How do y'all feel about road trips? I think there is no middle ground here. You either are all in or all out. There actually are a variety of ways to be all in or all out.
I have taken two, or four, in the last 9 days so we're going to have us a little chat about that.
The first roundtrip was a solo 16 hours in the car. It involved Lots of thinking. Lots. Speeding (just a little.) Talking. To myself. Minimal eating. A very wide playlist. Wide. Metallica. Adele. George. Journey. Celine. Reba. Firehouse. Bon Jovi. Penrod. Nailed it. As you readers well know, singing is my best God given gift.
Driving and service centers breakdown:
It would appear we generally have pilots without a cause. A task has been accepted but the mission is unclear. When we're in the car. It's time to go. The same applies to the rest stop. When we get out of our vehicles, it's go time for potty break. It's the same playing field and I expect your full attention in both. Unfortunately. I seemed to follow the same friends all day. They drive and walk like it's Sunday. I mean it was on one of the days, but whatever. I am all about the business on solo trips, no deviation, no open mind, no stopping unless it's required; therefore, please step aside to the slow potty lane or we will have some trouble. I have set the timer and I have three minutes to get back on the Thruway.
Basically my concern(s) on a solo trip are, get to the destination as quickly as possible - going or coming.
I'm all in.
On the flip side you have the family trip or the "plus one" experience.
"How about taking the scenic route?"
........
Hum.
Scenic route?
Is there a way to graciously decline?
"How about on the way back?"
Well. Friends. The "way back" eventually comes around... And the "way back," like the camping rain, encodes and stores in distinct patterns along the neural pathway in the brain, and will create permanent and best memories.
I love scenes. I love to see the ocean. And sunsets. And gardens. And trees. And mountains.
I would love to love the scenic routes. But I have been cursed. I cannot handle the attractive twisty and winding ways. They so clearly lead to destruction, which is why I have no trouble sticking to the straight and narrow way that leads home.
So on the way back today....we took the scenic route.
And technology might not be exactly where we want it yet. (A wise person tells me that on occasion.) As we headed off the freeway, my heart sank a little, but GPS had a grand plan in mind for these New Yorkers. It was quite beautiful. The sun was shining, clear blue skies and minimal traffic. We drove and drove. As the miles passed, I leaned my seat back a little farther. And a little farther. My concern grew when the chief navigator missed the appropriate road. This can't be good. As we turn around, we miss it again.
Wait.
I see it, a teeny white sign that says
Route 70 ---->
Um.
....
No.
We follow the directions, which pleases Ms. GPS, and immediately begin heading up a ridge. In half a mile we are on a gravel road going 25 mph.
.....
This is our life for the next 45 minutes. Driving up. Driving down. Driving around. And around. Past cows. Ponds. Tractors. Trees. Countryside. Horses.
"This is beautiful country."
My chair is almost completely flat and I'm inwardly, maybe outwardly, groaning.
"This really is a beautiful drive."
What I learned, friends, is that if you want to hide a body, head to Pennsylvania. Cause cain't no lawman even find you. All you might see is a pick-up truck with New York plates, down "Heck Of A Long Drive Rd" (seriously), and me laying next to a gorgeous barn vomiting in the amber waves of grain.
"Okay, Babe, we're heading back to civilization. Route 14 is coming up."
Well. Ha. Route 70 was a gravel road so I'm not feeling super confident but I could use a spot of faith, so lead on...
Soon. Indeed. We're back.
And we have to ask our GPS friend to get us to a place for eating. Upon arrival, I order five things to Ryan's two. Hey, don't judge me, I almost vanished without a trace in the outback this morning.
Now. Comparatively.
Solo trip - no eating, no deviation. Nothing to make the trip particularly memorable.
The "plus one" experience. Nausea. Views. Laughs. Eating. The perfect recipe for memory.
I'm all in.
I'll be your "plus one" whenever I can.
And I won't make you hold my hair back.
Sunday, June 25, 2017
Friday, June 23, 2017
Blast of Summer
It's the first day of summer for my kids.
I'm located in Clearfield, Pennsylvania.
Camping.
Like every good camping trip, it's raining.
I'd like to talk to you about what camping is, because frankly, not everyone knows.
It always rains. Unless you are in Utah. (And then it's so hot in the desert you might as well be dead because that is what it will feel like.)
You wear the same sweatshirt for four days because. Rain.
It's pretty healthy because you have to walk a mile to pee. And it never ever ever fails that your bladder will betray you with a 4am sloshing urge to spill over. Never fails. Like last night. You lay there and know that this will be your life in fifteen years but strongly desire that it not be so today because. Mile. You must decide how dire the situation. You attempt to fall back asleep, but by 5am you realize the error of your ways because now you know that it is physically impossible to crawl out of your sleeping bag, let alone actually walk said mile.
It's the walk of shame.
As the entire campground can hear the "zzzzzzzzzz" of the tent zipper.
Ha. Another camper bites the dust.
You basically do not brush your hair for four days. Four days. Friends.
Showering can be something for which you look forward. Possibly.
You perfectly capable camper you, you head to the house of showers, adequately prepared with a towel, washcloth, separate bag for dirty clothes, a bag with the essentials designed to hang, AND flip flops to wear IN the shower. You've been doing this for years. You got this. You got it.
Friends. I do not care how many blessed years you have been doing this. It will go wrong every time.
Have you ever tried to balance in wet, slippery shoes, with a soapy rag, holding a bottle of shampoo,trying desperately not to touch anything? Like if your elbow touches the wall your whole life will be over? If you've been camping you have.
If by slight random chance you make it through the washing portion of the show without touching anything, you give yourself a cookie, but you surely face the greatest gauntlet ahead.
Drying/dressing in fresh warm clothes with wet flip flops in the coldest, dampest environment known to man.
Let's take a quick minute to describe the tool you have on hand for this task. A pre-shrunken towel you've had since 1984, because you certainly do not take your $20 oversized beauty, camping. By pre-shrunken, we mean it reduced it's size by half over 20 years of washing.
It's hard to say where to begin drying, but you know for sure your feet will be last. Nothing dries, friends, nothing. You want to dry your feet in hopes to put on your underwear and pants and get a slight bit of coverage from the cold air seeping into the house of showers. You "dry" your feet and then carefully slip your wet feet through your undergarments, which in turn soak up the water like a dying cowboy. You force them up your damp, frozen body. Ahh. That feels. Gross.
The above scenario will occur 99.9% of the time. Guaranteed.
Perhaps you make it through. Perhaps you do.
But then, on the way out of the shower section, past the pottys, you drop your wet washcloth. And die a thousand deaths.
You only take your beloveds camping. Only your beloveds will be happy to see your makeup-less face, your windblown/unbrushed hair, your same sweatshirt for days, and still be willing to sit next to you and share the simple pleasure of a hot dog in the smoke filled air. (Disclaimer: if it's anything but Ballpark, you are officially NOT camping.)
They might even give you a flashlight at 4am.
Without laughing. But unlikely.
I'm located in Clearfield, Pennsylvania.
Camping.
Like every good camping trip, it's raining.
I'd like to talk to you about what camping is, because frankly, not everyone knows.
It always rains. Unless you are in Utah. (And then it's so hot in the desert you might as well be dead because that is what it will feel like.)
You wear the same sweatshirt for four days because. Rain.
It's pretty healthy because you have to walk a mile to pee. And it never ever ever fails that your bladder will betray you with a 4am sloshing urge to spill over. Never fails. Like last night. You lay there and know that this will be your life in fifteen years but strongly desire that it not be so today because. Mile. You must decide how dire the situation. You attempt to fall back asleep, but by 5am you realize the error of your ways because now you know that it is physically impossible to crawl out of your sleeping bag, let alone actually walk said mile.
It's the walk of shame.
As the entire campground can hear the "zzzzzzzzzz" of the tent zipper.
Ha. Another camper bites the dust.
You basically do not brush your hair for four days. Four days. Friends.
Showering can be something for which you look forward. Possibly.
You perfectly capable camper you, you head to the house of showers, adequately prepared with a towel, washcloth, separate bag for dirty clothes, a bag with the essentials designed to hang, AND flip flops to wear IN the shower. You've been doing this for years. You got this. You got it.
Friends. I do not care how many blessed years you have been doing this. It will go wrong every time.
Have you ever tried to balance in wet, slippery shoes, with a soapy rag, holding a bottle of shampoo,trying desperately not to touch anything? Like if your elbow touches the wall your whole life will be over? If you've been camping you have.
If by slight random chance you make it through the washing portion of the show without touching anything, you give yourself a cookie, but you surely face the greatest gauntlet ahead.
Drying/dressing in fresh warm clothes with wet flip flops in the coldest, dampest environment known to man.
Let's take a quick minute to describe the tool you have on hand for this task. A pre-shrunken towel you've had since 1984, because you certainly do not take your $20 oversized beauty, camping. By pre-shrunken, we mean it reduced it's size by half over 20 years of washing.
It's hard to say where to begin drying, but you know for sure your feet will be last. Nothing dries, friends, nothing. You want to dry your feet in hopes to put on your underwear and pants and get a slight bit of coverage from the cold air seeping into the house of showers. You "dry" your feet and then carefully slip your wet feet through your undergarments, which in turn soak up the water like a dying cowboy. You force them up your damp, frozen body. Ahh. That feels. Gross.
The above scenario will occur 99.9% of the time. Guaranteed.
Perhaps you make it through. Perhaps you do.
But then, on the way out of the shower section, past the pottys, you drop your wet washcloth. And die a thousand deaths.
You only take your beloveds camping. Only your beloveds will be happy to see your makeup-less face, your windblown/unbrushed hair, your same sweatshirt for days, and still be willing to sit next to you and share the simple pleasure of a hot dog in the smoke filled air. (Disclaimer: if it's anything but Ballpark, you are officially NOT camping.)
They might even give you a flashlight at 4am.
Without laughing. But unlikely.
Saturday, June 17, 2017
My Fellow Graduates
To the MCS class of '97....
What a phenomenal weekend. I'm not sure I have laughed this much in quite awhile. I remember being quite sad when highschool was over because it really was fun to be around you. We laughed a lot then, and twenty years later, it still works.
I learned a few things from you.
1) I had no idea you were reading my blog and, frankly, I'm quite shocked that you are. I will be most mindful of this in the future and speak less about leaking bodily fluids and speak more about things that make me sound intelligent. And holy. And smart.
2) When next someone mentions that I was a math competition attendee (AKA mathlete), I should roll with it. Yep, I definitely remember attending and winning first prize because math has always been my best subject.
3) I should recreate more and work less. Much less. How can I boat and BBQ like the Schulze's when I never see the light of day?!
4) Grey hair means nothing.
5) You are my peeps because you drink Coke products, not Pepsi products, and you can tell the difference between legit and fake sweet tea.
6) You have reinforced that the span of time and distance means little between friends.
7) Every last one of you is tall and successful.
PS - "I gave up the dream of nursing because I became a famous writer. Have you not read my book?"
How is that for my re-do/embellishment...??
It brought me such joy to see your faces. To see that you are well and happy. To see that coming together could be so easy and comfortable. I think it was a small taste of what a first day in heaven will be.
Joy. Love. Comfort. Laughter. After a season apart.
Reunions are the most joyous of occasions this side of heaven.
But one day, we will say "hello again" for the last time and that will be the best day we have ever known.
What a phenomenal weekend. I'm not sure I have laughed this much in quite awhile. I remember being quite sad when highschool was over because it really was fun to be around you. We laughed a lot then, and twenty years later, it still works.
I learned a few things from you.
1) I had no idea you were reading my blog and, frankly, I'm quite shocked that you are. I will be most mindful of this in the future and speak less about leaking bodily fluids and speak more about things that make me sound intelligent. And holy. And smart.
2) When next someone mentions that I was a math competition attendee (AKA mathlete), I should roll with it. Yep, I definitely remember attending and winning first prize because math has always been my best subject.
3) I should recreate more and work less. Much less. How can I boat and BBQ like the Schulze's when I never see the light of day?!
4) Grey hair means nothing.
5) You are my peeps because you drink Coke products, not Pepsi products, and you can tell the difference between legit and fake sweet tea.
6) You have reinforced that the span of time and distance means little between friends.
7) Every last one of you is tall and successful.
PS - "I gave up the dream of nursing because I became a famous writer. Have you not read my book?"
How is that for my re-do/embellishment...??
It brought me such joy to see your faces. To see that you are well and happy. To see that coming together could be so easy and comfortable. I think it was a small taste of what a first day in heaven will be.
Joy. Love. Comfort. Laughter. After a season apart.
Reunions are the most joyous of occasions this side of heaven.
But one day, we will say "hello again" for the last time and that will be the best day we have ever known.
Friday, June 9, 2017
The Gift of Life
It is a noble gesture to give the gift of life.
Especially since one day you may need to receive it.
I was excited to participate, but last night, somewhere along the way, something went terribly wrong.
I picked up Aaron and headed directly to church for my appointment to give blood. I went through the interview process and proceeded to a table. Of course, the technician found it difficult to locate a vein. All medical personnel feel it necessary to complain about my bitty veins. The "boss lady" was called upon for assistance and she agreed to get me set up. Aaron was allowed to come sit next to me, and everything was fine for the next ten minutes.
I felt it coming. Quickly. The nausea. I tried to get the attention of a staff member, but they were all busy. I turned to Aaron and asked him to get me help.
It felt like I could not vomit long enough to eradicate the nausea and bring my body back to equilibrium. I was feeling so sick.
From behind me I heard one of the technicians say, "Oh, just breathe, ma'am"
And that was it. Complete darkness. Quiet. Peace. And I wanted to stay. It felt wonderful.
I've watched enough medical shows (shout out to my early seasons Grey's fans), and I must say they do fairly well in depicting what it feels like. You come around in flashes. Your hearing and understanding comes and goes.
Flash One
When did I put my legs in the air? Wait. I don't feel my legs in the air. If I can't feel them, how are they staying up? Ah, someone is holding them. Wait. I don't feel them being held...
Flash Two
"Hey!"
"What's her name?! Does anyone know her name? What's her name?!"
"Her name is Angela." (Oh, bless. Sweet baby. You should not be here.)
Flash Three
I can see that Boss Lady is slapping some sense into my hand. My legs are STILL in the air?! They are taking off my shoes. Hmm...sorry peeps, it's been a very long day in shoes, good luck. Boss Lady is giving all kinds of orders. Get this. Bring that.
I don't feel good. Not at all. I'd rather not stay here. And I at least semi consciously make the decision to go back to the darkness.
Boss Lady instantly knows... "Oh no you don't...."
I don't feel good. Not at all. I'd rather not stay here. And I at least semi consciously make the decision to go back to the darkness.
Boss Lady instantly knows... "Oh no you don't...."
But I don't know her. Her face is way up there; I have no connection to her.
Flash Four
Oh my word. My legs are still in the air. There are like 7 people hovering.
"Focus on me, quit looking out there in space."
Boss Lady is not having it anymore. I can't seem to form words with my mouth. I can't seem to move either. But I manage to nod my head that I register her words.
She tells me they sent Aaron away. Thank goodness.
No-interest-in-vein technician rambles on in a whisper in my left ear about how scared everybody was, this is such an event. You are such a trooper so I'm giving you a first time donor sticker.
They finally put my legs down and I take stock of my body.
Boss Lady finally finds a whisper mode herself and says, "Uhh, honey, do your pants feel wet?"
Every inch of my body is saturated in sweat, it is coursing down the sides of my head like rain. Yes. My pants feel wet. I've lost all control of my body for who knows how long. No need to be cryptic. Am I bleeding? Pooping? Peeing? What?
"Uhh, the floor is wet. I think you, well, never mind, we'll just get it cleaned up."
These people are not emergency medical personnel. I don't care how many times they told me, "This happens every day." Based on their ability to manage the situation, this was not a situation to which they were accustomed. I am not stupid. I can tell.
Boss lady says, "Well, you were out for quite awhile, well, err, I mean no more than thirty seconds, but we couldn't get you back. I had to do a sternal rub and that worked right away. Your color still is not good. Your color was very bad and your lips were not pink. They still don't look great, but they are getting color back."
Interesting.
Everything is happening in extreme slow motion for me. I'm hearing all the chattering, but I am not talking, still trying to get my bearings. They talk about me not being allowed to drive home. They take my vitals and talk about making decisions for a squad. Never once do they ask to call someone for me. Really? Cause I might be dying. And maybe somebody out there cares about my death. Not to mention my nine year old son who at this point has returned and continues to observe. I direct him to call Ryan on my phone.
My blood pressure is still very low. Ryan arrives and provides moral support. They try to stuff me with fluids and snacks. None of which I want. But like a good patient, I try. My pressure begins to climb, slowly. This pleases Boss Lady who would love to wrap up and go home.
"You're a trooper" and "Way to go!" say the last lingering fellow givers of life as they head out the door without pee on their pants. I raise my hand in solidarity.
They finally let me go, it's already 7pm, and would you believe it, it's in the car that I begin vomiting.
Ryan wants to stop for a Coke as directed by Boss Lady but I tell him to get me home. Ya know, because I have soaked everything I'm wearing either with pee or sweat. I feel disgusting. And nauseated. And tired. And the kids need to eat dinner.
I feel like a senior citizen going to my bedroom. I can basically do nothing for myself I'm so weak
and unwell. Ryan helps me get cleaned up and into bed, despite that I am grumbling about not being able to do it myself. I'm not one for extreme vulnerability. Have I mentioned I puffy heart him?
24 hours later and I'm frankly still recovering.
24 hours later and I'm frankly still recovering.
I still think donating blood is noble. I wish I could do it.
To my fellow rare blood types, I did this for you.
It's going to be my last time, because I can't make this stuff up.
To my fellow rare blood types, I did this for you.
It's going to be my last time, because I can't make this stuff up.
And, in the end, they couldn't even use the donation....
Sunday, June 4, 2017
What Hurts the Heart
It's been a very eventful week.
Our pet bunny has left this world.
I attended my first ever dance fitness class. Are you even kidding me?! My coordination is lax. I was very disappointed to know for sure and for real that I will never be a dancing princess. Graceful is not an apt description; plodding, is.
I am trying to balance some health issues with an overwhelming work schedule. Trying to coordinate all the pieces makes me feel like I am losing every last piece of my mind.
Chapters are ending and chapters are beginning. And it's so much. Right now. It's so much.
I feel like I am losing at everything.
And it's truly the worst feeling.
It's humbling. I am being humbled. Becoming less.
It hurts the heart but it is good for the soul.
This body is frail and our time here is so very limited. And when our hearts are hurting we focus. Not on the temporal. But on the eternal.
As I sat in church today, I closed my eyes and breathed...."Even so, come." Actively longing for the Lord's return. Honestly. It doesn't happen often. Maybe on 9/11. Maybe every day when I read Facebook and see the geuine state of the human heart. But, you know what I mean, we are so wrapped up in life. None more than myself based on my timecard. A pause is good.
I am a complicated person. One who doesn't continually spout the gospel to all the creatures, but one who desperately clings to faith like a lifeline. One who knows all the words to all the hymns, but might occasionally bounce to a little gangsta rap.
Convoluted. Humbled.
Focus, Angela. Focus. On the eternal. On what is coming next. On Who is coming.
And all the decisions you make in surrender to that will be fruitful.
Run the Earth. Watch the sky.
Our pet bunny has left this world.
I attended my first ever dance fitness class. Are you even kidding me?! My coordination is lax. I was very disappointed to know for sure and for real that I will never be a dancing princess. Graceful is not an apt description; plodding, is.
I am trying to balance some health issues with an overwhelming work schedule. Trying to coordinate all the pieces makes me feel like I am losing every last piece of my mind.
Chapters are ending and chapters are beginning. And it's so much. Right now. It's so much.
I feel like I am losing at everything.
And it's truly the worst feeling.
It's humbling. I am being humbled. Becoming less.
It hurts the heart but it is good for the soul.
This body is frail and our time here is so very limited. And when our hearts are hurting we focus. Not on the temporal. But on the eternal.
As I sat in church today, I closed my eyes and breathed...."Even so, come." Actively longing for the Lord's return. Honestly. It doesn't happen often. Maybe on 9/11. Maybe every day when I read Facebook and see the geuine state of the human heart. But, you know what I mean, we are so wrapped up in life. None more than myself based on my timecard. A pause is good.
I am a complicated person. One who doesn't continually spout the gospel to all the creatures, but one who desperately clings to faith like a lifeline. One who knows all the words to all the hymns, but might occasionally bounce to a little gangsta rap.
Convoluted. Humbled.
Focus, Angela. Focus. On the eternal. On what is coming next. On Who is coming.
And all the decisions you make in surrender to that will be fruitful.
Run the Earth. Watch the sky.
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