From the beaches of Pensacola...to the streets of Mardi Gras!

We’re spending a little time in the city that gave rise to the first American Mardi Gras. Mobile, Alabama. Yes, New Orleans has the edge on this market, but it all began in Mobile. While New Orleans promises celebratory drinking feasting and other temptations, Mobile has kept the celebration high energy, but family friendly. We only saw one person show skin for beads—and HE was not that impressive. Here's a picture with all the loot we scored in one parade. Pirate booty. I have no idea who started the tradition of throwing moon pies, but they do. Torben got knocked upside the head with a flying banana moon pie. That doesn't happen everyday. And I am not sure why the bead phenomenon is such a universal hit, but it is. I had to wrestle my prizes away from a some elbow-throwing grannies. Meanwhile Torben is so tall he just stuck his hand in the air and laso-ed in several strands. Good times.

Mobile is a city that is laden with history. It showcases architecture from its prior French occupancy next to modern day skyscrapers and art museums. I was impressed with the quaintness that I felt while walking downtown in such a large port city. It’s a little softer than New Orleans, but still filled with splendid French influence. And wrapped in Southern tradition, much like Savannah.

The sea, despite bringing the goods which sustain commerce, has not been kind to Mobile. Over the years there has been devastated by hurricane after hurricane…with deathly plagues of yellow fever in between. Somehow, the city seems to come back, but only barely, and the sea splashing across roadside barriers and hallow remnants of houses, hotels and restaurants serve as a constant reminder that the darker side of Mother Nature is always lurking close by. We toured the City museum and learned about the six million slaves that were brought over from Africa to the port of Mobile. Six million. One wonders how so many people could have been displaced against their will. I learned that Africans – often rival tribes – coerced their fellow Africans and sold their own people to slavery. Once captured people spent up to seven months aboard ships, in the most horrific conditions. Imagine being chained to a dirty wooden floor for nearly a year, you slept, ate (if there was any food) and defecated in an area smaller than a telephone booth. Sunshine? Forget about it. The museum had a recreation of a slave ship and it gave all of us a depressing and eerie feeling to walk through it.

These are feet lined up, men packed like sardines. I am always sadly astonished when I am reminded that humans can create mortal hell. My grief for the horror those African slaves endured is deeper than I can find words to express. May their souls find comfort in the afterlife, for they certainly suffered enough here on earth.

On a much brighter note, we spent several days camped out at what is undoubtedly one of the most serene beaches in all of the good-ol U. S. of A. Fort Pickens, off the coast of Pensacola. A kind camper we met at a previous park suggested it and I am sooooo glad we listened. Imagine: soft powder white sands, so bright reflecting the sun that it almost blinds you, small sand drifts, seagulls, pelicans, oh and gorgeous aqua waves lapping the shore. Mmmmm, sounds like heaven right? Did I mention – no condos to obstruct the view? It is part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore, and it belongs to you as much as it belongs to me.

Our national park system is amazing. The only thing left out on this pristine stretch of beach is the remains of old Fort Pickens. I love exploring the remains of old buildings. I love history with a little mystery. This place did not disappoint. The actual park is closed at dusk, but people camping on the peninsula can access the site whenever. So, the crazy noMadsons decided to venture into the fort (complete with moat and the belches of gators hiding in the marshes) at night, on a full moon. Remember, I said I like a little mystery, I apparently forgot to stress the “little” part to my husband. Not willing to be labeled a pansy, I tiptoed through the remains of the brick walls inside the fortress walls and stone halls, on the edge of crying and peeing my pants the entire time. All I could do was imagine the ghost of some ticked-off prisoner (by the way, Geronimo was held here) haunting the corridors. It was creepy. Here is a picture of it during the daytime…now imagine this hall with the only light streaming through being the glow of the moon. The spook factor was off the charts!

Thankfully, to calm my poor panicked heart we walked back along the shore. Watching the moon light flicker like diamonds on the top of the waves as they crested was visual euphoria. The rushing sound as they washed the shore transported me and tranquility soon returned (thankfully!) Torben was eager to explore the Naval Air Museum on the military base in Pensacola. It was filled with military history, old stuff and it was free, the trifecta of cool for Torben.

He was endlessly entertained while wondering wide eyed and mouth agape from one plane to the next, amazed by the technology and the engineering as it has changed over time. I followed, smiled, nodded and learned a few things, but one air museum looks like all the other air museums, and I’ve lost count on how many we’ve been seen. I mean no disrespect the good men and women who have defended this country, so for their, and my husband’s sakes, I will continue to feign interest when our bus rolls by another one, but deep down I will likely be thinking: There goes two hours of my life I won’t ever get back.

Ooooh-weeee! I just love being in the right place at the right time, don’t you? Kinda makes me want to dance a silly jig. We were blessed to help celebrate an old friend’s birthday. I use the word old with double meaning. Yes, he is 50, so clearly that qualifies (ha!) but Jack Onkka has been one of Torben’s treasured friends for four decades! We helped shock Jack with a surprise party at a funky new blues club in town and were able to steal him away for a more intimate birthday dinner and catch-up session on his actual birthday. How awesome. Jack is an honorable man, the kind that restores your faith in humanity. He has been serving the Santa Rosa County Sherriff’s Department for over 20 years and when he plans to retire he hopes to be ordained. Seriously, 20 years of seeing the worst man-kind can dish out and STILL believing in the inherent good in people, not to mention a willingness to continue to give back, WOW! Torben has always spoken so highly of his childhood friend, after spending a little time with Jack and his beautiful wife Amy, I am in total agreement; the world is a better place with him in it.

The kids want me to report that Pensacola has the mother of all dog parks. We’ve seen some good ones, some cleared fields, some mudded fenced in lots, some with wading pools. But the coolness factor for this one is hardly rivaled. Bayview Park has not one, not two, but three parks for dogs, along with traditional playgrounds, tennis courts and fishing piers for the two legged kind. The dog beach, yea, that’s right, DOG BEACH, was like heaven for our kids.

They ran in circles in the sand, chased their new friends, and swam like guppies out in the water. Lily was spastic, she jumped in the water, got soaking wet, then bounced out onto the sand and flopped down like a fish out of water to “dry” herself on the sand. It is a silly little trick she used to do all the time when we lived on the lake in Belle Isle. She hasn’t had a good wet flop since and it was heartwarming to see her enthusiasm return. Actually, there were several dogs there who perfected the splash-and-roll technique. It was pretty adorable. Dog parks are a hoot. I love getting to play with tiny puppies like the four month old beagle who chewed on my face or the sweet giant Newfoundland who flounced happily and blissfully unaware of the delicate flowers she trampled beneath her enormous paws. Blaze has taken to be the “greeter” at any park we stop. He is the official “welcome to the park, let me offer you a complimentary butt sniff” character that looms at the entry gate. He makes friends quickly with other dogs; even adopting their tag along human companions as new family. Rodeo is a perimeter sniffer. She hangs out down the fence line, nose to the ground, sniffing. I think sniffing for a dog is a past time like knitting. You can accomplish a lot without having to exert yourself. It’s the quiet dog’s sport. And she’s breaking records.

Bela could care less about the other dogs, she’s way more interested in squirrels. Obsessively interested, I might add. When she spots one she barks incessantly and gives the rest of us a headache. She probably would have loved to have been adopted by a family that loves to hunt as much as she does. Unfortunately for her the only things she can hunt in this family is food from the from the kitchen counter. Yesterday she caught a box of cookies.

We went to a Renaissance faire! Have you ever been? It’s a place where ordinary men and women are transformed into Lords and Ladies. Where the words hello and goodbye are articulated with such royal emphasis one feels as if they have stepped off the page into a fantasy kingdom. We saw knights jousting from atop horses, both adorned with metal of armor. There were Arabian women belly dancing with fire in slow tantalizing movements. I swear Attila the Hun appeared in one sword fighting expose. All around were the sounds “Here Ye-Here Ye” and the merchants displayed their wares undersigns reading “Ye Olde….(blacksmith/clothier/bar). We tried on hats and capes of period costumes.

I succumbed to temptation and adorned myself with a braided metal headpiece (I love it so much I am still wearing it!) Children rode camels and we each took a shot at throwing axes. My strength wasn’t so impressive, but Torben and Jack landed a few. And to top off a perfectly splendid afternoon- I finally made it to the top of a rock wall. (I try to climb these things at every carnival and usually make it only half way due to my forearm cramping.) Alas, my goal was accomplished.

It was a great escape and another miracle day spent with good friends.

Speaking of miracles, thank you to everyone who responded to my last blog. The fact that someone beyond my immediate family is reading them is a miracle. Just kidding. As one friend put it – every day miracles are like God winks. Coincidence is really just God winking down at us and reminding us that we matter. I love it! (Thanks Sally!) I found it interesting to learn that several friends are also exploring their spiritual selves and it seems to me that we are all on the cusp of discovering something wonderful, about ourselves and our greater role in this magnificent universe we occupy. May your lives be touched by an abundance of love and God winks. Namaste everyone.

Stay tuned next time...you'll never guess where we are headed back to! (Do I hear a banjo playing?)

There's a new holiday on the calendar...

Saturday was Elvis Day, Ericka proclaimed it so. She is always the peacemaker in the family, especially if one of us gets carried away being ornery or jokingly picking on another member of the family. She devises a logical reason why we need to stop razzing someone and be nicer to them. It usually sounds something like this: “Guys, come on it is Christmas, let’s be nice.” No argument there. But sometimes it morphs into something a little more comical. We had our motor home parked in Inglis, Florida (which is pretty awesome) and my mother- and sister-in-laws were riding around with us as we explored the area. Torben was eager to show the family where Elvis Presley had filmed the movie Follow That Dream, and incidentally where our trip first began. Not surprisingly, Torben was feeling playful and I said something or another that gave him good fodder for a few jokes. Ericka couldn’t take it and laughingly jumped in and proclaimed, “Guys, be nice, it’s Elvis Day.” We laughed so hard tears rolled down our cheeks. What a way to keep things in perspective. I envy the ease with which she logically senses that if we have something to celebrate there is no reason to be less than enthusiastically grateful….all day long.

We had so much fun hanging out with Doris and Ericka. As part of our weekend we toured Homosassa Springs State Park which included a chilly, yet majestic pontoon ride down the spring fed river, under the canopy of palms, pines and moss and into the entrance of the park. Kind of like Disney, but without the lights, lines and price of admission. When Torben was a little boy he used to go there with his beloved grandfather who had a cabin on the river. Torben described the area as being an amazing jungle, loaded with wildlife, undeveloped and free of Yankees. He even told the story of how his grandmother had a heart attack at the park and was saved by his father. How’s that for family history?

The state park is a respite for disabled wildlife. It houses animals with little chance of survival elsewhere. Some of the animals there were actually rescued by the Central Florida Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, which Torben used to volunteer with. (If any of you made donations at our wedding, this is your heartfelt gift at work!) I fell in love with the cutest one-eyed owl. There were also bobcats and panthers. Even though they are behind some serious barbed wire, their eyes followed us like predators tracking their prey. I have a healthy respect for big cats. I have a ten pound domestic cat that has nearly clawed my arm off on multiple occasions. I can only imagine the damage her colossal cousins could bring. There were several manatees and every variation of bird you can imagine. One island sparkled with glittering pink flamingos and intensely stunning wood ducks swam everywhere with ease.

We also heard a heart breaking story of the separation of a whopping crane pair. These rare beautiful birds mate for life. Unfortunately the mating ritual requires not only a swanky dance of fluttering wings and tail feathers, but also a song to swoon the female. Ladies, you get it, we all need a little sweet talking. Rusty, the original male had no problems with the dance, but he had no voice. The years passed and he and his female friend never made little whopping crane babies. So another whopping crane male flew into the park and the staff now has the new male sharing space with the female in hopes to increase the whopping crane population. Poor Rusty is in the next area over and keeps craning his neck through the fencing to catch a glimpse of his beloved being swooned by a crane with a voice. Poor Rusty, it was truly heartbreaking to see. Ericka said a little prayer for him as we passed. The whole situation struck me as profoundly sad. On one hand, it is scientifically responsible to help a near extinct species procreate to sustain its existence on this earth. On the other hand, Rusty was clearly suffering. I wonder if all that suffering caused to one sensate being is worth the possible creation of another? Not sure I have the answer, just a place in my heart that melted for Rusty.

Torben and I have thoroughly been enjoying this coast of natural wonders.

Here the ocean seems to seep into the land like a slow winding river that narrows into a creek, then trickles through the underbrush. The trees grow out of the water leaving their vast root system exposed. And the ginormous nuclear power plant keeps the waters warm, attracting a plethora of mammals and reptiles. The manatee population is impressive here. Torben and I took a scenic kayak ride to the Three Sisters Springs, which was out of this world. Lots of boating tours descend on this area to offer a view of manatees, but unfortunately this usually leads to increased water traffic and danger to the manatees by swiftly rotating props. There was a special area, blocked off to motor boats, that was a safe haven for the manatees. We were permitted to gently kayak into the springs and even swim in the clear turquoise water (though it was a little chilly). There were several professional photographers with their special underwater cameras (which actually looked more like bizarre alien equipment than cameras). Everyone was vying for an up close picture of a manatee and no one seemed to be getting the perfect shot.

I am forever amazed by the gift my husband has for communicating with animals. Manatees were swimming to avoid all the photographers and in fact we even heard a fish and wildlife ranger tell some of the photographers to cool it because they were threatening the blubbery mammals. Torben, the only guy not in a wet suit, just hangs out in his corner and begins mimicking the body language of the manatees. Soon, one came over to him and curiously nudged him nose to nose. They rocked back and forth, twisted upside-down and bobbed at the surface together. They continued in this dance for at least twenty minutes, each mirroring the other. It was magnificent. I watched in silent awe from the kayak, reluctant to move for fear of disrupting this delicate interaction. It was beautiful.

Aside from that day being so incredibly moving there was also a typical Sarah shining moment. Before we left for the trip we stopped into the kayak shop to get our supplies. I was immediately taken with a new waterproof box that not only keeps you stuff dry, but floats. We have had a few “waterproof” bags that didn’t really seal out the moisture so I was eager to try this nifty little box out. I convinced my husband that $15 was a good investment instead of replacing the cost of a phone. Well, the box works great…but when you take something out of the box, say your phone to take a picture, it now renders the waterproof part, useless. Just as I took the picture I felt is slipping from my cold wet fingers into the spring below. Son of a…. Good thing Verizon has an insurance plan. By the way, Droid rocks, all my data was backed up on Google and when I signed on with my new phone…everything was there – including the picture I had taken just before I lost my grip! Technology is amazing. Not as amazing as watching Torben with the manatees, or my uncanny ability to drop, spill, or break things, but still pretty amazing.

We continued our journey up the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida and found a beautiful state park where we took the kids on a 5 mile hike through St. George Island State Park. Walking two and a half miles anywhere is pretty tough for some of our kids so we loaded up Rodeo in her stroller/chariot while everyone else got to walk two and a half miles in the sand to get to the beach. We opted for the “easier” route on the way home. Although dodging trucks on the road while trying to direct four unruly dogs is hardly “easy”. Rodeo posed in her Cleopatra chariot and barked encouragement at everyone else. Either that or she was warning off any bears or gators (these looked like trucks and motorcycles to the rest of us), not sure, but in either case – it worked.

We’ve since continued along the “Emerald Coast,” which is nothing less than spectacular. Yes, it is a bit more populated and there are towering condos on the beach, but the water is green, really really green, and the sand is as white as sugar. Not a bad place to chill for a while. Torben picked up on a small sign on the side of the road leading to a Florida State RV Resort (meaning Full hook-ups!). The only one of its kind I believe. Jackpot again!! The sites are wide and spacious and there is a tad of manicured “natural” landscape between each site that helps create the feeling of peaceful seclusion. We can take a private sandy trail one mile through pine and palms and end up on a (rare) undeveloped beach. This place is amazing. If you’re in need of a vacation from the cold grey skies pack your bags and head here. A pina colada and a sun umberlla is calling your name.

Several months ago I met the most amazing woman. Her name is Carrie and she is an energy worker. She cleansed my chakras. Yup, that’s right. I was open to the “chakra cleansing”, if nothing else, for the experience, one more thing on my list of “I did that’s”. But as it turned out, the experience was much more. On the outside, same me, but on the inside I felt as if I had been washed by a tidal wave. This woman was incredibly intuitive and having only spent a few minutes talking with me she laid me on a table and I closed my eyes while she did her thing and directed my energy channels. I felt a wave of release, like colors flooding my consciousness, swirling at first, then falling into a gentle rhythm and flowing together as if they have always been flowing that way. A few minutes later she was done and all I had to show for it was a little dizziness. Then we discussed our experiences. She said my energy reminded her of a bohemian gypsy and a pioneer, and that although I was an “old soul” some of my energy points were small and I tended to view things through neophyte eyes. I was shocked silent.

I have all my life searched for a way to describe how I saw myself, coming up short in 34 (almost) years and yet here was this woman, barely an acquaintance, telling me who I was with words that fit as good as my own skin. Speechless I tell you, speechless. I previously used words like hippy-chic and earthy to describe myself, which I don’t think are too off balance, but certainly not as colorful and exciting as a bohemian and pioneer. I have spent some time feeling my way around in this new self description. I like it. I'm keeping it.

My husband and I took this sabbatical from our careers to explore our creative, intuitive and spiritual sides. Until recently I have felt this was best done privately.

Now I’m not so sure. My chakra experience has me believing that to truly learn anything I have to open myself up and share this small part of myself with others. Apparently I could do it flat on my back on a stranger’s table, so why not with y’all? You guys have been with me flying over Sedona, running from bears in California and jumping over tarantulas in the Rio Grande. Though somehow sharing this part seems like a much bigger mountain to climb.

I’m working with the most wonderful life coach. She is helping me to see that my uncertainty about this greater spiritual side is not a deficit in my understanding, but rather a blessing of my own curiosity. In order to explain where I want to go, I think it best if I fill you in on where I have been before you were reading along with me. As a psychologist I was granted a special pass to the inner world of people’s thoughts and emotions and I felt so honored to be escorted through such a private garden of hope. But often I felt restricted by mandates of the profession. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly support the ethical guidelines that preserve our practice. But sometime, well, most of the time, we don’t have all the answers and we are limited to using methods that have been empirically validated (more on that later).

I cannot explain why cognitive restructuring is an insurance approved treatment for depression but giving someone a hug and praying with them isn’t. But truthfully, they both work. There have been so many times sitting in my therapist’s chair that I longed to cross the room and openly embrace a client as he/she struggled with an issue, to hug them lovingly or stroking their hair (the way my Mom used to do to us girls). But there is an invisible boundary we must not cross. I respect the boundary, but I question it. Empirically validated treatment means a manner of reducing symptoms with a technique that has been tested to be effective. The goal of this is to keep people from using quacky treatments (like rolling people up in a rug to symbolize rebirthment - seriously, it was done). So I am in complete agreement with the use of standardization, but I guess my own perspective tends to question who/what decides the scale of measurement on healing a heart? What is a valid indicator for someone may not be for another. This tension between loving what I did and examining the line that measures it was a constant force in my work.

Discussing this with my life coach got me thinking of other invisible boundaries. They definitely exist, though I cannot pin point them as easily. But there is something beyond those boundaries that brings color to life. I cannot, with all my academic degrees and postdoctoral certifications, explain what happens when someone prays…I only know that it works. And I do believe in energy fields; when we focus our attention with intention something shifts, grows, expands. Why? Got me. The beauty of science helps us to better understand the mysterious phenomenon of life…how cells multiply and divide…but it cannot offer us an explanation of why.

This is a big issue for me. Even as a small child I would annoy my parents with this one word question: “Why?” and to their horror I learned to use it in a sentence, “Why does the earth rotate? Why does the heart beat? Why do people get mad? Why? Why? Why? My parents did the best they could to placate the curiosity of this insatiable child, but their answers always prompted more questions. So it came to be that I chose a professional path that encouraged me to question…everything. But happiness, as in my profession, and the essence of what brings color to our lives, seems to defy explanation. Have you ever been in the right place at the right time and felt as if the universe lined up this moment just for you? That’s how I met my husband. Who can explain how Angels walk among us? I know an Angel has been by my side at several times in my life, I have seen her (she was beautiful, by the way). Conversely I have felt the chill of a sinister presence, it was eerie and unmistakable. My best friend has an aura, it precedes her, when she wants to communicate with me she just sends out a universal wish and I feel it. In all our 15 years we have never read it wrong. I don’t know how these things happen, but they seem to, at least for me. On this trip I have experienced foretelling visions, some good, some bad, but all have come true. Déjà vu and outer body experiences fit in this arena, but what else? I have seen at least three things fly across the night sky in a pattern and speed that defy explanation, or at least any explanation I can offer.

The more I begin to open myself up to these things, the more I feel like the science that supports my profession would question my own judgment or the validity of my experiences. So I am faced with a dilemma…do I admit to these unexplainable mind-blowing phenomenon and risk being ostracized by the academic and medical community? Or do I share my experiences with transparency, knowing they could render some criticism, yet hoping that someone (one of you perhaps?) can help answer some of my questions? Against all scientific logic I am choosing to be transparent because I believe I am not the only one. Who else has experienced these phenomena? While you may not be able to offer a sound explanation as to why these things happen (although I am not giving up hope), perhaps it is only your validation that I seek. If you too have wondered if there is more to life than what we can see with the naked eye and touch with our sturdy hands let me know. Let us collaborate our experiences. Maybe by compiling our curiosities we can make sense of the bigger picture, the one I know exists but cannot yet see. What is really going on in this universe of ours?

By the way, did you hear that an entirely NEW solar system has been discovered? Some scientists believe a few of the planets have prime conditions to house LIFE on them. What do you make of that? It excites me! I feel like we are destined to connect with something so much greater than we can wrap our arms or even our conscious little minds around. Our immense ability to love and create was meant for something….I wonder what.

Please email me your thoughts on this. I am eager to learn more. So for now, this is your nomadic bohemian gypsy wishing you celestial peace. Oh, and Happy Elvis Day.

Respite in Florida

You're not going to believe it…I still don’t. We drove ALL the way across the country and back only to get stuck…in our own backyard? What a headache on steroids. We pulled into “Happy” Trails RV Park in Tampa. Happy, my ass. There was nothing happy about that place…the closest thing was leaving and yet even that fell short on the contentment scale. Bloody hell. We got stuck in the sand. No, we got buried in the sand. Old guys in RV parks have a thing about standing around watching people get into (and hopefully out of) pickles as they park. They don’t do much except offer contradicting advice, point, stare and shake their heads. We had an Olympic collection of curiously zombiefied old fogies driving up in assorted color golf carts – with popcorn! – decorating the scene of our disaster. Finally someone offered us a board to load under the sinking tires…then another….then another. Twenty-two boards and four concrete slabs later we were still sinking in the Happy freakin Trails RV Park. After watching my husband dig out tires for three endless hours the industrial sized tow-truck finally appeared to wench us out (Yay for Good SAM!). Our poor coach lurched and creaked its way out of a hole in the ground that now lies about four feet below the pavement. In retrospect I want to extend a special finger wave to Sandy the manager, who not only refused to help us, but also refused to honor our request for a refund. Too stingy to refund our $37.50? You're gonna love the whopping bill I send you for the repairs. Great business management skills Sandy, I hope you go far. And the final insult of the day: a broken tag axle tire seal. Bad, but not so bad…it became worse when we learned that the closest place to have it fixed was Lazy Days RV in Tampa. Here’s the thing about Lazy Days: the name is a self fulfilling prophecy. I think they are, well, Lazy. Sometimes when a company is soooo big, the right hand doesn’t have a clue what the left hand is doing and that is clearly the case here. My mother–in-law dropped her coach here in April to get a window fixed…and it is still here. Yup, 10 months and no repair. Groovy. Recently, my husband, on behalf of his poor mother, has taken to using that “southern charm” we all know so well to get the situation resolved. I am sure they have the name Madson on a black list by now and tomorrow I get to go in and plead for an appointment. URGG!! As my sweet loving husband would say, “ain’t that a peach, hon”.

Since it looks like we'll be here a while I might as well use this time to fill you in on our home journeys. I know, an oxymoron, deal with it, life's full of 'em. We weren’t sure what to expect. Traveling, well, we are accustomed to that by now, but coming home? That’s a totally different story. One, we never really took time to ponder, for no other reason, than, well, we didn’t. So I wasn’t sure what to expect when we crossed paths with our old stomping grounds. One major difference between Orlando and the smaller places we have enjoyed: I went to my dentist… on the 14th floor. As I was riding up the huge mirrored elevator with mahogany doors and marble floors I laughed out loud to myself. I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland. We made a quick stop into see our friend and salon owner, Ibi. Funny side story, when I first moved to Orlando I searched, as many women do, for just the right hair stylist. It’s not just about the hair, it’s about who you trust to cut your hair. Anyway, Torben kept pressing me to try his stylist and I had visions of a bald barber coming at me with a razor. How come I am so often wrong? I didn’t know then that I was marrying a man who cared as much about his hair as most women do. As it turns out Ibi is one of the best! She is Hungarian by birth, Italian by her first marriage, and is now full blown American! She has lived here for years, runs her own salon downtown and has the most unique accent I have ever heard. Several years back she invited me to her party to celebrate becoming a Naturalized Citizen. I am ashamed to say she probably can recite more facts about this country than I. Anyway, she is wonderful and Torben, I, and our heads of hair have missed her greatly. We made a surprise landing on her salon by barging in on her in the back room where the stylists mix their colors and retreat for a quick bit to eat between clients. She cried and gushed over us and exclaimed that Torben looked so much younger. She did seem to be restraining her hands from grabbing a pair of scissors as she marveled over his wayward locks, but her exclamations of joy were pure and heartwarming. Later, we ran into our neighbor’s daughter while shopping. It was shocking to see a familiar face, then excitement brewed as we tried to shove 10 months of catching up into 15 minutes. We traveled to our favorite hippy spot for lunch. The Dandelion Café is one of Orlando’s coolest little joints. The menu is all vegetarian/organic and the selection of herbal teas is out of this world. We indulged in some much needed nutrient recharging while soaking up the Florida sunshine on the picnic tables that dot the lawn of this brightly colored house-turned-restaurant. Special moment enhancement: enter, Dee Dee stage left. Dee Dee was my lifesaver in the time before we left Orlando and one of the only people on the planet that can have me laughing so hard my sides ache, and that’s before she’s even finished taking off her coat.

When we first left Orlando we knew the thing that we’d be missing most was our little community of Nela Isle. It’s not labeled on most maps of Orlando, but it is truly a hidden gem. Many of the houses are occupied by their original inhabitants who lived there when it was “way out” of down town. Downtown has since spread far and beyond this little island, but it is a place where you can still stop and catch your breath, or an amazing sunset over the glassy lake. Every year Mo and Carolyn host the annual Christmas party. It’s tradition, and oddly enough, there is only one rule: No silverware allowed, everything must be finger food. Hilarious rule right? I remember one year Ed snuck in a fork and giddily bragged about it to someone, who begged to wash and use it, I think twelve people ate off that fork by the time the night ended. Mo recently turned 80, but doesn’t act a bit over 50, maybe younger. He purchased our old pontoon boat when we left and totally revamped her. Beautiful new carpeting, new seats…It was kind of a special moment to see something that we had let go get another lease on life. Mo is also incredibly talented with stained glass and has the most amazing windows, walls and art displays around. He showed us the new wall he had just finished stoning in time for the party. I am in awe of people who are just born with a natural talent for art, Mo is one of those characters. It was so uplifting to see our old friends and catch up. Things are pretty much the same there, which was reassuring. When the party ended we hopped across the street to see a neighbor’s newly remodeled kitchen (with hydraulic lifting cabinets – way cool!) Kim has an attraction to all things tiki-esq. The real tiki, not just torches, but carvings, lanterns, and other assortments she has driven across the country to collect (or had flown in from half way across the globe). She had an additional room added to her house just for her lamp collection. I am not kidding- she had to fight with contractors to install 17 plugs on her ceiling! Undoubtedly the best part of coming home was watching her get so excited to show off her newly installed outdoor shower (it’s unbelievable, by the way). Intoxication may have been a factor because she took an erroneous step backward and fell head over heels, wrapping herself around the outdoor air conditioning unit, wedging herself between it and the wall. One minute she was upright, the next-all we saw were two pointy feet aiming up at the night sky. I know you’re supposed to show sympathy when someone you love is hurt, and believe me; I really wanted to….I just had to stop laughing first. (Even now I get a chuckle when thinking of it) Sorry Kimmie, I hope your bruises are healing well. We also visited with one of Torben's old law firm Partners...on his farm. Some of you may think it outrageous, but I totally get it, and I loved it! He and his wife bought up a bunch of farm land and have slowly shaped it into an (almost) self-sustaining farm, complete with five miniature dauchsands, four horses, two emus, two egg laying ducks, a gopher tortoise, and a rattlesnake occupying said gopher tortoise’s hole. They even built the barn themselves! And filled it with farm equipment that would make Mr. John Deere jealous! It is demanding physical labor, but they seem to be so at home and in their element, it was truly amazing. I loved meeting all the animals. We took Blaze along, he was super stoked to meet the horses, but preferred to chase after the ducks rather than make their acquaintance the proper way. We were also treated to a Mexican Coca-Cola. Did you know that in Mexico they make it they original way with cane juice as sweetener, not this partially hydrogenated corn syrup stuff (seriously, that’s saying something if Mexico won’t even use it). Apparently you can buy it by the case at Sam’s club and it tastes amazing! We had in interesting discussion; our friend proposed that Coca-Cola used to use cane syrup, then distracted everyone with NEW Coke, that was a total flop, as was expected, then people went back to drinking Coca-Cola “Classic”, which they had reformulated to use corn syrup and no one could tell the difference, because as bad as it was, it was still better than NEW Coke. (I love a good conspiracy theory, no matter how irrelevant.) Torben and I basically called this last month a respite. We spent as much time as possible with Doris (Mom Madson) and Ericka (my sister-in-law). Only a few days did we venture out with our explorers hats on. We took a beautiful drive down to Rainbow Springs State park (thanks for the suggestion DeeDee!) and I got to play with my amazing new camera that Torben got me for Christmas. This baby is so sweet, it has so many funky options, that I am only now learning to use.

There are beautiful waterfalls on the property and the natural springs run an almost turquoise color. The moss covered trees made the setting serene.

On our way home we found a slightly paved road leading back into a wildlife preserve. We were bedazzled with the armadillo that jumped (I am not kidding, jumped) across the grass and stopped to play with a river otter who was just as curious about us as we were with him. (Secretly I think he loved the camera, he kept posing for us.)

Somewhere back in the dense ground growth of palms we heard a big rustle, too big to be a rodent. So Torben, who thought that it was either a bobcat or panther, picked up a surveying stick that happened to be close by and carried it like a sword. No, we weren’t smart enough to turn around and leave, this is us, remember?

I picked up a long piece of a pine branch with the cones still attached and waved it like a magic wand, begging the forest to protect us. My senses were on high alert when it dawned on me that no one knew where we were. Nor did we bring a backpack with any emergency gear….geesh, you’d have thought this was our first time. But like true idiots, we kept trekking in, the path became narrower, the cabbage palm thicker, and the sun started to make its westerly descent. I lagged behind Torben and bent down to take a close up photo of something that caught my eye when I heard it…the unmistakable snarl of the Florida panther. If I hadn’t just peed 10 minutes ago in the brush I would have totally soaked my pants. Something about panic racing through your veins makes your senses go berzerk, your eyes about pop out of your head, and your legs move at mach speed. We arrived safely at our car, although the adrenaline didn’t leave my system for some 45 minutes or so. Why do we always get ourselves into these situations? Perhaps an even better question: why am I always surprised, while Torben isn't?

One of my favorite things about coming home to Florida: Ericka. Ericka is 37 and severely handicapped with Cerebral Palsy. Life is not easy for her, or for the people taking care of her (my mother-in-law is another person who deserves a sainthood nomination). But there are some things she does well, and I might even say, better, than others.

When she dances she gets totally lost in the music. We spent six hours shaking up the dance floor on New Year's Eve. She was without a doubt my favorite dance partner. I loved hearing her squeel in delight as I spun her wheelchair in dizzying circles. More importantly, she loves hugs. Something about Ericka’s love feels like receiving the love of one thousand angels. There is something so pure in her expression of affection. She is in the moment. If you hug her, she is fully present in that hug. It was startling to me at first; then I allowed myself to relax into one of her lengthy embraces and bask in the sensation. It transported me to a full here and now moment. I don’t know why I was shocked. Perhaps my revelation said more about my own barriers than about the loving capacity of a handicapped woman. How often do we hug people? So often it becomes effortless. Maybe therein lies the problem: we are just going through the motions of a common behavior, so common that we have lost touch with the essence of its purpose. To hug someone, really hug someone you have to rest in the embrace and surrender your thoughts to the place your heart is. I shudder to think of the years I have engaged in hugs and yet still maintained a distance, a wall, a non-permeable barrier between myself and this world. Anyway, the beauty of the moment washed over me like the warmth of sunshine. And the clear recognition in my heart acknowledged love that poured forth like an endless spout of water, cleansing away the imperfections, rounding out the rough spots, and filling in the gaps. Yes, my heart did indeed recognize this universal connection. Love as the Creator intended, bonding and bright, transcending one soul to another, breathing as if the heart itself was somehow the only functioning part of the body. Go ahead, hug someone today, I dare you. I also have loved spending time with my grandparents. I have lived my whole life with the bounty and blessing of 2 sets of healthy grandparents. They set a role model for me for the way marriage should last; I think my mom’s parents just celebrated 62 years this year. Unbelievable! Anyway, as much as I love spending time with them I think I have taken for granted that they would always be there to spend time with. Only recently did life bring the reality of my blessing back into focus. My 84 year-old grandfather, Bob Curran, (his friends call him Curnie) is as cantankerous as they come. He loves fly fishing on the Au Sable River, three minute eggs on Sunday mornings, and watching the T.V. with the sound off and has always, always found a reason to complain about something…except his granddaughters…all 7 of us. He recently took a tumble and as most 84 year old bones do, his ankle broke. Well, he more or less crushed his into powder. I know, I know, a broken foot is not the end of the world, but boy did it throw my family into a panicky tailspin for a few days. Curnie and my G-ma are spending the winter in Florida, as they do every year to escape the wintery wrath that blows upon Indiana this time of year. I was the family member in closest proximity and without a hesitation I broke a few speed limits getting down to Ft. Myers. His stay in the hospital, the confusion that followed the anesthesia, and his resistance to anything that even remotely resembles change made us all hold our breaths. Thankfully it was only his foot that took a beating. His head, heart, and all those essential organs are still intact. But for the first time I saw one of my grandparents as mortal. Sitting in the hospital with him he looked so frail. He was worried about being able to manage the things he has always done and it was damn near impossible to convince him that things would have to be different. He would have to go to a rehab facility because he couldn’t walk and no one at home could take care of him. My G-ma has been partially paralyzed for over 40 years and uses a walker or electric wheelchair to get around. It’s not like she wouldn’t want to take care of him, it is that she can’t. The harsh reality of that was devastating to all of us. The facility tried to make the transition as easy as possible (is it ever easy to admit someone you love into a rehab/nursing home?). When we arrived there was a bazillion stacks of paperwork -F.Y.I. have your medical healthcare representative and durable power of attorney forms completed BEFORE you have an accident, my grandparents did and it made at least this part of the process move seamlessly. The medical transport van arrived just as G-ma and I were finishing with the papers and I waited anxiously to see the emotional state of my grandfather. The doors opened, the ramps folded out and there sat my grandfather in his hospital gown, laughing and giving the transport crew a serious rash of shit. Some things never change, Amen, I felt like I could breathe a little easier now. He thought we had brought him to the Taj Mahal after he learned that the facility offers happy hour once a week! I knew he was starting to feel better when he started complaining a little more. (He called his physical therapy team “the wrecking crew”.) Later, in a quiet moment of honesty he shared with me that it was awful not to be able to get up and go to the bathroom whenever he needed. It is the simplest things in life we take for granted. G-ma and I visited everyday and did our best to make him comfortable. In the evenings enjoyed our time alone together. G-ma is a fierce competitor and we took to engaging in serious battles of rummy and rummykub. She has this keen manner of “remembering” never before known rules every time I was about to win (NOW I know where the gene comes from Torben!). I razzed her about it a little, but I think the score was pretty even in the end. What she is limited by in her physical body, she more than makes up for in her mental strength. My grandmother has a brilliant mind and I was blessed to enjoy her company all to myself for a whole week.

When I left I made sure to stop by and see Curnie one last time and tell him that he was my hero. He made googly eyes and tried to laugh it off, but I wanted to make a point of letting him know just how much I was supporting him and his new, albeit unwelcomed, goal of learning to walk again. In my mind it mattered a great deal that he know this. Looking back I think it mattered a great deal more to me to know that he knew. It wasn’t until my drive home, after I left the nursing home and headed north on I-75 that the profundity of my feelings flooded me. I actually had to stop on the side of the road and collect myself. I was overwhelmed with fear, what if it had been something worse? What if the struggle is too much for him and he just gives up? What if…what if….what if….. How many of you have ever played this heart wrenching game? There is no easy or promisable outcome. Life is unexpected. At the end of the day, it's what we make of it that sets our course for tomorrow. I hope and pray that G-pa Curnie can come to a satisfactory agreement with today and that he sets a course for health and healing tomorrow. We’ve got friends and family taking alternate “vacations” to Florida coming stay with G-ma and checking in on G-pa. I am grateful for all of these people, so eternally grateful. (By the way, I hear Beer is returning for an encore performance!- Thanks Dawnie!)

We also got to stop in on my other Grandpa (PJ) during one of his Conquistador parades. Funny thing about my grandfather, he is very reserved, but when he learned that he and Torben were each members of a special “krewe” that got to dress up in historical garb (read: kilts and feathered hats) and throw beads to the masses (especially shirtless women) well, he came out of his shell. There was a rainy MLK parade when we were in town and we got a quick picture with Grandpa before hiding back under the shelter.

Torben got a little misty eyed and wants to pull his pirate gear out of storage for an encore parade next week. I know you are just dying to see my handsome husband in a kilt, so I promise to post pictures if it comes to fruition.

We also explored the Warm Mineral Springs. Sounds like heaven right? It wasn't so bad, if you don't mind sulphur bubbles enveloping you in a fart filled cloud every two minutes. I was intrigued by a group of older (and wider) women wearing big floppy hats and bright round sunglasses. They were speaking in fast Russian as they slowly swam in circles around the springs. I didn't have my camera ready, but later I gained an up close image that will forever be etched in my mind...as I was changing from my suit into dry clothes one of these said women was parading around the locker room, stark naked, except for the big floppy hat, humming a Russian hymn while she pranced into the shower. I am sure my jaw is still on the floor there somewhere. But now, as I think back, I think: Good for her. I wish I had a little of that shameless self-confidence. We dry camped at the Tampa RV Supershow (that’s RV slang for camping in a parking lot with no water, electric or sewer hookup) and had a blast exploring all the latest and greatest gadgets. Last year we were feeling a little bit of pressure to pick and purchase a motor home when we attended the show, and by we, I mean me-applying it to the other half of we-he. This year we weren’t in as much of a rush, our kids got to walk around with us (awesome) and we already had a home. So we leisurely examined the new models and I have to admit I kind of felt like an RV snob as I walked around and laughed at some of the new designs that may look cool to begin with, but will likely be an RVer’s nightmare if they actually had to spend any time in them. For example, the outside kitchen - Great if you plan on camping, always in good weather, and never have a midnight case of the munchies. Genius idea gone awry. There is also the double door camper…this one was a hoot, the first door was normal entry/exit, but the second door, and I kid you not it was the selling point, opened right into the shitter. Not the aisle, not the sink, but just door…open…toilet…facing the outside. Someone’s dream I am sure. We were impressed with some of the upgrades that Tiffin made on our model, namely the ease of access to the electrical box in the closet. Ours requires a Russian acrobatic routine to twist and contort ourselves into the side/back/bottom of the closet with a flashlight, whereas in the newer model it sits right up in front, no bending, stooping or cursing required. And a few changes were made to the cockpit, Torben was oogling the new toggle switches for the Jake brake. But other than that, we were relieved that at the end of our inspection we were still more impressed with our coach than any we saw at the show. Yay! So, we bought little dohickeys to upgrade our happy little home. Torben got chrome covers for the stairs (the company rep was embarrased when they were too heavy for our step motor) and we adopted a new wheel covering that makes the driving wheel into a table when you’re parked (nifty). He is currently talking to himself while attempting to install an exhaust pipe extension and a light holder-thingy on the awning. I’m gonna let him go on for a while before I have to go out and show him how it’s done. :)

We have unanimously decided that this feels like a half way point in our trip. As you can imagine, it was a tough vote. So our year looks to be extended a little. YIPEE!! (If I still had my 17 year-old body I’d throw a back flip.) So, in preparation for our next leg we inspected the coach, inside and out, top to bottom. T checked all the fluids and gave her a well deserved bath, washing away the last 5 states of dirt from our journey. I climbed on top of the roof to inspect and clean the seals, then paused for a small nap (what a place to escape!). We pulled out a ton of stuff from the undercarriage that we had not used and hopefully won't need, and hauled it over to meet the rest of our treasured belongings in the storage facility. Ugh, one day I am really going to hate unpacking that thing. We also got new tires on the Honda and filled both the car and the RV tires up with nitrogen. Have you heard of it? The theory is that nitrogen is less volatile and not subject to temperature variations that causes regular air to change in pressure. We experimented with it in the Honda tires before we took off last April. At last inspection they still held at 35 psi. Pretty darn impressive if you think of everywhere we’ve been this year and not once did we need to refill them. It took about 20 minutes to get the new tires full on the car…and about 6 hours on the coach. (Groan, groan, mumble, mumble. That was another fun lesson in patience.) So as soon as this recent tire seal problem is fixed, we’ll be on the road again! I'm trying to take a few lessons from mother nature on this patience thing, she seems to have perfected it.

Hope you’re all enjoying the blistery January weather, no matter how much snow you may be digging yourselves out of and hope you are all showered in love...no matter where it comes from! Namaste friends!

Ta-da....finally, right?

Well, the sewer hose broke again. It compelled me to finally write y’all an update. Not that I am implying that thinking of you, my treasured friends, makes me think of doodie; but that you have been with me through all the ups and downs of this monumental journey and when this “down” came crashing upon me (literally) I felt the need to reach out to my loyal support network. Thanks for being there, buddies, I feel better already. (Well, that and the shower helped tremendously.) We have been rolling along through the middle of the country since I last posted. I would love to post some pictures to go along with these stories, but my camera is choosing to be difficult again this week. (If any of you would like to pursuade Torben to buy me a new Nikon for Christmas, I would be eternally in your gratitude). We spent some time in one of our all time favorite campgrounds, and while I am opting not to divulge the specific location, I will tell you that we love the open expanse of nature near the heartland of a beautiful welcoming city. (My only clue: if you want really spectacular camping; check out the Army Corps of Engineers sites). In an effort to keep some of the gems of this country underdeveloped and open to the true wilderness aficionados that lurk among us, my lips are sealed. But it was fabulous. We hiked along wooded trails near a huge river. The dogs chased squirrels to their hearts’ content. (Don’t worry, all the squirrels successfully escaped.) Torben and his family have held football season tickets at the University of Florida for nearly 30 years (if not longer). (Secretly, I chose to marry him based on this premise- I love, love, love football.) Being away from the intensity of the Swamp was something that I knew would dampen his spirits come fall. It did not, however, squelch any of his emotional intensity for the game. We have often talked of the pageantry of the college games that we miss attending, but have been EVER SO HAPPY not to be in attendance at this year’s catastrophic games. Some of our friends are a little superstitious and are convinced that our empty seats have mojoed the Gator winning streak. We have the satellite TV package that allows us not to miss a game, but still there is a big difference between watching a game on TV and attending one live. The roar of the crowd, the blare of the band, ninety thousand people cheering in unison, it’s all so much fun to get caught up in. So we ventured to Arkansas State University for some tailgating and football. We parked the bus right in their parking lot, and walked the dogs around the track, which certainly turned a few heads. The tailgating was pretty poor, we were told it was due to the fact that it was the opening day of hunting season (boo!) We did meet some lovely people, who had Allegro Buses just like ours! (Although minus the critters, theirs smelled a bit more pleasant). It was great to be welcomed with such enthusiasm and meet people who love RVing and football as much as we do. We must have rubbed some off that Gator mojo on them, because they didn’t win either. From there we worked our way back up through Kentucky, which I am not ashamed to say always surprises me, it a good way. Being from Indiana I often heard jokes that referenced our southerly neighbors in a non-too-flattering way (think wheat grass poking through the hole in the mouth where the teeth used to be). And, ok, so there is a little of that there, but there is also much more. One of the prettiest state capitol buildings is in Frankfort, Kentucky. The history in this little-big town is overwhelmingly impressive. There is a rather large river that flows (and sometimes floods) through town and an idealic cemetery perched on a bluff overlooking the river and the town. Let me just say, I love cemeteries, some people may find that a bit morbid, but I have always been drawn to the mystery that lies beneath the headstones. Blocks of marble carved with loving sentiments as an ode to the lives once lived, regal names etched in stone that mark the date of their birth and death, and I think, surely that cannot be the synopsis of their lives. What happened in between? Isn’t that the juicy stuff? The things that actually make a LIFE? As a child I was often baffled by this void, so I would make up my own stories about the people whose names I read. I thought that if I audibly spoke their names, that I could somehow evoke an image of their long forgotten lives or in some way pay homage to their everlasting spirit. Childish or not, I loved the connection this gave me to the people of the past. The cemetery in Frankfort is particularly old and all but rolled out the red carpet begging me to explore the dates of the headstones laid across its sloping hills. Guess who we found? In the loveliest of spots, under a blanket fallen leaves and overlooking the westerly river and hills was none other than Daniel Boone and his wife! That was one headstone I didn’t have to make up stories for. No doubt your head is also swirling with images of the rugged and brave frontiersman who helped claim the boundaries of this nation. History is so cool. We often frequent happy hour a local establishments to chat it up with local folks to learn about the area. We struck it lucky at a bar in downtown Frankfort. My mother always told me “you never know who you’ll meet, so be nice to everyone”. Thanks for that lesson Mom, we scored big! After talking football and history with a guy for nearly an hour his wife walks in and tells us about the family bakery. BAKERY? The music seemed to skip a beat and my husband’s sugar radar went bezerk. Charlie and his family have run Magee’s Bakery for several generations and they make the good stuff, all from scratch, the way it all should be. We were invited to stop by the next day for some mouthwatering and assfattening treats. I still salivate at the thought of one of their donuts fresh from the fryer, or better yet their cheese danish…reason enough to return to Kentucky. I am sooo serious. Good ol’ Charlie also pointed us in the right direction to a small city museum where we learned that Frankfort was the backdrop for many a movie and childhood home to Johnny Depp (step off ladies, he’s mine!). Charlie, how can we ever repay you? By the way, have I told you how much I love fall? This is the one season that I have truly missed when living in Florida and I had hopes that we would catch a glimpse of its production this trip. Winter, nope, you can have it. Spring, it’s ok. Summer, well everyone loves summer. But fall, oh glorious fall! When the air turns crisp and it seems easier to breath. When the leaves glow with extraordinary splendor. If I were a tree I would want to be a maple. If I have to go into hibernation each year, as many trees do, I would want to go out with a bang, and a maple does. The pointy spread of a five fingered maple leaf turns from green into a tribute to the colors of fire; ever bold deep red and magenta hues with subtle golden glows. It is one of Mother Nature’s finest performances. I found a spectacular leaf that had every color from green in the center to yellow, orange, red, and purple on the tips. I watched it turn brown before I could photograph it to share, and although I wish I had a visual to make the beauty of the leaf last, the experience of being able to actually watch time pass and the leaf fade reminded me that A.) I need to stop procrastinating, and B.)even our finest moments are passing, might as well give it all we got while we’ve got it. You never know who you may inspire. I love the feeling of connection I get to the cycle of life every fall when I behold the changing of the leaves. Although the leaf will decompose, it will one day become nourishment in the ground that the tree will use to live on…and produce more astonishingly beautiful leaves. It’s the compassionate cycle of time passing. I spent an entire yoga session meditating on just that and was ruptured by the enormous sense of love I felt that God was trying to show us in his display of fall. Did you feel it too? From Kentucky we voyaged on up to Cincinnati, Ohio. I haven’t spent much time in Cincinnati, but I remember it being much more welcoming than it currently is. Sorry, sad but true. It has developed into a strong industrial transportation hub, utilizing its highways, railroads and rivers to disperse goods in mass quantities. We didn’t get the warm fuzzies from Cincinnati. I am sure there has to be something wonderful about it…if any of you know, will you fill me in? We made a quick stop in Indianapolis where I caught up with an old college friend who invited me to a hot yoga class. Ever done yoga? In the heat? I adore yoga, but the element of heat really pushes me beyond what I perceive my limitations to be. If you’ve never done it, I wholeheartedly recommend sweating yourself silly while twisting yourself into a pretzel on the mat. Genuine detox, nothing like it. I could hardly walk the next day, but if given the choice, I’d go back for seconds. After an hour and half of treating my body right I was ready to fill it back with toxins, so we shared some wine and caught up on each other’s lives. She has recently been inspired to write a musical. Who wakes up one day and thinks “I want to write a musical?” Laura, that’s who, and it’s one of the many reasons I love her. She’s a journalist and asked me lots of intelligent questions about our journey. I explained that throughout the trip I kept waiting to uncover some huge epiphany that would change the world, and that while the trip was incredible, I was somewhat disappointed by my lack of an earth shaking revelation. She just smiled and said, “well, maybe that’s the revelation.” Simple clarity. After I caught my breath I chewed for quite some time, and not just over dinner. Here’s a good time for a break if you need one, go to the bathroom, stretch your legs, feed your kids, pretend to work so your boss won’t catch you slacking off, whatever….don’t worry, I’ll hold your place. Here’s my quick and dirty position on the holidays: Christmas is a little too commercialized for my taste (I love the essence, but somehow that seems to be lost in the hubbub of shopping) , Easter is a blessing, but a very subdued blessing. Memorial Day should be somber but ironically we party ourselves into oblivion (to remember or to forget?) The Fourth of July I celebrate as the day I met my husband, not for the independence of our nation (although that’s pretty cool too), Labor Day is under celebrated, Halloween creeps me out, but Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving is by far the best. Think about it, one day dedicated to gratitude for the bounty in our lives, a day to spend surrounded by and actively loving our family and indulging in gluttonous overeating. Add in not having to shop for, buy, or wrap a gift, pure joy I tell you! My family always celebrates this holiday with a passion, well, we eat with a passion, who doesn't? Also my mom’s birthday falls in the same week. This year we planned a week long party to celebrate the queen’s birthday, Thanksgiving, and the third (and final?) of Kelly and Troy’s wedding receptions. (Seriously, how many days does a bride get?) We were so fortunate that we could pull up into my parent’s driveway and hang out for a week, instead of the usual dine and dash we have to employ to get back to let the dogs out. My parents still live in the huge house my sisters and I grew up in, in Fort Wayne, Indiana. The fact that the city actually has an old fort is one of, it not the coolest, of its marketing points. When I was living there, the people on our side of town were outnumbered but the stalks of corn. (p.s. Indiana sweet corn =nothing like it, yum!) And I was happy, yet somewhat jealous that a gas station, grocery store, liquor store and yoga gym opened up within a few miles of my parent’s home. Where was all that cool stuff when I was a kid? (not that the liquor store would have made my childhood any sweeter, but you know what I mean). My parents were so excited to have us all home that they had a special electrical outlet installed so that we could hook the bus up for the week. How thoughtful! It was a busy week. Since the family lives all spread out through the country we try to squeeze as much togetherness as possible into our visits. At times it can be a little too much togetherness, but on the whole, I tried to soak up every minute of it. I was able to hold little Beau again and suck in the sweet aroma of baby shampoo (and of course pass him off when the aroma changed to something else). Four year-old Jack and three year-old Bella were in awe of our “house on wheels.” I think to them it was akin to a tree house. They came prancing out early in the morning, still in their footed-pajamas with wild child bed hair to say good morning and set up their toys in our living room. Torben was in heaven playing cowboys and Indians with Jack while Bella made the rounds loving the dogs, terrorizing the cat and curling up in my lap. Every moment I spend with those kids is a miracle. We pack a whole lot of loving and playing into one day. I’m not saying that I love all kids that way, but if you are an aunt or an uncle you know the unconditional love you can shell out for those little munchkins. Somehow the fact that they are an extension of my sister gives them a direct link to the core of my heart, they automatically get to pass Go and collect $200. Every time we’re home my sister’s and I have a secret tradition. As one of us bids adieu to the rest of the family we sneak up (or down) the back stairs and reclaim them for a special middle of the night celebration, just the three of us. I love my sisters in a way I cannot find the words to explain. I adore their inner beauty, I celebrate their joys, my heart breaks for their pains and even through tears they can make me laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants. This gathering was much like the many from our youth, we laughed, we, cried,…we snuck in and out of the house so Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear us...just like old times. Thanksgiving was full merriment-isn’t it always? I roasted our traditional Tofurkey. What? That’s not traditional in your family? Oh, well, welcome to vegetarian feasting at its best. That would be a tofu turkey, and although not quite as big as the two birds my carnivorous family fried, it provided Torben and I with a fulfilling feast that didn’t harm another creature. In addition, we welcomed some new vegetarians to their first meat-free Thanksgiving. Hopefully my cooking didn’t scare them off. (If you’ve ever tried my cooking you’ll know that it is entirely too possible.) My new brother in law was (a little too) excited to start cooking that morning and came into the kitchen exclaiming with vigor “let’s cook this S.o.b. turkey!”. The penguins of Antarctica could have heard my sister scream as her precious little son skipped around the kitchen singing about the S.o.b. turkey. Whoops. Ah well, no permanent damage (that’ll come with adolescence). The day ended with 13 adults crammed into a bathroom watching three kids play in the bath. If that’s not Thanksgiving, what is? The grand finale of the week was the gala reception party for Kelly and Troy and their friends and family that couldn’t join us in Mexico. It was a fun excuse for Kelly to wear her dress again. How many of you brides got to wear your dress twice? (By the way, there is a new wave of “dress” parties in which all the ladies bring their long ago wedding dresses or bridesmaid dresses out for another whoopla – anyone interested? I’ll rent the margarita machine!) Anyway, she looked beautiful, again. She got a little help from Troy’s cousin who expertly airbrushed her make-up. Yup, I said airbrush. I have to admit I was a little nervous about being airbrushed, with the fear that we could look a little like a ripe orange, but thankfully, no fruit were resembled in the outcome. She did a fabulous job on all of us and I would love to post her contact info, but I forgot to get a card! Also, it was a great reminder of how much WORK it takes to look glamorous and why it is such a rarity for me. The party itself was like reading chapter after chapter from the book of our family’s past. From the O.B. doctor who delivered Kelly into this world to our family dentist, all the family friends who inhabited a story of our lives showed up to cast their love and joy upon the marriage. What a beautiful testimony to my sister. And my parents. My parents have amazing friends. At one point I looked around the room and counted no less than four other couples who served as surrogate parents during my youth (you know, the people who disciplined you when you were young and you actually cared what they thought). And of course with that comes the surrogate brothers and sisters that we used to beat up on , or vice versa. My Dad owned that dance floor like nobody’s business. Jimmy can shake it! It was a great band (though my Grandfather would say a little too loud) and everyone boogied the night away. Bella was shy at first, then took to the dance floor like a fish to water. Even after the band had long gone home she twirled in circles and jumped around with the tambourine sashaying across the dance floor. A girl after my own heart! Torben and I crashed after the reception, thankful for the quiet seclusion of our home. The next day I learned that the party continued on well into the wee hours of the morning, my family plotted to hold hands around the motor home and sing kumbaya to wake us up. Ok, now you know where I get my bizarre nature, the apple apparently doesn’t fall far. When we finally pulled the bus out of the driveway I was so full. The tofurkey leftovers packed in the fridge next to my Mom’s mouthwatering sweet potato casserole, and I was so stuffed with love and an abundance of merriment that I thought I was going to burst. Not only from my own immediate family, but from our old friends and our new in-laws (who are way too cool to ever be called out-laws). It’s funny how when you give love it seems to come back to you, only exponentially greater. It’s one of the great mysteries of the universe, which I hope you too may revel in. Oh, I forgot to mention that I caught up with a high school friend, Ryan. She is beautiful, yes she. Every time she calls Torben gets a funny look on his face when the caller ID says “Ryan” is calling. She assured me that that was nothing compared to the fiasco her husband had when trying to plan their wedding (“um, I am sorry sir, but we don’t do those kinds of weddings”)! Good thing she has nerves of steel. We were in gymnastics together, she was infinitesimally better than I and can STILL do back flips, handsprings, and a host of other physically impossible tricks. She now coaches our high school team. It is so fun to see what people from your childhood have grow into! Want another break? You’re half way there (almost). We stopped for a few days in Louisville, Kentucky. Torben got a huge chuckle out of the way we say Louisville, that sounds something like lulvl (with a gag). Some people call it Lou-wee-ville, that’s ok too, but Lou-is-ville is totally unacceptable. Just so you know. Ironic since the voyage of Lewis and Clark started on the river there that separates Indiana from Kentucky. On the Indiana side there is Clarkville, and over in Kentucky, they’ve got Lulvl. (Well they seemed to have missed the boat just a bit-go back to that image of a wheat eating toothless man for reference). We toured the Lou-wee-ville slugger factory and got to see how they make the famous baseball bats. I had no idea that each player who signed on with them had a specially made bat. Who knew bats could be tailored to the millimeter? We also toured a few museums. Actually we toured the gift shops because we were too damn cheap to pay admission to the museum. One art museum let us peek for free anyway. They had a great toy collection on display, and guess who was gushing like a kid? Do I even have to tell you? I nearly had to drag him out like a protesting little half-pint. There was also a whole floor dedicated to the artwork of children with cancer. Much of it was heartbreaking, but there was a photo collage that one of the nurses made. She asked the kids to make a face at cancer and Torben gloriously pointed out the big middle finger that a hairless young lad waved with a smirk of confidence. Take that cancer. We had our first experience with the white stuff in Lulvl. Torben has not been privy to the snow since he was six!! That’s right, six. (Go ahead northerners, curse him to your hearts’ content.) We took the dogs for a walk and the flakes started to float among us. I say float, because it did not fall directly down to the ground, it more swirled around and danced for a while in the air before settling gently on the ground. We practiced catching a few flakes on our tongues. The good times lasted only a few minutes before Torben started to panic about driving in it. The next morning I had to climb on top of the bus and sweep off the snow and ice from the awnings before we could bring the slide-outs in. It was by total accident that a big heap fell right on top of my husband. Hehehe. As if there is any question….we headed further south, stopping to stretch our legs at the Corvette Museum. I am not all that impressed with shiny fast cars, but hey, I gave it a go. The newer cars were just cars to me (sorry, a car is just a car, it gets you from point A to point B) but the older cars were genuine pieces of art. My favorites were from the earliest models in the 50’s. I was surprised to learn that the company hired a team of women to work on the design elements of the car. Not surprised that the women were designers, puh-lease, surprised that in the 1950’s women were given such reverence in the origination of something so iconically American (and actually given credit for their work). We happily set up camp in Nashville, TN for a few days. As one of my friends called it: Nash-Vegas baby! And it totally is. I have been to Nashville on many occasions to visit my friend Jaime, but we mostly spent our time drinking chai lattes and catching up on each other’s lives. Torben was determined to see the real deal this time. Some of you may remember that when we first pulled through Nashville somewhere at the beginning of our trip the city was flooded. It was a horrible natural disaster, and the city is still only now coming back to life in the most heavily flooded areas. We toured the state capitol (with a private tour courtesy of our friend Wade, who happens to work for the state). Upon hearing of the famous bathroom in the Heritage Hotel we of course had to tour that too. Who knew a bathroom could draw such a crowd? It was the men’s room, and it is still in use, but y’all know I have no couth. ( I have a great picture for this one! Damn!) Nashville has a pulse. A great current of music and everyone seems to walk to the beat. The vibe is very contagious. We traveled to a groovy little bar where one of Torben’s high school friends was performing. Will Barrow was really good! We had a few drinks and got his CD for later listening. We also managed to score floor tickets to the Grand Old Opry. We were so close that if one of the singers sneezed, it would have sprayed us (thankfully no one did). The Opry is still the longest running radio show on air. It was funny, during the show the performers had to pause for commercials. We saw several older performers whom I am sure were something in their day, unfortunately that day was long, long ago. But some newer artists also made their debut. Newer artists like Bo Bice (I admit it, I am an American Idol junkie) and a jamming family band called Cherryholmes, who are up for a Grammy nomination. And I was given the gift of being able to fill an entire day with Jaime, drinking chai tea and catching up on each other’s lives, which in my opinion, was by far the best part of Nashville. I am a firm believer that a good friend is worth more than her weight in gold. She’s one of those authentic gems who isn’t afraid to tell me the truth about myself, and love me in spite of it. We’ve been best friends since the first day we met. I love it when our lives overlap for a day or two, even though it never seems long enough. Her daughter Ruby is adorable and undoubtedly the most well behaved three year-old on the planet. I am infinitely amazed at the work and dedication it takes to raise a well rounded child in today’s world. When we talked about all the influences out there and how to teach a child right from wrong it dawned on me that parents have to become super heroes with a larger than life sense of morality, acting twice as good as they ever were in hopes to raise a child that is a least half as good as their highest expectations. It has to be exhausting. I am not sure I could outthink a three year old every waking moment of the day. My hat goes off to all of you Moms and Dads. I was given the trusted (and awesome) job of “tubby time” with Ruby. If you haven’t played with a child in the bath recently, you really ought to (well, get permission from their parents first, otherwise that would be a little weird). Ruby and I splashed and played, tossing her dad’s poker chips into the water for full splashing effect (hey, whatever works). Every time she squealed with glee it made me want that moment to last forever. After we dried off (how do you parents keep from getting soaked too?) we curled up for story time and turned on the most awesome display of nightlight projections I had ever seen. Being a kid today is padded with some really cushy stuff. The threat of snow moved us out yet again. We happily loaded up our crew and moved further south. With cold snowy weather on the way there is only one place to go: Florida! We held hands as we crossed the border to the great Sunshine State. I was all smiles as we pulled into the Williston Crossings RV Resort and hooked up our rig. The park is complete with tennis courts, a dog park, hiking trails, fire pit, shuffle board and if that's not enough; we plan to have our first line dancing class on Monday morning. Yeah, I feel a bit like the retired gray hairs that descend upon the state every year, but it’s a pretty good life. We’re headed over to Mama Madson’s house for a happy home cooked southern meal. My stomach can hardly wait. We plan to spend some time cleaning out the car and the bus. Somehow the pizza boxes have piled up and I am pretty sure there is something growing in the back seat since Kentucky. We’re gonna take a respite from our travels for the holidays….maybe. It will be interesting to see how long we can sit still. We'll probably then head up the eastern seaboard and explore the outer islands of Georgia. Wanna come along for the ride? Love and kisses, Sarah