Up until just a few years ago, going on a mission trip was not on my radar. Not that I was opposed to the idea, I guess I had been distracted with so many other things and it did not seem realistic with young children at home. Additionally I always felt I was where I needed to be and doing what needed to be done at the time.
Back in 2009 while working as a choir director in a small country church in rural Georgia. A mission team had been formed and was sent to Nicaragua. The day before they were to leave, the pastor called them to the alter for a blessing. Some were adults, there were some that were in their teens and for most of them, it was their first mission trip experience. As I saw them standing at the alter I was profoundly amazed by their decision to do something way bigger than themselves and the stories they would have once they returned. They were sent off with hugs as sang the hymn "Here I Am, Lord."
The Summer of 2012 was when I had made a very important decision. I remember it was after I had lost my beloved sister-in-law Karen to cancer. She was the same age as I was and had dedicated her life to raising her family. I had grown closer to her the most during her last few final years. I miss the sound of her laugh, her tongue in cheek sense of humor, and her presence during Thanksgiving dinners. However, it was during the long drive home from the funeral when I came to a
troubling realization....she was just far too young.
It's one thing to have a story but it is also something that everyone should be entitled to. I was saddened that Karen's story was too short. But because I loved her, I had made the decision to believe that it is okay to live your life on someone else behalf. It was not only a decision to believe this but to actually pursue it.
Life is a journey. Why not let it be an amazing one?
Following her passing, my children were growing older and I began to have more of a sense of freedom and had somehow urge to travel. When my daughter graduated from middle school in 2013, I took her to London and returned again in 2014 when her younger sister graduated. It messed with me. I fell in love with the whole rush of being on planes taking off and landing, rushing to get to the train on time for our next flight and reaching our long awaited destination. I have since spent hours on Expedia browsing for package deals for places such as Denmark, Patagonia and Iceland-places I still hope I will someday visit. But in the midst of all the enthusiasm, I couldn't help but hear the soft voice of my Heavenly Father saying:
"Do it for me." It then became imminent. It's time.
Please pray for me as I begin this incredible trip to the Republic of Georgia for which I planning for this June.
I can remember when I was young I had the typical mind of a kid when it came to traveling. That would include the endless"When will we be there's" with the answer being the same every time, wondering what we'll eat next, and dragging me kicking and screaming to go sightseeing when all I wanted to do was go swimming at the hotel. With the exception of eating, the opposite now holds true.
I love to fly in airplanes. I love the whole experience. Everything from the drive to the airport, to checking in my bags, the announcement chimes, taking off and landing, and watching different people from all over the world and wondering what their story is. But a long car ride is something else that gives me a rush. There's usually a reaction of astonishment whenever I tell someone I will be taking a 12- hour road trip and that I will not be flying. I have no problem riding in a car and staring out the window regardless of how long it takes as long as there is bed with a comfortable mattress and a glass of wine waiting for me when I reach my destination. 12 hours on the road with kids in the car and regular stops is the equivalent of about an 800 mile road trip. A lot of things can be experienced within those 800 miles. The Iowa state line is always a sight for sore eyes after spending most of the day driving through the state of Illinois where there's not a whole lot to see with the exception of several police cars watching very closely on the side of the road and a very large state penitentiary. The lush green crops on miles of flat lands compliment the blue sky overhead. I admired the wind mills off in the distance as well as the ones that were close to the road as my phone nearly blew out of my hand when I tried to photograph them. The terraced farmland and the wide open highway ahead of us shimmered as the sun was setting at dusk. After a good day with good conversation with my mother, we had arrived.
The drive was short the next day as we crossed the state line into South Dakota where we had to have been in one of the few places in the US where the speed limit had been raised to 80 mph. We got where we needed to be in much less time where time itself stood still. It was a place I had visited before. Children were riding their bikes on city streets until dark, houses that were 50 years old looked the same with the only difference being a fresh coat of paint and no one locked their front doors. About a 5 minute walk from my aunts house which overlooked a lovely view of the Missouri river, there was park.The park was made of history, beauty and nostalgia as though it were the heart of the city in which it resided. It wasn't a park that was built sometime around 2009 or so. It had a slide, a merry-go-round, and a jungle gym all of which was separated and deep within the concrete which held it all into place for decades. We threw stones in the water of the pond that was there and we followed the ducks around. I watched my children play where I once did but had to leave the older ones in charge since no one cared to join me when I decided to take a walk.
I walked through an area of historical preservation just outside the park that dates back to 1860. I had always been a fan of Little House on the Prairie but it is always good to have actual reminders right in front of you. Some of which dates back to when my own ancestry once occupied the actual ground at which I stood. I saw One room school houses with a coal burning heater, manual sewing machines, oil lamps on kitchen tables, railway cars, an old water pump and an outhouse. From the foothills where the park was located stood a chapel that could be seen at the top of a hill. Bishop Marty Chapel looked more like a small cathedral with the ornate architecture and it's tall steeple which decorates the city skyline. It was a Thursday and the pews were empty. The lights were dim and the soft and very calming organ music could be heard as the organist was practicing in preparation for the upcoming service though she did
not know anyone was there. The light shone through the stained glass casting a colorful glow against the marble floor. A church service would have been nice if it were on a Sunday but I was glad I visited someplace that could not be visited at the place where I live. And then it was finally time. I was hungry. I had seen an old sign for a pizzeria located near the park. I could picture the red and white checkered table cloths, red candle holders with lit candles inside with the netting on the outside and the size variety pizza pans hanging on the wall near the kitchen. When we returned to my aunts house, there was a mentioning of pizza for lunch and I became hopeful. The next thing I knew, we had followed her in our car to that exact location and got as far as the parking lot. Sadly they changed their minds at this time as they had something better in mind.
Location: Yankton South Dakota
Date : 6/18/2015
Restaurant: Godfathers
Wanderlust.....: Roundabout: . I love having a large family. As hectic as things can be sometimes, I really can honestly say I would not have it any other way...
I love having a large family. As hectic as things can be sometimes, I really can honestly say I would not have it any other way. However, after a rainy night at the school carnival where we missed the cotton candy by 5 minutes before closing, a temper tantrum on the shuttle bus and having to explain to everyone that Deidre slid down a damp slide and did not wet her pants, I decided it was time to get away.
I addition to music lessons, I have taken on site evaluations in order to earn a little extra pocket cash to fund my travels. Since I was able to block 4 locations in the North Georgia mountains, I thought it would be nice to combine work with a bit of leisure.
Early that afternoon I said my goodbyes to everyone as I gleefully made my way to the car. As I started my
engine, I did not give a second thought about the additional miles I would be adding to the minivan. Riding down the very much welcomed long road ahead of me without the sound of Kidz Bop blaring on the radio was liberating. After recent soggy weather conditions, the sky was blue. Going to "work" was actually something I was ready to welcome.
After the express way brought me to the country highway leading to the mountains, freedom and being away from home for the day was becoming real. The calm waters of a lake surrounded the road as it brought me further away from suburbia and closer to rural America. The omnipresent Starbucks and Quicktrip stations built up now to where you feel you're on Rodeo drive to get you gas have been replaced by the quaint, soft serve stands and abandoned service station with empty low boy pumps. As I stopped to take a photo near a local town hall, a live auctioneer could be heard from the inside. I hoped I didn't distract anyone.
After I arrived at my destination, I had two assignments that had to be completed before 3:00 and two for later that afternoon. I had completed the first two and since there was time left over and not a whole lot to see in the town where my work was, I wandered even further.
As I traveled north of town, the mountains that I am able to see from a distance closer to home were now
surrounding me. I didn't really know where I was going but all I knew is that I was hungry. As I rode deeper into the hills, I stumbled upon what looked to be a German themed community. Nestled in the hills of the Appalachia, the designs of the houses and business looked more like something seen in Heidelberg, Bavaria or somewhere I may spot Hansel and Gretel rather than anywhere remotely resembling Georgia. Even the Wendy's and Wells Fargo bank fit the role. In the hopes that there might be some historical German history or lineage significant to this area, I did some researched. Though I discovered that it was really no more than just an appealing and unique theme only to attract tourists, I still found it to be quaint and decided to venture further. Besides, I was hungry.
I stopped at the Bodensee which was the first place I saw and was far enough away from the crowds since it was Saturday and a nice day to be out and about. A kind woman in old style German attire to include the dirndl dress and roped braids led me to out door seating where I could put up my feet and check my email. A cold beer was tempting but since I was working, I ordered water and spaetzle with a salad. Since I have not dined on German cuisine too often, I was told that spaetzle was a German form or pasta and came highly recommended.
When my plate arrived, I had enough German pasta with chopped ham and molten cheese in front of me to feed about four people. So there I was, just me and this very large plate. People stared.
With about 3 quarters of spaetzle in a doggie bag which I placed in the car, I took a short walk and gazed at the water fall over mossy stones while people quietly sat on the banks with their fishing poles. Mountains peeked out of the sky over the grassy meadows below. Never had I loved this type of work that involves any travel what so ever.
After visiting my last two sights, I made the pleasant drive back home that night. Though only gone for the day, and there was some work involved, I made the drive home feeling very content. I was glad to return home to my family and went to the movies that night with Rebecca and a few extra dollars in my pocket...... to maybe someday visit Heidelberg.
Place visited: Helen, Georgia
Date visited: March 21st, 2015
"In and around the lake. Mountains come out of the sky .......and they stand there" -John Anderson, Steve Howe
About 7 months ago, I visited a place which dates back to the roots of my ancestry. While on a train which left from London going to Brighton, England, I would be fully contented with the view of the English countryside, a panini that Madi didn't want from a quaint little cafe, and amused by two twenty-something women behind us who engaged in endless small talk.
Since Brigton is a coastal city, we would have the chance to visit the beachfront along the English Channel. We enjoyed the walk as the city streets led the way. The streets of Brigton painted a portrait of quaint, winding neighborhood drives,
charming shopping venues and happy crowds. The sun shone and everyone just seemed to be in good spirits to include us.
The UK is home to a multilevel bookstore chain known as Waterstones. I remembered visiting from my last trip with Rebecca. Madi and I each had something specific we were in need of. All Madi needed was a book a friend recommended to keep her occupied on the flight home. The book I wanted was a special book that I wanted to get for Madi's younger 8-year-old sister Emma as a souvenir and early
Christmas present.
This past Christmas, I took time out from shopping and holiday functions to enjoy
a little Christmas present which was brought to me by some online Anglophile
friends of mine via Youtube. It was a video based on Emma's book which is a very
charming animated tale of a boy and a snowman titled, none other than, "The Snowman"
by Raymond Briggs- It's kind of like Britains version of "Frosty" without
the song, the magic hat (though he wore a hat in the story, but his life did not
depend on it) and, most distinctively, no dialogue. The story was told through
illustration and music creating a brilliant concept which has become a customary
tradition in this culture for many years. I first watched it alone and then shared
it with Emma since it was still age appropriate for her and she was really the only
one out of the five who expressed interest.
It may have been off season at the time but I knew the bookstore would probably
have the actual book the story was based on which they did. Emma valued the book
and kept it hidden on the mantle of the fireplace until her 3-year-old sister
somehow got a hold of it and took a couple of markers to the back cover.
Fortunately, I was able to wipe off her artwork with a wet cloth and I now keep it
on my special shelf in the master bedroom along with my Dr. Suess limited addition
favorites collection, my classic Sesame Street series circa 1969, and any other
items the kids may want but not allowed to be touched.
I cannot always say that I am full of holiday cheer at Christmas time. It's just not
really the same when you are a grown up. After singing in choirs my whole life
followed by directing them in my adult years, those same carols year after year
which once put me in the spirit seem to have lost their newness.
Truthfully, when someone asks me what I want for Christmas, I don't really have an
answer. Not that I don't appreciate a warm, fuzzy pair of slippers or a QT gift
card (one of my favorites last year from a student and I am secretly hoping for the
slippers this year). It's nice when someone takes the time to think of me that way,
I am just one of these people who finds contentment in other ways.
In this case, I don't mind if I get the same as what I got last year.
Place: Brighton Sussex, United Kingdom
Date: May 24th, 2014
*The candle in the photo was handmade with actual pebbles I collected from Brighton Beach.
Now taking a family vacation across the country with a car full of kids is far from glamorous and may not be compared to that of a romantic get away to Aruba. There's planning, preparation and the endless packing list. And let's not leave out the 5:30 am wake up call, morning rush hour traffic and two carsick kids which left me with a lifelong aversion to doughnut holes. However, we always look forward to the drive, the thanksgiving feast, football games and easy going family members we stay with who don't mind that we trash their house. It has been a long lived tradition that we have enjoyed for years and has always been very consistent.....with the exception of this trip.
The car trip itself was the same however we remembered the Dramamine this time and seeing two coyotes in the hopes of seeing the roadrunner off in the distance. But the adventure of the visit would be different this time. Way different. In recent years I have developed more of a sense of adventure. I've traded in my "No thank you's" to taking the risk whatever that might be.
We had finally arrived. I have 3 favorite places on this earth: The UK, on stage at my church, and 1350
Pounder Street......where I would experience uncharted territory 3 different times.
The Brewery
After many visits to the home of my brother-in-law, Matt and the kids cousins, I wondered what the possibilities there would be for adventure. Well, I have learned that adventure is something that has to be sought out at times.
Once we arrived there was the usual unloading of the car, chat-up time and an initial grocery store run. Then my husband Mike often disappears with his brother for some catching up of their own. Matt usually has a new TV, football jersey, or any other of the newest man-cave addition he wants Mike to see. However when they disappeared this time, I followed them.
I noticed the open basement door and basement light on. I had heard something about a home brewery that Matt had started in his basement but just had to see it for myself.
Visiting the in-home brewery was like reliving those days back when I was a school kid. I didn't realize how much I missed the field trips. Nor did I realize how lengthy the beer making process actually is. We set aside a day during our stay to find out just that. I was about to witness a chemistry experience in the making.
With 40 pounds of grain soaking in hot water, we would begin the process of giving birth to a new batch of beer that next day. The soaking process turns the grain into an oatmeal substance called mash.
Next, the mash becomes a substance known as wort once the hops is added as it is transferred and boiled in a large kettle......leaving a pleasant aroma throughout the house.
large kettle for boiling
Hops
The final steps are the fermenting process where the wort is then poured into ail pails to set for about 4 weeks. The liquid is then separated from the sediment into carboy containers where it will set another week before it is flavored, carbonated and bottled.
Carboys for Fermentation.
It was all a little confusing at first but it eventually started make sense. Though not really a beer person, I learned a lot that day. Though I don't fancy beer often, the brew master has his own unique twist. He has his own variety of flavors. He has his own hand-crafted recipes for varieties such as coffee, chili, persimmon, pumpkin and my favorite, chocolate pomegranate. Kind of like Koolaid but only more sophisticated.
The Didgeridoo
Musical instruments are my passion. When I was in band as a school kids, I played french horn but always wanted to play everyone else's instrument and eventually became a band director at one point. With a brother-in-law obsessed with Australia I would have an introduction to a long, horn shaped wood carved monotone instrument of Aborigine- the Didgeridoo. I had seen them before along with a demonstration but was unfamiliar with the name.
As a family, we often have fun together, often say and do as we please making ourselves at home. We can also be very silly at times. As we were watching TV Matt decided it was time to work on his playing skills. My attention was immediately drawn just as it would have been when I was a band kid. I had immediately decided it was my turn. I took the lowest diaphragm breath of air I could and blew! Though it may take a lot of talent to produce a monotone, the true authentic way to play the instrument correctly, the seemingly impossible task of circular breathing must be executed. This is where air is continuous without interruption while breathing in through the nose and pushing air from the cheeks where the player becomes like a human bagpipe. Maybe someday.
The Unthinkable
After two fun adventures light hearted in nature, things took a different turn the next day..... a bit of a darker turn. The week of thanksgiving is often a time of some much needed down time where there are days when we have absolutely but intentionally nothing planned. I got out of bed that morning thinking that day would be one of them.
I was in my bedroom when Matt walked in and pulled out a suspicious looking black case with a digital combination lock from under the bed. He opened it, took inventory then looked at me with a sinister grin. There was brief conversation at dinner the night before but mostly between him and Mike. I didn't think much about it really. Mike joined him as they were about to inform me that they were going to the store as well as another little "errand." I asked if there were ever any girls that go to this "place." They said yes and that they would swing by later after they went to the store to give me time to shower before going to the range.
I would do something I had never done. I would be firing a gun.
A million things swirled through my head during that shower. I prayed, I worried, I thought about how this days could change forever if something went wrong. The Didgeridoo was one thing but at least from having played the trombone before, I had some idea as to what I was doing. This was not a musical instrument. It was a 9 millimeter. A gun. A weapon. Recoil? What if? I had no clue what I was doing. But somehow, I knew it was something I had to do.
It was cold outside and the three of us were very quiet during the walk to the car. As the car started and we left the drive way, Matt had expressed his relief that he was not the only one doing this for the first time...
WHAT?!
That was a bit of a game changer for me. When I had watched him as he had made preparations that morning, I was confident he had had at least some experience. It turns he was as nervous as I was.
As we got closer to the range, the situation reminded me the time when I needed to get my wisdom teeth extracted at age 19. Though it is a common operation, my situation was a bit more complicated and involved a more extensive procedure. I remember wanting to back out at do it another time, but I didn't. We had to drive out of town to have it done and there was no sense putting it off any longer.
We arrived at the Ultimate Defense and Training Center and it started to snow. The sound of gun shots could be heard from outside. As expected, it was crowded since it was the day before a holiday. I was instantly relieved when I saw that there were other women there. Everyone seemed so calmed and collected as they knew what they were doing. Shooters fired their guns with ease in their lanes as if nothing could go wrong.
Paperwork had to be completed which included a questionnaire and we were all amused by the question which asked "Have you ever operated a firearm?" and all three of us answered "no." With no further issues, we obtained our eye and ear protection and were granted access to the firing range.
The firing range was in a soundproofed area which adjoined to the entrance where retail was sold. As we entered, I realized the sign which read "Must have eye and ear protection before entering." was there for a reason.
Even with the ear protection, I was overwhelmed by the noise. Bullet shells were flying from the guns hitting the shooters in the face at times. I wondered how they could be so unfazed...additionally, how will I be when it's my turn.
Matt went first. I watched him as he craftily selected the bullets and prepared the gun. Though he was fully focused looking proficient, I was surprised when I saw his hands shake during the first few shots. Mike went next and we each fired about 11 shots for each round.
I helplessly waited wondering if I would actually go through with this though I already knew the answer. It helped that there was a young teen aged girl with her dad who seemed very calm. After watching her fire her gun, I would once again have a little more reassurance.
It was my turn. I prayed in tongues.
In my hand, I held a weapon which, though small, I knew had the power to kill. It was intense. I waited as the target sheet ran to the back of the range. Matt showed me the safety lock and shifted the switch.
It was time.
I held the gun with my arms straight and elbows locked as I was instructed to do so. I pulled the trigger. My gunshots were now among the other that could be heard throughout the range. I fired all eleven shots with long intervals in between as I felt the need to concentrate. Though I took my time, I wanted to get it over with. Then, the gun was empty.
I only fired one round on the 9 millimeter but Matt also had a .22 rifle which I was a little more comfortable about firing. I had remembered an episode of Little House on the Prairie when Carolyn Ingalls fired a rifle and did it with such ease. I remembered how sexy that was! I knew I could pull it off if she could.
The gun was larger which made me feel like I had more control. The guys each fired one round before it was once again my turn. Feeling more confident, I was instructed to hold the rifle against my shoulder so that it would not retract. Just like playing a musical instrument, I also needed to know where to put my hands.
The first round was a breeze. Matt went to reload and called me back for a second and third round.
I went to the range that snowy day filled with anxiety but left just feeling like a bad girl (for lack of a better word).
We, the next day, joined the millions of Americans who feasted while celebrating the Thanksgiving holiday. While some of them would fight over mashed potato gravy, make plans for black friday, and argue over who to seat at the grown-up table, we drank home-brewed beer and celebrated milestones with a digeridoo in the corner of the room. And with that I must now dedicate this song to the one and only- my target.
Date: Nov 25th-29th, 2014
Place visited: St. Louis, MO
Adventures: Home Brewery Tour
Hands-on Cultural Musical Dabble
Shooting in a Firing Range
Traveling involves both the desire to get lost and be willing to take risk......and why not throw in a little spontaneity. Today, I put all three into
action.
It's fall, the leaves are turning and I had an opportunity to cease. It all started the other day when Madi had informed me that she wanted to have a sleepover with her best friend who recently relocated 40 miles away to
Dawsonville, Ga.
It was a Saturday. It was a cool, brisk day with gusty winds. There were several
breaks in the cloud cover and the sun shone through as the bright blue sky was
visible complementing the colors of the changing leaves. As Madi and I rode, we
talked some but there were quiet times when I began to think. I had a plan. I told
no one.
There is a reason why I write, a reason I take candlelight baths, a reason why
I close my door to listen to Led Zeppelin, and reason I travel. My life.
Though very content, sometimes I just have to get away from the dishes, the sticky
floors, the toys, the work schedule, and the "mom can I have's."
I carried out my plan after I dropped Madi off at her friends house by getting
back into my red minivan and kept going forward in the same direction. With a
dying cell phone that needs an upgrade as it only now holds a charge for about 6
hours, less than a half a tank of gas and only about two hours before I had to get
back home, I kept going.
I followed the winding road past old farm houses, deep valleys and an old filling
station. I wasn't even sure I would end up where I had planned to go but, still, I
was without a care.
The drive was about 15 minutes before I reached the top of the mountain where a
magnificent view of North Georgia could be seen. I drove through the small town
square which was crowded with visitors browsing through the many boutique shops,
candy stores and craft bizarres. Though it seemed charming enough, it was
something I really was not in the mood for. I was looking for something a bit
slower paced and more serene and I was hungry.
A small mom and pop diner looked inviting as I drove further down the highway. It
sat upon a lovely view of the mountainside covered with the many colorful trees
and a distant view of far off hills as they stood and met the sky.
I assumed that a high altitude would bring about cooler temperatures. Having been
spontaneous, I was not prepared once I got out of the car. It was as if I thought
it would snow!
The diner was warm and cozy and the Georgia Florida game was on. It was after 3:00
PM and there was no crowd. I took a window seat and ordered a chicken sandwich.
There was a bit of a wait before it was brought to me. My phone was nearly dead
and I had to save the last of what charge I had in case on an emergency. I had
nothing to do but enjoy the silence. When my oversized sandwich arrived, my only
concern was that I didn't have a mouth big enough to accomodate it. It was all good!
On my way home, I had about enough of a charge to send a text message informing
everyone I would be home soon. Though I knew I was going to be interrogated once I
got home and spent much of the drive home preparing for how I was going to
carefully tiptoe around the fact that I needed to rebel a little, coming home was
not so bad.
I didn't go far, I didn't stay long and I spent very little money, but I took a
risk. I thought I would use the title Autumn, Altitude, and a Chicken Sandwich for
this but since I had listened to Led Zeppelin the night before, I chose
differently.
Location: Dahlonega, GA
Diner: Danny's Restaurant
Date: 11/01/2014
