COLUMBIA, MISSOURI – It was smooth sailing all through our drive on Friday. Until we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by tornadoes, that is.
It was funny because my mom’s oldest friend Carmen, who we will visit on our way through Kansas, had just given us a full Driving Through Tornado Alley Briefing just the day before. Well, maybe it wasn’t funny, but at least it was well timed.
We were about a half hour outside of St. Louis when we saw the wall of darkness rising up like mountains on the horizon before us. It was the kind of wall of darkness pilots make wide hundred-mile-long detours around if they can. A pulsing glow of lightning thumped like a thunderous heartbeat from deep within the mass of swirling black clouds. It was freaky.
Marley had just called her brother Chris to touch base and thankfully he was in front of the computer. She was just in the middle of making a joke about tornado warnings and taking immediate cover as Chris checked the local weather radars and said there was a tornado warning and that said we should take immediate cover.
There was a pause at this point.
“Are you serious?” she said
“It says one tornado has already touched down and more are possible,” he said.
Within a few minutes we found some low ground under an overpass. There was a crew of construction workers topside that hadn’t heard yet. We passed on what we knew and they scrambled to get everything battened down as the full force of the storm descended on us. They would later say on the local radio station that in the next 30 minutes it would rain 3 ½ inches and that at least three more twisters had touched in our immediate vicinity. And that another wave of storm front was moving up quickly from the south for Round Two.
It sounded like we had just enough time to make a break for it and, wishing the construction guys good luck and Godspeed, that’s exactly what we did. We listened on the radio as the next front battered the area we’d just left even as beautiful blue skies opened up in front of us.
Amelia was a total trooper through it all, scared but focused on tending to her nervous brood of cats. Noah, of course, slept through the whole thing.
We made it another few hours before settling in for the night here in Columbia. The kids had a nice long swim in the pool before bed and had another good swim just now as we prepare to hit the road.
As we sat together eating breakfast Amelia, reflecting matter-of-factly, said “I know why we didn’t get hurt by the tornadoes yesterday.”
Marley and I both looked up. “Because I prayed,” she said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And of course it was.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Hard Night
NEW CASTLE, INDIANA – We made it ten miles before the cat started puking. Only 2397 miles to go. Or so we thought. Apparently we were already going in the wrong direction.
As we fueled up at the New Knoxville Market, I punched in our new address on Bainbridge Island and waited for what seemed like minutes for the GPS to calculate our route. When it was finally done the display read:
Miles to Destination: 2407
Time to Destination: 39 hours, 10 minutes
“Wow, that’s like a work week of driving,” said Marley.
No problem, I thought, pulling out on to Route 29. It was well into the evening. The sun wasn’t quite setting yet, but casting long shadows and a perfect yellow glow on the Ohio countryside. The golden hour, photographers call it.
In front of us, a thin slice of crescent moon was beginning its descent to the western horizon. It was strange but Ohio never looked so beautiful. That’s about when Twister started puking.
A few months ago we had bought a gross of paper towels from Sam’s Club, but had barely put a dent in them. In the days before we left, we had been handing them out like so many highly-absorbent quilty parting gifts, yet somehow had saved none of them for our trip. Not one.
So as Marley is trying to mop of Twister’s mess with Kleenex we notice the navigator has now added more than a hundred miles to our trip.
Miles to Destination: 2541
By the time we decided to call it a night, we’d made it here to New Castle, Indiana – about half hour outside of Indianapolis. The first leg of our great migration west ended in a scratchy roadside motel with an out of focus TV and an AC unit that rattled through the night like a rusty old train.
It was a hard night. Not because of all the hard work that day or broken TVs or noisy air conditioners or even puking cats. It was a hard night because with each passing mile the full weight of what we are leaving behind truly settled on my soul. We are leaving so much more than just a place. We are leaving friends and family that have meant more to us and have done more for us than mere words could ever express.
Yes, we are going to something. And going to something so challenging and new will be fun, scary and exciting.
But right now we are just leaving. And leaving something so rich and wonderful is sad and hard and heartbreaking.
As we fueled up at the New Knoxville Market, I punched in our new address on Bainbridge Island and waited for what seemed like minutes for the GPS to calculate our route. When it was finally done the display read:
Miles to Destination: 2407
Time to Destination: 39 hours, 10 minutes
“Wow, that’s like a work week of driving,” said Marley.
No problem, I thought, pulling out on to Route 29. It was well into the evening. The sun wasn’t quite setting yet, but casting long shadows and a perfect yellow glow on the Ohio countryside. The golden hour, photographers call it.
In front of us, a thin slice of crescent moon was beginning its descent to the western horizon. It was strange but Ohio never looked so beautiful. That’s about when Twister started puking.
A few months ago we had bought a gross of paper towels from Sam’s Club, but had barely put a dent in them. In the days before we left, we had been handing them out like so many highly-absorbent quilty parting gifts, yet somehow had saved none of them for our trip. Not one.
So as Marley is trying to mop of Twister’s mess with Kleenex we notice the navigator has now added more than a hundred miles to our trip.
Miles to Destination: 2541
By the time we decided to call it a night, we’d made it here to New Castle, Indiana – about half hour outside of Indianapolis. The first leg of our great migration west ended in a scratchy roadside motel with an out of focus TV and an AC unit that rattled through the night like a rusty old train.
It was a hard night. Not because of all the hard work that day or broken TVs or noisy air conditioners or even puking cats. It was a hard night because with each passing mile the full weight of what we are leaving behind truly settled on my soul. We are leaving so much more than just a place. We are leaving friends and family that have meant more to us and have done more for us than mere words could ever express.
Yes, we are going to something. And going to something so challenging and new will be fun, scary and exciting.
But right now we are just leaving. And leaving something so rich and wonderful is sad and hard and heartbreaking.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Being in the moments
SEATTLE -- Walking through the security checkpoint at the airport was just awful. If Noah had yelled and pitched a fit it would have been easier. Instead he waved bye-bye with his lower lip trembling as he tried so hard not to cry and I can’t even write about it now without tears coming to my eyes. I have been so excited to embark on this trip, but leaving behind those three people who matter to me as much as breathing was excruciating.
So it was hard to get going, but I got on with it. And then I started to get excited again. I am not a happy flier, so I spent a good portion of my puddle jumper flight to Detroit in prayer: I really hate small commuter jets. Then my next flight was delayed an hour due to some sort of mechanical issues, so that flight became a five hour event. And while I sometimes found myself thinking, “When is this ever going to end,” for the most part I took advantage of those hours to immerse myself in the glory of God’s creation far beneath my plane and the glory of his handiwork nearer at hand.
I met a woman who is Catholic, but whose eyes have been opened to the all-encompassing body of Christ which is not restricted by the boundary lines of denominations. She has decided that she now identifies herself first as a Christian, second as a Catholic. How Christ must rejoice each time another member of His body drops her walls and chooses unity.
I met another woman who boarded the plane with two small children, a baby, and a car seat in tow. I was in awe of her grace under pressure, her patience with her children, the way she looked frazzled and exhausted by the end of the trip but never once raised her voice in frustration. And I met a third woman who, observing the mother’s plight, turned around in her seat, took the baby from her and provided any form of comfort and assistance she could throughout the entire flight. Compassion, mercy, grace, strength: God’s heart demonstrated for all to see.
I listened to teachings and finished a book I loved. And each time I was tempted to wallow in boredom I looked out my window and thanked God for billowy white clouds casting ponderous shadows on the ground, ripples of mountain ridges wandering across plains, and the peace that passes understanding as I drew closer to my destination.
So it was hard to get going, but I got on with it. And then I started to get excited again. I am not a happy flier, so I spent a good portion of my puddle jumper flight to Detroit in prayer: I really hate small commuter jets. Then my next flight was delayed an hour due to some sort of mechanical issues, so that flight became a five hour event. And while I sometimes found myself thinking, “When is this ever going to end,” for the most part I took advantage of those hours to immerse myself in the glory of God’s creation far beneath my plane and the glory of his handiwork nearer at hand.
I met a woman who is Catholic, but whose eyes have been opened to the all-encompassing body of Christ which is not restricted by the boundary lines of denominations. She has decided that she now identifies herself first as a Christian, second as a Catholic. How Christ must rejoice each time another member of His body drops her walls and chooses unity.
I met another woman who boarded the plane with two small children, a baby, and a car seat in tow. I was in awe of her grace under pressure, her patience with her children, the way she looked frazzled and exhausted by the end of the trip but never once raised her voice in frustration. And I met a third woman who, observing the mother’s plight, turned around in her seat, took the baby from her and provided any form of comfort and assistance she could throughout the entire flight. Compassion, mercy, grace, strength: God’s heart demonstrated for all to see.
I listened to teachings and finished a book I loved. And each time I was tempted to wallow in boredom I looked out my window and thanked God for billowy white clouds casting ponderous shadows on the ground, ripples of mountain ridges wandering across plains, and the peace that passes understanding as I drew closer to my destination.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Bombs and Tidal Waves
It feels weird posting this having gone no farther today than my grocery store and back.
Yeah, There and Back Again – the day-by-day adventures of one man’s perpetual search for single-serving juice boxes while fearlessly facing the ancient paradox of whether or not to purchase nearly-expired-yet-deeply-discounted organic milk all while fighting off the infinite demands of a nearly-four-year-old boy’s never-ending lust for all things sugared and the siren wail of a nearly teenage 8-year-old girl and the withering hail of her sigh-tipped “are we almost done yet?” arrows.
The thing is it has felt like an adventure. And like all good adventures, this one has been full of surprises already.
Like, for instance, grocery shopping not only wasn’t that bad, it was actually pretty enjoyable. Okay, I really did have some trouble finding the right juice boxes and, yeah, I really did wrestle with the “Manager’s Special” milk and whether or not we could drink it before it turned sour. (I opted to go for it, because, you know, I live on the edge like that.)
But the kids were just awesome. I wish I could take some credit for subtly manipulating them into the pair of remarkably helpful, well-behaved junior shoppers that they were, but I am at a loss.
Both pushing their own little carts (gotta give props to Krogers for those carts) Amelia and Noah, dare I say it, joyfully engaged through more than an hour of aisle-by-aisle shopping. They were excited about which fruits we would get. They actually debated over which vegetables to buy -- and not with me (!) but between themselves. She wanted broccoli and he wanted cauliflower and yes, I know I am bragging here, but they agreed on their own to go ahead and get both. Amelia, the consummate doting big sister, took her brother to go load up on yogurt (yes, on their own) and then, when I realized I had forgotten hotdog buns back at Aisle 1, they went back to get them even managing to find the whole wheat variety as requested.
Unending pleas for candy and pre-pre-pubescent bitchiness simply did not exist on this trip, unlike so many earlier forays. By the end of it, all three of our carts were full and everyone – most especially Daddy, was happy.
That is not to say there have not been challenges. Or, that is to say, without the double negative, that there have been challenges. Take for instance the bombs that keep exploding in the kitchen-dining-living room. Gathering like a growing tide of debris that began on Monday with Noah’s birthday party even before Marley left and cresting over tonight with the carrot cake cupcakes that we made for Noah’s playgroup tomorrow, the downstairs is currently awash like a tsunami-strewn disaster area. I have tried to keep up, but I have, so far, failed.
Bombs and tidal waves. Like the sailboats and elephants of not so long ago, I appear to be mixing up my metaphors again.
The thing is this really is an adventure for me. For so many years, adventure meant trotting off to crazy places while Marley, more often than not, held down the fort and cleaned up the messes. What I'm learning... no, what I'm really just immensely appreciating right now is what a grand and wonderful adventure life is right here within the fort itself -- bombs, tidal waves and all.
Meanwhile, I am thankful that Marley gets a turn a bit of trotting. I am as vicariously nervous, excited and thrilled for, with and about her as I think is possible. Her adventure truly is my adventure.
Yeah, There and Back Again – the day-by-day adventures of one man’s perpetual search for single-serving juice boxes while fearlessly facing the ancient paradox of whether or not to purchase nearly-expired-yet-deeply-discounted organic milk all while fighting off the infinite demands of a nearly-four-year-old boy’s never-ending lust for all things sugared and the siren wail of a nearly teenage 8-year-old girl and the withering hail of her sigh-tipped “are we almost done yet?” arrows.
The thing is it has felt like an adventure. And like all good adventures, this one has been full of surprises already.
Like, for instance, grocery shopping not only wasn’t that bad, it was actually pretty enjoyable. Okay, I really did have some trouble finding the right juice boxes and, yeah, I really did wrestle with the “Manager’s Special” milk and whether or not we could drink it before it turned sour. (I opted to go for it, because, you know, I live on the edge like that.)
But the kids were just awesome. I wish I could take some credit for subtly manipulating them into the pair of remarkably helpful, well-behaved junior shoppers that they were, but I am at a loss.
Both pushing their own little carts (gotta give props to Krogers for those carts) Amelia and Noah, dare I say it, joyfully engaged through more than an hour of aisle-by-aisle shopping. They were excited about which fruits we would get. They actually debated over which vegetables to buy -- and not with me (!) but between themselves. She wanted broccoli and he wanted cauliflower and yes, I know I am bragging here, but they agreed on their own to go ahead and get both. Amelia, the consummate doting big sister, took her brother to go load up on yogurt (yes, on their own) and then, when I realized I had forgotten hotdog buns back at Aisle 1, they went back to get them even managing to find the whole wheat variety as requested.
Unending pleas for candy and pre-pre-pubescent bitchiness simply did not exist on this trip, unlike so many earlier forays. By the end of it, all three of our carts were full and everyone – most especially Daddy, was happy.
That is not to say there have not been challenges. Or, that is to say, without the double negative, that there have been challenges. Take for instance the bombs that keep exploding in the kitchen-dining-living room. Gathering like a growing tide of debris that began on Monday with Noah’s birthday party even before Marley left and cresting over tonight with the carrot cake cupcakes that we made for Noah’s playgroup tomorrow, the downstairs is currently awash like a tsunami-strewn disaster area. I have tried to keep up, but I have, so far, failed.
Bombs and tidal waves. Like the sailboats and elephants of not so long ago, I appear to be mixing up my metaphors again.
The thing is this really is an adventure for me. For so many years, adventure meant trotting off to crazy places while Marley, more often than not, held down the fort and cleaned up the messes. What I'm learning... no, what I'm really just immensely appreciating right now is what a grand and wonderful adventure life is right here within the fort itself -- bombs, tidal waves and all.
Meanwhile, I am thankful that Marley gets a turn a bit of trotting. I am as vicariously nervous, excited and thrilled for, with and about her as I think is possible. Her adventure truly is my adventure.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
There and Back Again -- Revisited
I remember the view clearly.
I was still getting used to the slight bounce in the drivers seat of the Heart of Gold as we made our way down the initial stretch of road that would be the very first of some 5000 miles before us. We were really only a few minutes out of our driveway and I couldn’t help but notice the first shards of corn plants cutting through the tilled earth, jutting out in a blur of perfect long rows like tiny green swords arrayed in endless formations across the vast Ohio farmlands as we rolled on by.
That image would be the first in a long list of pictures I wished I stopped to take and yet remain clearly in my mind’s eye just as if I were holding a 3 by 5 right now. Like the two horses standing opposite each other like some equine yin-yang symbol scratching each others’ backs with their snouts. Or the remains of an old filling station that we passed in
But it was the mental snapshot of those newborn blades of corn that has really stayed with me since we’ve been home. As we arrived back I was shocked by how much they had grown in the four weeks we had been away. Where they had been barely a thin inch or two when we left, now thick stalks rose above my head, already heavy with long silky-green ears. As the plants fill out, the corn crops transform wide-open fields into tall, thick forests that leave you feeling like you’re driving through tight corridors of green. Through the summer months and into fall, that image would come back to me again and again while driving errands or on my periodic runs along the rural roads branching out from our home.
It seems strange how long it takes before the harvest begins and how long it takes to finish. Only in the past week or so – six months since we began our trip -- have the last sections of field been plowed through by the combines, with the golden mounds of the farmers labor hauled off to silos in trains of tall, tractor-pulled wagons.
And so I guess it is no surprise that I find myself recalling once again those tiny green buds as Marlaina begins the first day of her trip back to
Not a week has gone by since our return home where I have not thought about returning to this blog, continuing it perhaps or maybe – as some have encouraged – at least trying to “sum things up” somehow. “I know what your favorite part of this trip was,” I remember Marley telling me, with the certain smile only enjoyed by a good wife who knows her husband better than he knows himself. We had been trading favorite moments even before the trip was over, but she had me pegged. “Your favorite part has been writing the blog.” She meant it approvingly, understanding that it did not lessen any of the other aspects of our trip, but somehow brought it all together. And she was right.
And yet it has been hard for me to return to it. There was something about the simple purity of writing each day during our travels that made it easy. Meanwhile, so much craziness has ensued since we’ve been home. It has just seemed impossible.
Until tonight.
Perhaps because it only seems natural to write when we are apart. For so many years that was the only good thing that defined our many long absences. And in the final years, the words even became miraculous.
Or maybe, like the harvest, it’s just time.
Monday, July 9, 2007
The Last Leg
MERRILSVILLE, Illinois -- It was 408 miles to Chicago. We had a full tank of gas, half a pot of coffee, it was dark out and we were not wearing sunglasses.
Eight hours later we had cleared the Windy City and passed well into in Indiana before finally deciding to call it quits for the night at sometime around three o'clock in the morning. I am pretty sure we could have driven straight through to watch the sunrise over Ohio and be home shortly thereafter.
Wisdom, however, trumped all-night-driving valor and we decided to get a few hours sleep at the local Mejier's parking lot, which -- like Wal-mart -- is RVer friendly.
Probably all for the best as Chicago -- and the long road into town -- lived up to its name. The wind was probably the worst of the trip. At times we were getting smacked around so badly it felt like we were doing a hip-slapping tango with a drunken Sumo wrestler on roller skates.
And even in the wee hours of the morning, Chicago traffic made for a wild ride. The inner city Interstate connection to the highway that would lead us to into Indiana will perhaps win the award for "Most Harrowing" of this trip, although the judges are still consulting. The Heart of Gold was forced to navigate through the longest-yet-narrowest, single-lane, no-shoulder, concrete-barricade-encased, under-construction stretch of highway I have ever seen. The Heart of Gold is 95-inches wide. I'm pretty sure this "road" -- more aptly described, I think, as gauntlet -- was only 94-inches wide. It was that narrow.
At times there was razor-wire-topped fencing passing, I'm not making this up, within inches of my left ear. It felt like I was driving through the DMZ in Korea or the Green Zone in Baghdad.
Anyway, we made it through, got what can only be described as an extra mediocre night's, um mornings', sleep and now with freshly-bought provisions of Dunkin Donuts and coffee aboard, we are set to begin, this, the very last leg of journey home.
We might just be there by noon, if -- as Marley and the kids are reminding me for only the first time on this trip -- I can quit writing this blog and get going.
It will be good to be home again.
Eight hours later we had cleared the Windy City and passed well into in Indiana before finally deciding to call it quits for the night at sometime around three o'clock in the morning. I am pretty sure we could have driven straight through to watch the sunrise over Ohio and be home shortly thereafter.
Wisdom, however, trumped all-night-driving valor and we decided to get a few hours sleep at the local Mejier's parking lot, which -- like Wal-mart -- is RVer friendly.
Probably all for the best as Chicago -- and the long road into town -- lived up to its name. The wind was probably the worst of the trip. At times we were getting smacked around so badly it felt like we were doing a hip-slapping tango with a drunken Sumo wrestler on roller skates.
And even in the wee hours of the morning, Chicago traffic made for a wild ride. The inner city Interstate connection to the highway that would lead us to into Indiana will perhaps win the award for "Most Harrowing" of this trip, although the judges are still consulting. The Heart of Gold was forced to navigate through the longest-yet-narrowest, single-lane, no-shoulder, concrete-barricade-encased, under-construction stretch of highway I have ever seen. The Heart of Gold is 95-inches wide. I'm pretty sure this "road" -- more aptly described, I think, as gauntlet -- was only 94-inches wide. It was that narrow.
At times there was razor-wire-topped fencing passing, I'm not making this up, within inches of my left ear. It felt like I was driving through the DMZ in Korea or the Green Zone in Baghdad.
Anyway, we made it through, got what can only be described as an extra mediocre night's, um mornings', sleep and now with freshly-bought provisions of Dunkin Donuts and coffee aboard, we are set to begin, this, the very last leg of journey home.
We might just be there by noon, if -- as Marley and the kids are reminding me for only the first time on this trip -- I can quit writing this blog and get going.
It will be good to be home again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)