt better about my decision to fall out of a plane on purpose. 

I stepped into a full body harness and Sam coached me through an elaborate set of instructions… squat, head back, feet together.  That was about the extent of our prep session.  We climbed into a tiny little plane that had been gutted and refitted with two benches and set of seat belts along the sides.  Despite the seat belt, I didn't feel exactly safe when they decided to OPEN THE DOOR after we took off for "ventilation".  It took a few minutes to reach 13,000 feet.  Yes, ladies and gents, 13,000 smackaroonies.  Those highways were looking mighty small from those plane windows. 

I was about halfway down the bench, with a group of pros and Dave and Zanna on my left and Jordan on my right.  Before I knew it, lickety-split, the group of pros had linked together and were out the door in what looked like an atomic formation from high school chemistry.  I sure wasn't thinking about chemistry at that moment because suddenly everyone was scooting down the bench TOWARDS the gaping open door.  Oh dear.  Oh dear.  Oh dear.  Dave was out the door, then Zanna.  I thought about balking.  Every neuron in my brain was resisting to this strange form of voluntary certain death.  Somehow I was on the edge of the gaping hole and before another thought could zip down the pipeline, Sam and I were out the door. 

Terror turned to ecstasy.  I was flying!  And screaming bloody murder!  The freefall lasted about 50 seconds.  Let me tell you, it was an awesome 50 seconds.  If you turn your hands like rudders, you spin on your belly as you're plummeting toward earth.  That's fun.  Sam had told me that most people think they can't breathe, so just to scream and that would help.  I'm not sure I needed a reason to scream.  I wasn't conscious of the distance to the ground, just that I was flying, but it was safe because somewhere in my prefrontal cortex was resting the thought that Sam had a parachute and this was statistically quite survivable. 

All of a sudden, Sam pulled the cord and there was a tug and we were floating like a feather on the wind.  That's when I realized how high we were.  Sam let me pull on the handles that steered the parachute.  We spiraled like a colorful tornado, first one way, then the other.  I felt pretty sick, but I didn't mind.  We floated some more and then came in for landing on a large, grassy landing strip.  No broken ankle, no broken neck, I had survived. 

Was it worth it?  Absolutely.  Would I do it again right now as I sit typing this in my living room?  Absolutely. 

Questioning her chemical dependence on adrenaline,

Little Miss Sunshine

Wherein Little Miss Sunshine Goes Snorkeling (Adventure in the North, Episode 2)

After feasting on our breakfast stores, we packed our trusty map and set course for the Reef Terminal, where departing ships, eh, departed for the reef.  We climbed aboard the scurrrvy ship and sailed (motored) off for parts unknown (Green Island).  Upon disembarkation (is that a word?), we saw a fleet of large sting rays flying through the water and turning on a dime in unison.

In the middle of the island stood a cluster of huts, or restaurants and equipment rentals disguised as huts.  After picking up our snorkel gear, we kerwhump kerwhumped (that's the sound flippers make when you walk) into the shallows and were soon flip flapping through the water toward the deep, blue sea.  Following the advice of two of our wiser (read: older) friends, we linked pinkies to keep track of each other (shark attacks) and as a mini telegraph line for fish spotting communications.

As we were flipping and floating, I was praying so hard that we'd see a sea turtle.  AND WE DID.  In that outing, we saw TWO.  Sea turtles!  We also saw coral that looked like brain and mazes and folded velvet and waving spaghetti.  There were schools of tiny fish and bigger angel fish and even bigger grouper.  After a few hours of snorkeling, it was time for a food break, so we bought lunch at one of the huts.  Since we watched Jiminy Cricket's warnings as small children, we knew we should take a walk after lunch before swimming again or the dreadful swimmingtoosoonaftereating-itis would get us.  The island was pretty… island-y.  Coconut trees leftover from a coconut plantation, vines and grasses grew thickly in the center of the island.

Eventually, the danger of swimmingtoosoonaftereating - itis left and we returned to the water, this time, near the jetty.  I really wanted to catch an underwater look at those big rays we'd seen earlier that morning, but instead we saw giraffe vacuum cleaner rays.  We were almost on top of them before we saw them fluttering through the grassy seabed.  Their technical name is not giraffus vacuuminus cleanerus, I just call them that because that's what they look like.  Now when I say they look like giraffes, of course I don't mean the necks, because rays don't even have necks.  I mean they were a chestnutty color with tawny dapples.  The vacuum cleaner part happens when they stop for a moment over the sea bed and start heaving and sucking up something (food?) like a vacuum cleaner.  Their tails were quite long and don't you think for a second I wasn't thinking about the Crocodile Hunter and having one of those things plunged into my dear little aorta.

Soon after that, I left to get on the snorkel tour boat, unfortunately without my pinkie promise snorkel buddy.  I was one of three snorkelers on the boat, and the other two spoke Japanese.  I don't speak Japanese, but I tried to smile and have eye conversations like "Oh, isn't this going to be fun" and "Gee, I hope you see some great stuff out there" and "What great weather this is for snorkeling".

They stopped the boat a mile or so out from the island, sprayed our goggles with anti-fog solution, pointed out the boundaries and let us loose.  Kerwhumping your way from the beach into the shallows is quite different from kerwhicking your way down a boat ladder and plunging into ocean you can't see the bottom of.  By "quite different", I mean I got water up my nose when I first jumped in because I'm scared of the ocean as an inanimate entity capable of killing me.

Daunted but not entirely disarmed of my sense of adventure, I flip flapped off, peering through the jade green hazy water aglow with shafts of sunshine.  I came to my first mountain, at least it looked like a mountain.  Colorful forests swathed it with their foliage and flocks of wildlife peppered its sides.  Only, instead of pine or spruce or oak forests that you're used to, they were coral forests of teals and orange and lime and magenta.  Some were smooth, others covered with tiny nodes.  And instead of flocks of herons or herds of deer, there were schools of tiny fish flitting around like water bound butterflies.  Just like mountains above water, these great, rugged monuments of coral seemed to come in ranges and were divided periodically by steep valleys.  Peering down through the haze to the sandy canyon bottoms, I kept expecting to see the sinewy silhouette of a shark.  No such luck.

Just living with the possibility of seeing a shark kept me on my guard.  There was no pinky warning to let me know if I was about to be devoured.  My drive to survive was turned on high between shark-watching and keeping a wary eye on my snorkeling position.  Like a lake turtle, I'd pop my head up now and then just to make sure I wasn't being swept out to sea.  Being swept out to sea is no way to spend a vacation.

I let my eyes graze on the beauty of this coral mountain range, taking in the flashing silver of a few good sized fish or the circus-like gaudiness of the parrot fish.  I caught sight of a sea turtle just before he caught sight of me and flew away to some murky hideout.  The second one I saw didn't see me for what seemed like a few minutes.  It could only have been a few seconds, really.  I hovered above him, taking in the geometric pattern on his shell and his leisurely flapping through the water.  I also spotted a couple sea stars the color of sapphires sprawled lazily across the coral.  It looked like someone had taken a blue Sharpie to them, they were so bright.  Dotting the bases of some reefs were giant clams.  When I say giant, I don't mean foot long, as if they were a Sonic hot dog or something.  When I say giant, I'm talking about approaching three feet across.  Wouldn't want to get your face caught in one of those.

All too soon our time was up and we kerwhicked our way back up the ladder and had more eye conversations like "Gee, wasn't that swell" and "There's some pretty cool stuff down there", except I don't know if there's a Japanese equivalent to "gee" and "swell".  The boat took us back to the island, where we had a little time to turn in our gear, gather our belongings and board the ship for the main land, where we promptly sought out showers.

Being the cheapskate health nuts we are, we asked directions to a proper grocery store.  SG opted for a sensible dinner choice of salad and hummus with bread.  I just got a green apple, some hummus and a quarter of a watermelon, of which I ate half for dinner and half for breakfast the next morning, but that's another story.

Little Miss Sunshine

Wherein Little Miss Sunshine Travels North

Australia is a very big, strange place.  In American terms, it's the size of America with the population of California, with the majority of the "midwest" looking like central Arizona.  Because of the Southern Hemisphere/equator thing, their Florida is in the north in a place called Queensland.  On Monday, SG and I went to this place called Queensland.  We flew into a little town called Cairns, which is pronounced "cans" if you're Australian.  It's the jumping off point for vacations to the Great Barrier Reef.

Our guardian angels, the Matthews, whose mortality I really do question at times, took us to the airport.  Nancy packed sandwiches, and sent us off with apples to eat on the plane ride.  Checked in, found our gate, smooth as butterfly milk so far.  I read a National Geographic magazine I'd checked out from the library.  It was about the Great Barrier Reef.  I don't remember all the details, except that it's very long and has taken a long time to form, and they're worried about how it will survive pollution and human interference.  There were lots of pictures of fish I didn't recognize from my limited beta fish background.

Also in the magazine was an article about rock climbing.  There are people a little off their rocker who should have been astronauts but like trees too much.  I mean to say, some people like to push the boundaries of human possibility and climb to great heights without ropes.  If they had been astronauts, they could be out mapping moons and looking at other galaxies instead of taking terrifying photos wherein they are hanging off a cliff by their fingertips.  All the same, it made me want to go rock climbing.

Also also there was an article about Bangladesh and the floods they've been experiencing.  It's a crowded country to begin with, so when the waters rise, it's difficult to fit any more people into the cities.  The farmers' fields are covered in saltwater, which is not an ideal growing environment.  One man they interviewed built his house in pieces and keeps his family's suitcases by the door so when the waters rise, they just take apart the house and move to dry land.  India's building a wall to keep refugees out, and the government is encouraging people to leave the country as a means to uncrowd the cities.

After a while, I finished the magazine and we were flying over jungle.  Yes, jungle.  Australia has jungle.  It's in Queensland, which is like Florida, except in the north, because of the equator.  But I told you that already.  So the plane flew over the mountainous jungle and began its descent into the little town of Cairns.  The Cairns airport is quite small, and we made our way to the shuttle counter to catch a shuttle to our hotel.  We're grownups, so we do things like that.

We made it to the hotel, checked in, chucked our stuff in our room and set off in search of food, as it was dinner time.  What we found was a lot of expensive sea food and Chinese takeout (which always makes me a little nervous).  Being the cheapskate health nuts we are, we split a salad and walked home with a stop at the corner store for some breakfast (oranges, a loaf of bread and yogurt).  Sometimes being a traveling grownup isn't as exhilarating as it's cracked up to be.

L.M. Sunshine

Northern Down Undah

It was back.  It was forth.  It was on again, off again.  Well, it's on, folks, and it's staying that way.  SG and I are hitting the road, or rather the air, for Queensland.  For those of you unfamiliar with Australian geography, Queensland is the state that covers a large portion of the northeast.  It is famous for its bananas, rugby league, beaches, and most notably, the Great Barrier Reef. 

As busy of a week as it was last week, we didn't have much time to think over our options, bargain hunt and graze through travel blogs.  We booked less than a week before our departure.  Being rendered internetless by our latest house sitting gig, SG and I did our research while drinking unremarkable lattes at a café with free wifi.  This hotel, or that hotel, this much more to be this much closer to the airport?  Should we go to a travel agent?  Can we be to the airport by this time if we take public transport?  Are we old enough to do this?  Too many details to be recounted. 

Finally, we clicked the necessary clicks, put in the necessary names and numbers, and by gum, we're going to Queensland.  In true American travel style, we'll only be there for a couple days.  I say American style because when Aussies travel, they consider a week a trifle, and a weekend a joke for traveling time.  They are accustomed to more time off and are in the habit of taking off to Italy for four weeks on holiday. 

In booking this mini vacay, some travel firsts have been accomplished.  Let's start with, I'VE NEVER STAYED IN A HOTEL WITHOUT GROWNUPS!  I know, I count as a grownup.  Second, I've never gone to a city without knowing someone there.  We'll get taxis and schedule day trips to the Reef, and hopefully caramelize this tan of mine so I won't be white as ostrich hide coming off an Aussie winter to an American summer.  (Queensland is not unlike Florida in its climate and stays pleasant in the winters. )

While we are jazzed about this trip to northern Down Under, we've been hearing plenty of cautionary advice.  This includes - don't swim in the rivers.  Why, dear, naïve, little you may ask?  Because they're riddled with bloodthirsty crocodiles.  Also - watch out for the stingahs (stingers).  To translate - don't be too quick to swim in the ocean either because the meters-long tentacles of the box jellyfish might get you and kill you before you can say "G'day".  SG also suggested I check out swimming in a shark cage while I'm there.  I'm not sure if she's being sympathetic to my adrenaline junky nature, or if she's trying to make an end of me.  :) 

Regardless of crocs, stingahs, and any cyclones that may hit the mainland (as we hear they do occasionally this time of year), I'm sure we'll have a grand ole time and come back brimming with stories of the northern coast, its people and further adventures of Sunshine and SG. 

Love,

LMS

Going to the chapel and we're going to... watch Chris and Jenna get married!

The hair was sufficiently shellacked, the jacket belt tied in a square knot that took several attempts, and the shorts under the dress in place as a wind contingency plan.  We arrived at the wedding, and I promptly began hugging almost everyone in sight.  Because I've had a serious case of itchyfoottravel-itis the last 8 months, I've missed two of my best friends' weddings and not seen lots of the nearest and dearest since graduation in May. 

The wedding was beautiful.  Like the bride and groom, there was nothing fussy about it, and according to a reliable source, it was only 22 minutes long.  The groom tried to joke with his groomsmen while the bridesmaids were coming down the aisle, but promptly burst into tears when Jenna walked down the aisle. 

The bride wore a strapless white satin gown with a sweetheart neckline and minimal rouching on the bodice, with about an eight foot train.  It fit her silouette just right, and her personality too.  The bridesmaids were in black and the groomsmen in purple vests and black tuxedos.  Like a good Baptist wedding, the reception was in the fellowship hall and there was no dancing.  You know how I feel about dancing, but it was for the best, as I wouldn't have been able to catch up with friends if I'd been Cupid shuffling.

Sam and Han's house was full that night.  Chris and Rach, Mark, Stew, Liz and I all spent the night, which was prefaced by pizza and salad, hanging out with SG and Alex, and playing this crazy dancing game.  This crazy dancing game had an "eye", whatever that means, that could read your whole body movements and whether or not you were mimicking your ghetto awesome hip-hop avatar on screen.   Let's just say I got the most enthusiastic dancer award, but Han still ate my hip-hop lunch. 

We were all together, but we didn’t have class the next day, there was no looming group project, and no apartment manager checking on the noise level.  We were adults, and we still had fun.  I was relieved.  After the crazy dancing game, we needed something that required less energy, so we played Funglish.  It took us probably ten minutes to guess "ear of corn" after Chris used "yellow", "round", "small", "long" and "sort of human", but it took us an hour to recover from laughing about it.  Laughter is more readily at hand when you play games after 11. 

The next morning we sleepily emerged from all corners of the house like burrowing animals after hibernating for the winter, and Chris, Mark and I ventured off to the store determined to find the grocery store without technological aid (in the tradition of the American pioneers).  We made it back alive with breakfast ingredients.  Breakfast turned into brunchy lunch by the time it was served, but that's OK.  We're twenty-somethings, and they do that, I think. 

That night, I had the chance to go to the Village Church Dallas campus and listen to Matt Chandler preach and worship among friends.  Afterwards we made it to Starbucks after about six u-turns, and Cody, Pres, Grant and I chatted about climbing ladders, Charles Dickens and intermural sports. 

It was a wonderful weekend full of stomach-aching laughter, hanging upside down on chin up bars, and just enjoying great company!

Sitting at the airport thankful for the luxury of weekend getaways,

LMS

     

Dallas, land of big hair and BBQ

As you read in the last post, I stayed out late dancing, so the next morning I rolled out of bed, threw some clothes in my rolly suitcase and had a strong cup of coffee.  Daddy gave me a ride to the airport and dropped me off at good ole Terminal 4.  When I found my gate, I met a little girl with a hedgehog.  Not a live hedgehog, mind you, a plush one.  Not just a plush one, mind you, but a driver cover!  Of course, I started talking with this little girl and her amiable grandparents who were flying to Dallas with me.  They told me about how she played golf and about her cousin who started playing golf when he was 18 months old.  Whether that is a slight grandparental exaggeration or not, I cannot say.

I sat next to a mother and daughter who watched a movie and got off the plane in Albuquerque.  That's where the interesting people got on.  They weren't interesting in the way that people you try to avoid on airplanes are.  They were the sort of interesting you secretly hope will sit next to you because they seem nice and won't fall asleep on your shoulder and drool on your mom's leather jacket that you borrowed to go to Dallas.  They were chatty in just the right dosage.  The wife had her Kindle out, but would talk with her husband about the kitchen tools he was looking at in SkyMall and to me about how she almost cut her finger off with a submersible blender.  Ouch.  Oh, and they were rich.  They have a house in Santa Fe and her leather travel bag was the kind of leather you know didn't come from Walmart.  Oh, and there was the fur coat made of beaver and fox.  But they weren't snobby rich people, just nice ones.

We landed, as planes generally do, and I power walked myself down to the baggage claim where I promptly started screaming and tackled my friends Mark and Rachel.  We drove off to Mark's apartment where I tackled Marcus and got the Mark and Marc apartment tour.  After that, I climbed on the back of a motorcycle with Marcus and we zoomed off for a short tour de Dallas.  [Yes parents, I was wearing a helmet.]  This made me want a motorcycle.  Speed, adrenaline, a valid excuse to buy leather pants, what's not to like? 

That night we gathered at Chris and Rachel's apt for games and dessert.  Rachel beat the tar out of Rachel C and I at this crazy trains game.  But that's OK, I don't mind losing in such good company.  The rest of the evening involved the boys talking a lot about the difference between Indi racing and Formula One, and the future of the Dallas Mavs.  It was a good lulling to sleep conversation and I almost dropped off curled up in Rach and Chris's double soft armchair. 

The next morning it was off to World Market for champagne, Target for flutes, and Starbucks for a caffeinated pick me up in the form of a gingerbread latte with whip (a standard Sunshine feature).  The last stop I knew, I knew, I KNEW I should have left my wallet in the car.  It was REI, and even though I had just read an article about how people are more susceptible when things say "SALE", I FELL FOR IT.  Oh loathing susceptibility to marketing tactics!  It was a little pack, red/burgundy, hydration equipped and I could use it for day hikes or walking around Australia!  I escaped with only one purchase.  Whew.

Back to the house to toss things back into the suitcase that had escaped in the last 24 hours and into the car with Rach for a mini-road trip to Arkansas to see friends and go to a wedding.  Right now I'm in the car with Han, Sambo, and Rach, garbed in my sale rack leopard print one shoulder dress…  I don't know why people pay full price for anything, really.

More on weddings, words and waffles later,

Little Miss Sunshine

Traipsing across North Africa

International travel is so much more and less than it's cracked up to be.  For example, guidebooks don't really get across the magic that happens when you communicate with your waiter in 4 different languages and end up with pizza at a restaurant or when you can only use sign language to buy fresh peas at the farmer's market.  They don't tell you about how wonderfully hospitable people are and the way you laugh so hard when you're trying to copy their Arabic pronunciations, failing miserably.  There are doors here that are intricately carved and bordered by colored tiles, and spices the color of.. well, we don't have anything that color!

There is, however, a side of travel that guidebooks don't talk about.  Sometimes you get sick.  That can taint your plans a little.  Listening all day to a language you can't understand is exhausting, especially for a girl whose love of language is as strong as mine.  It is the way I connect with people, celebrate, express myself.  To be on a little English island is harder than I thought.  There is no country music here, no running trails, and no tacos.  I live out of a suitcase and eat out most days.

Now, if there were tacos, running trails and country music, it wouldn't be North Africa.  I wouldn't want it to be different.  The difference makes it interesting, but it also makes you appreciate home that much more.  Wanderlust is so romantic and exotic (and contagious) but when all's said and done, there's no place like home.

Enjoying North Africa (and listening to a little Christmas music from back home on her ipod),

Little Miss Sunshine