Look to the Left, Look to the Right

... and you'll see a church.

We are traveling in the land wherein any resident may find himself not particularly enjoying a sermon at one church on a Sunday morning and be then tempted and able to simply walk across the street to find another.  Churches are numerous.  Many are Baptist.  I almost feel like a non-denominational heretic rolling down country roads in this part of the country.

God seems to be following us everywhere.   His Word stalks our very mile.  The application of His word populates many a billboard and sign:

Where is this land?  Have we already arrived out West?  Certainly not...
Have we ventured deep into the freezing cold mountain ranges?  Not quite today.
Are we still in balmy, tropical climes?  We wish!

Instead, we are in the Bible Belt, traveling from Alabama north and west today through Arkansas and into Missouri, ending in a wee 25 degrees Fahrenheit graciously hosted by Springfield, MO.  

On one country highway, we passed by one white cross after another, each inscribed with a different verse of scripture.  Ah, if only we had our bibles out on our laps rather than stashed in the luggage on the remote rear end of the vast minivan.  

Perhaps I am getting old-fashioned in my increasingly old-age, but I enjoy the reminder that this country is still a Christian nation.  Many Americans continue to strive to know God and to follow His command and desire for their lives.

That's a nice reminder of where I should be and what I should be doing.

Sweet Home Alabama!

After escaping the allergy scene in Georgia (and most of the spring break traffic headed north to Atlanta and beyond), we exited onto country roads and into Alabama.   Therein, we were privileged to see many a cozy and sweet home like the following farm house pass by as we covered the miles du jour:

While these houses looked cozy and safe, our best bet in Alabama (and most of the country for that matter) is La Quinta:

which is one of the only hotel chains in the United States that welcomes pets without charging an arm and a leg (per pet, per night).   Many La Quinta Inns even give out dog biscuits upon check-in and a sweet story about how dogs are no more of a burden than children (and often less destructive).  Dogs are welcomed with open arms, available rooms, and plenty of poop bags!

Upon check-in, we did leave out the part about three cats, but why mention such details? After all, they make up only 18 pounds of our 200 pound animal load!

At La Quinta, we are no longer those second class folks with THE DOGS, but instead just ordinary travelers needing a nice soft bed and peaceful night's sleep.   Today's La Quinta was in Birmingham, Alabama just south of downtown.

Tomorrow's La Quinta... will be wherever tomorrow's adventure takes us.    North and West are the only things we need to know!

Georgia is not on my Mind

It's Day 1 of venturing from Clearwater to Frogwater, from Sunny Florida to Western Washington in the Pacific NorthWET.   And, Georgia is definitely not on my mind, despite traveling along many of its highways this afternoon.

Instead,
Georgia is on my nose, my sinuses, and most of my upper respiratory tract.  The story begins with one of the very few downsides of my dual coast lifestyle.   It is true that one of my (only) regrets about spending the winter in Florida is that I have become unfortunately beset by two separate springs every year. The pollen in Florida gets me going into February and extends until the end of March. Shortly thereafter, Washington State takes over with its many cedar, grass, and assorted other pollens designed to torture my genuinely simple attempts to breathe.  There is nothing like sneezing for four months straight to make you welcome the end of spring with open arms (and open sinus passages). The bright side of this allergy alley is that we are now driving a light green car, so while everyone else's car looks like a coat of pollen, ours just continues to look normal. 


When we entered Georgia today on our first day on the road, I realized that the situation could be a lot worse. No more than five miles across the state line, I started to sneeze inside the car. I am mystified because I just replaced the ridiculously expensive cabin air filter in the minivan that is supposed to prevent this very occurrence. It must be the Georgia pines doing this dastardly deed to my sinuses:

 Or maybe it's the fact that every tree and its brother seems to be leafing out or blooming today:

Regardless, the joy of spring has been threatened by the influx of many allergies.  However, I am certain that I have packed my positive attitude, and it will come to the rescue.  I will be sure to start looking for it, as soon as I stop sneezing!

Tomorrow, we will be headed north out of Alabama, away from blooming trees and into much colder temperatures, with a touch of snow to keep life challenging.  We'll be trading one problem for the next ... therein, lies the definition of cross-country travel... 

Ouch!

Those who read this who are less emotional than I may roll their eyes once, twice, and even thrice.

I closed up a little orange house in Clearwater, Florida this morning:

I closed all the windows, drew all the curtains closed, flipped the circuit breakers to off, and checked twice, even thrice all the possible safeguards to protect this little place that was my mother's home and that has now fallen into my care.   I stopped on the walkway, closed my eyes, and prayed... not just for the walls that make up the house, but for the love and warmth that now make it home.

Reluctantly, I stepped into the driver's seat of the minivan, started it up, and backed out of the driveway. The six animals in the back were busy adapting to the new routine of traveling.  I couldn't help but say quick thanks for how good natured every single one is, both canine and feline.  The husband too is good by his nature.

As I travelled out via the surface streets and then down the long causeway that separates Tampa Bay from Clearwater, I held my breath and my tears.  If I could make it to Interstate 75 and its standard neutralized freeway scenery, I could make it without crying. I could feel my heart lurching, protesting the severing of attachment that had to happen as I made my way across the country.  Fortunately, technologies of phone, e-mail, and the occasional old-fashioned letter would prevent those attachments from lapsing entirely.

I could feel the tears lurking underneath my driver's composure, desiring to burst into one very messy crying jag.   Perhaps, only because I was driving and felt compelled to do so safely, I made it to the Interstate without crying.  As I headed north, I could feel my heart chastising me... reminding me that it will have its time to cry, that I will not escape the need to express all those many emotions that rolled around inside of me.

In the interim, as I wait for my heart to demand my attention, I can be both calm and immensely grateful for the new additions to my memories.  Long walks with Trudy on the beach.   Long talks with Marilyn over breakfast.   Couples dinners that are just as much as an adventure as the one-on-one times.  An incredible farewell dinner, courtesy of our neighbors Deb and Tim.  Sunsets with Jennie and Mike.  Smiles and conversation with Cindy.   New friends, including Marilyn our neighbor.  And the list goes on and on and on and on.

It's time to go back.  God said so, so I'm going.

What will the Babies look like?

What Will they look like?

I confess.  I have had this thought more than once at a wedding.   Watching a couple in love take vows to commit the rest of their lives to each other, in front of God, family, and friends... should generate warm thoughts and fuzzy well wishes.   Instead, in the middle of the ceremony, my ever wandering mind will do exactly that... wander.   And, when the couple isn't quite as well matched in looks as the ideals of Bride Magazine would dictate, I find myself imagining the many different configurations the future babies may take.  

I had this same thought when I caught my cat Faith on the recliner the other day:

Faith is a mix of Maine Coon and Tortoiseshell.   What will the offspring look like?  What will I call the babies?   Maine Bugs?   Lady Coons?  Bugsie Torties?  

Unfortunately, Faith is spayed.  So, I guess I will never find out the answer to this intriguing riddle.  

Seven Habits of Healthy Organic People

#1:  Plant the Lettuce next to the Lawn Chair --

This habit has the obvious benefit of tempting the lawn chair occupant with fresh healthy green things while relaxing in the sunshine.  But, it also reduces the likelihood that said occupant will gravitate back toward the kitchen in search of the next most convenient snack:  whichever bag of potato chips stashed in the cupboard happens to be open.

These greens, in particular, are a mix of this, that, and the other spicy leaflike edibles:   arugula, radicchio, dandelions, and their cousins.  In more sophisticated circles, the young greens clan has another name:  Mesclun.   While sounding exotic, mesclun simply derives from the French word for mixture.

In properly warm weather, these mesclun rascals germinate so fast one can record the whole process on a cell phone camera.  After germinating, they mature equally fast so that the nondescript pile of dirt this planter was only a couple of weeks ago has now become an overflowing snack bowl.

And, believe it or not, these delicate greens go quite well with a beer.  Newcastle Ale was today's choice, but really any beer will do.

Try it.   You'll like it!

Raindrops

It's raining today in the Sunshine State.   Those in the Frozen North or the Pacific NorthWET may find this funny.  To some extent it is.   To watch Floridians scurry for cover even before the first drop falls out of the sky is amusing.   Even the dog park empties out at the threat of rain, much to the dismay of the canine furry class who could care less about getting wet while out walking and socializing with the rest of the canine world.

While rain for days and days on end can be nothing less than miserable and demoralizing, the occasional rainy day can soothe the spirit and calm the mind better than any man-made tranquilizer, over the counter or otherwise.  This seems to be the best kept secret of a gentle drizzle as it bounces gently among blades of bright green grass or taps lightly on the roof overhead.  

The meditational magic hiding behind a curtain of soft rainfall has not been lost in the world of music.   B.J. Thomas told us that while the raindrops may indeed keep falling on my head, trying their very wet best to send me the blues, nothing will ultimately worry me about the result of such raindrops.   

Edwin McCain went even further, deeply romanticizing something as simple as a rainy night:

"Lying here with you, 

Listening to the rain

Smiling just to see the smile upon your face.  

These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive."

How's that for next week's date night?  It sounds wonderful.  Where do I sign up?

Fortunately, I have yet to see modern music, dark and self-absorbed as it can be, make a single mention of rain in the context of seasonal affective disorder (SAD).  The dark depression of SAD is serious, brought on by the deficits in sunlight that too much gray and too much rain can produce.   Yet, rain alone, when taken with an appropriate shot of adequate sunlight, is a chance not only for nature's thirst to be quenched, but also for the quiet of the soul to be restored and peace to be returned to its proper place in the heart.  

Last I looked, that's something the i-Phone, i-Pad, i-Pod, i-Etc soaked culture we live in could use now and then.