Chance encounters of the Grocery Store kind. The power of kindness.

Sometimes grocery store shopping can be irritating, almost a torture.  

But sometimes it can be quite the opposite.

I was at Dillons the other day and  found myself next to a young female customer in the produce department.  As I reached up to select a container of fresh pico de gallo she asked me my opinion of the pico.  We had a really nice conversation and she was so friendly.  We visited for quite a while.   She once operated a restaurant.  And she actually enjoys chopping up jalapenos and onions by hand!   At the end of the conversation she gave me a warm smile and said, "I hope you have a very blessed day."  I reciprocated with "I hope you do, too."

Had we ever met before?  No.  

Were we in the same age group?  No.  She was young.  I am....not.

Was she trying to sell me something?  No.  

Was this the first time I've had a pleasant conversation with a stranger in a public place?  Certainly not, but it's not an everyday thing for sure.

Grocery shopping isn't my favorite experience, and usually I try to get in, buy my stuff, get out.  I must admit, I've succumbed to complacency and avoidance when it comes to being outgoing and friendly at times.  Fear of unfriendly reactions.  Or blatant rudeness.  Honestly, you can walk away from some encounters feeling pretty low about yourself and everyone around you.  

But on that particular day I walked from the produce section with a smile on my face and something more.  I can't put my finger on how to describe the "something more", but it was a very good feeling.   

This young woman fed my soul.  She made me feel worthy of her time.  She reached out to me. She valued talking to me.  She even valued listening to me. (That's kind of a rare thing as you get older)   

Maybe you've noticed:  The world in general has become offish, unfriendly, harsh, dismissive. Borderline hateful.   Sometimes even crosses the border right into mean and ugly.

 Check your social media outlets.  Mean and ugly is significantly more prevalent than simple kindness.  And it spreads like wildfire.  Like a killing virus.  Destroying every person in its path.  Yes, it destroys.  I'm not over-reacting.  Meanness destroys relationships, community, the tender hearts and spirits of children....and adults.  

It's an epidemic.  Needs to be stopped, in my humble opinion.  

Kindness generates kindness.  As I left the produce department that day, my heart was light and I found myself looking for ways to reach out with similar friendliness to others in the store.  Kindness begins with friendliness.

When the effects of kindness are so positively powerful, why are we so reluctant to be reach out with friendliness?  What are we afraid of? 

It's such a simple act.  Be nice.  See what happens.  Your kindness might just spread like wildfire.  Your kindness might just change the world. 

Or  it might change the world for just one person.  You!

P.S.  please check out the caption to the picture below....kindness can be found in amazing places.

New York City, in front of the Metropolitan Art Museum.  We actually found kindness in large quantities in this city last year when our little niece was a cancer patient at a hospital there.  

One last I love you...

"Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." That's  one  line from an old song written in 1970.   And like a lot of songs, it's the only line I remember.  

This one line brings one person in particular to my mind.  My mother.  

My mom lived and breathed for her children.  There just was not anything she wouldn't do for her four daughters.  I was her baby, born when she was 40. Born when her other daughters were teenagers.  And I was the living definition of what it means to take a parent for granted. The word "spoiled" comes to mind.  Although I prefer the words "deeply loved."  Because that's how it came across to me.  

She didn't have  money, so it wasn't a matter of spoiling me with frills and unnecessary purchases.  No, she gave herself.  She was there.  I expected nothing less from her.  

One time I spilled hot water on my hand while mixing up formula for my youngest baby girl.  Nothing life threatening, but of course it didn't feel the best.   Mom  worked downtown Minneapolis (Ks) in an auto parts store.  When she found out what happened, she left work and came to the house to check on me. She discovered that I didn't have any topical treatments for burns and neither did she.  So she got in her car and drove 36 miles round trip to her sister's house in Tescott.  Her sister Gladys had a greenhouse and several aloe vera plants.  I'm not sure how fast she drove but in a flash she was back at my house with some aloe vera to put on my hand. (and a plant of her own from Gladys) Ordinary burn ointment that she could have purchased downtown wasn't good enough for her Bunny.  And, side note, the aloe vera did indeed ease the pain and speed up the healing process.  

Mom was a loyal and well loved employee, but if one of her girls needed something she was out the door. She would drop everything to help us. Without complaining. When I returned to work after my youngest was born, Mom went ahead and retired so she could babysit for me.   Without pay.

I came to just expect this sort of care from my Mom.  I just expected it.  No big deal, Mom was Mom.   I just counted on her.  She would be there for me.  No matter what.

Until she wasn't.  

When I was 37 and my two girls were teenagers Mom suffered a broken hip.  Her underlying heart issues, though well-maintained up to that point, complicated the treatment plan. As a result surgery was delayed for several days.  One of those days I walked into her hospital room and bent over the bed to greet her.  She looked at me with vacant eyes and it was clear she did not know me.  Even when I called her "Mom".  She asked me my name.  That hurt.  I said, "Don't you recognize me, I'm Bunny, your baby".  But she didn't.  That really hurt.    

I eventually left her room, accompanied by my husband, and as we entered the elevator I looked at him and said "I'm going to cry, I can't keep from crying."  And the flood of tears began. The entire trip home and for 8 or so hours after I couldn't stop crying. While I was crying it was as if the past 37 years were replaying in my mind.  On constant replay.  All the times I'd been abrupt with her, all the times I had been impatient with her, all the times I'd just expected her to be there for me.  And I felt like one pathetic ungrateful daughter.  It was justifiable emotion.  I deserved to hurt so badly.  

Through the tears I wrote her a letter.  To apologize.  To express my love.  To let her know how valued she was and that I finally understood her value.  Hoping as I wrote that she would be able to actually understand my apology and know how much I loved her.  Hoping she would be able to actually read the letter I was writing to her.

 Happily, the next time I went to the hospital she was back to her self mentally and she did recognize me.  She had the hip repair surgery, returned to her home and over the next 3 months recovered orthopedically.  However, her heart was permanently affected and 4 months after her surgery she passed away.  Part of my heart went with her. A big part of my heart.

She was my last living parent and I felt like an orphan.  A 37 year old orphan.  

I'm so grateful that God gave me the opportunity to write her that letter and apologize before it was too late.  I gave it to her to read a few days after she returned home from the hospital.  As she  read the letter, in true Mom fashion, she didn't see that I had any cause to apologize.  And she apologized for not being able to recognize me that one day when she was in the hospital.  She said, "Oh Bunny that must have hurt you so badly."  And then, we both said "I love you" to each other. It's a moment I will treasure in my heart forever.  

That was 1993.  

My broken heart has healed, but one thing above all others still bothers me immensely.  I listen to the words of those around me.   Moms are easy targets. For some reason, most people just feel entitled to bash their moms.  And I'd  love to just even be able to hug mine again.  Do you find yourself annoyed with your mom?  Critical of things she says or does?  Speaking hateful words to her?  Speaking mean things about her?  Please stop. Please.  

" Love them while you can.  Time just seems to hurry by and the days slip into years, and the moments that we have will disappear. So love them while you can."    (from another 1970's  song) 

Who? What? I thought I knew. And a bonus recipe for you.

A couple weeks ago I was on a walk and ran into someone I hadn't seen for some time.  I waved and loudly called out "Well hello there how are you?  Haven't seen you in years."  As the distance between us lessened I was faced with the unfortunate reality that not only had I not seen her in years, I'd actually never seen this person.  Ever.  Did not know her.  She just kind of looked at me and kind of awkwardly said "Hi.  Fine." Looked a little frightened as she walked on by.  And I just kind of awkwardly moseyed out of her range of vision.  Man, I really don't enjoy those moments of mistaken identity.  

Of course I've also had the reverse situation where someone calls out to me and upon looking closely at my face they retract their "Hello" with something like, "never mind, you're not who I thought you were."  Accompanied by a frown.  You've probably been in similar situations.  No big deal really, just kind of awkward.  I would advise that you don't ask the person "Who did you think I was?"  The answer can be a blow to your psyche.  In my case they've almost always mistaken me for someone considerably older than me.  Could it just once be someone young and gorgeous?  Never mind.  I'll abandon that dream.

Then there are times when you might find yourself in a restaurant with an exotic type menu where you cannot determine the exact identity of what you are about to consume.  Mistaken identity of this nature can be pretty distressing, too.  In our younger years my beloved husband and I ordered "sweet breads", thinking we would be indulging in a delightful pastry-ish dessert.  Oh my.  Do you know what sweet breads are? Unfortunately we did not.  We took a bite though.  Just one.  Was not sweet, nor was it a pastry of any sort. According to Wikipedia, it's either the thymus gland or pancreas from beef, lamb, or sometimes pork.  Be warned.  Learn from our ignorance. Protect your digestive tract.  Just say no to sweet breads.  

A few years ago we went to a Christmas party at our friends Lori, Tom & Bobbi Jo's.  They really know how to prepare a banquet of delectable food.  And none of it was unidentifiable or exotic, well the pumpkin soup bordered on exotic (and quite delicious).  Anyway, I of course took some of everything.  I piled a large amount of what I thought was a  salad on my plate.  And I later learned it was a dip for chips or crackers.  

No big deal really, I could have eaten two bowls of it and called it salad and been quite happy.  It.  Was.  Fabulous.  Just say yes to anything served at the home of these three folks.  No need to confirm the identity of what you're about to consume at their parties.  

I asked Bobbi Jo for the recipe and she gave me a list of the ingredients and advised to just add or subtract whatever you want.  As you like.  Very delicious. Especially with those "scoop" tortilla chips.  You know, like tiny little salad bowls. To fill up with tiny little salads.  I'm giving you my version of her recipe, as I like it.

 Cucumber Pico/Salsa

   5 medium cucumbers, or 2 of those big seedless cucumbers, peeled & diced 

   1 can original Rotel undrained (or 2 cans if you like)

   1/4 cup vinegar, any kind.  I've used apple cider vinegar or rice vinegar

   1 pkg of dry ranch dressing mix (or 2 packages if you like)

   1 large (pint-size) container of fresh pico de gallo (like from the produce section at Dillons often on the very top shelf out of eyesight)  Or, you can chop up onion, tomatoes, jalapenos and cilantro in the same quantity.  I am lazy.  I buy the pico.  It works well.

   Garlic salt to taste

   Lemon pepper to taste.

Put the cucumbers, Rotel, pico de gallo (or chopped veggies) in a large bowl.  Sprinkle the dry ranch over and add the vinegar.  Stir it all up well then add garlic salt and lemon pepper to taste.  

Simple and delicious.  Nice alternative to traditional tomato salsa.  As a dip.  Or be like me and just go crazy and eat a whole bowl of the stuff.  Mmmmm good. Here's a pic.  (I drained off some of the liquid for this pic).  It's really wonderful with crackers or chips.  Amazing how something as mild tasting as cucumbers can enhance a recipe. And they smell so good when you're dicing them!  

Mmmmm  good. 

Beside the still waters and bicycling against the wind. It's all good

Camping season began for us last week.  Took our first trip to the lake for a few days.  The weather cooperated magnificently.  

During a conversation with a friend of mine I mentioned that we were planning to camp at a nearby lake.  He said "Why in the world would you drag your camper 25 miles away when you could just stay at your house and enjoy your lovely back yard?".  That's a valid question from a non-camper.  But if you're a seasoned camper, you know the answer.  I don't need to explain.  

Our daughter gave us a sign for decor in our RV that has the words "....He leads me beside quiet waters."  Ps 23:2.  

Quiet waters.  The peaceful presence of the Creator.  Taking long walks through the woods surrounded by evidence of His glory and majesty.  Lord of all creation, of water, earth and sky.... Leaving the cares of life behind and just hanging out with the One who has it all under control.  

It's how we recharge our batteries.  Time of renewal.  

No leaves on the trees and brown surroundings might make you think there's no beauty to be seen.  Check out what was visible because of the lack of foliage and greenery:  

Note the cool looking plate-like fungi formations on this tree.  Don't you think it looks like a place setting for squirrels?  We might not have seen this dining room for rodents if the trees and bushes were dressed in their summer greenery.

Speaking of rodents, we came across this trapped rodent.  Identification, anyone?       

So, what else do non-fisher people like us do when we camp?  It was too early in the season for riding our jet ski or swimming.  

We hooked up an old TV outside our camper, utilized our Verizon hotspot, and....did what all college basketball junkies do.  We watched Wichita State and KU basketball play in the Big Dance.  (The Cats had already left the dance or we would have watched them too)   It was a perfect setting for watching the games. 

And.  We rode our bicycles.  Last year while camping in Oklahoma, it seemed like a good idea to purchase el-cheapo bikes from a Walmart nearby.  Here is mine:

When I'm riding it, the hubby and my son-in-law immediately start humming the Wizard of Oz tune that goes along with the witch riding her bike.  Which doesn't necessarily amuse me.   The bike is cute, and it was cheap.  Little basket on the handlebars, cup holder, even has a cellphone holder!!   Those are its only redeeming qualities.  It is only designed for flat-lands and non-windy days.  I think the tires are too fat.  Uh, perhaps it's really ME that's too fat.  Whatever, it is ridiculously difficult to pedal.  Even my quite athletic daughter had trouble with it.  My friend Georgia has recommended that I get some sort of battery operated pedal assist gadget that will help move the pedals on slopes and in high wind.  She's thinking of getting one.  Sounds tempting. 

we were blessed with such gorgeous sunsets!!

The worst part of camping is always packing up and returning home.  The best part of coming back home is planning our next camping trip.  

We have camping fever and I have no intention of looking for a cure.  

Camping is the cure.  It takes us away from everyday stresses and adjusts our perspective in a way that makes life much better.   Therapy by none other than the One who designed us in the first place.   Good medicine.   

  

Employment Enjoyment

What was your first job?  Mine was probably babysitting my cousins.  But my first real job was the summer between my 8th and 9th grade years of school, if memory serves  me.  

Pioneer Seeds came to our fair little city of Minneapolis Kansas towards the end of the school year offering a gold mine opportunity for those wanting a summer job.  $1.40 per hour.  Boys and/or girls, equal pay.  I couldn't suppress my excitement at making that kind of cash and I eagerly signed up, along with many classmates. We were going to own Minneapolis by the time summer ended.  

The appeal of cash was more important than the details of the job, and with that kind of money dangled in front of me I just signed up without reading the fine print.  Day one arrived and we were loaded up in school buses and hauled out into the countryside where they unloaded us into massive fields of corn. Too far from town to run home.  

Turns out we were hired to walk down rows of corn and reach to the top of every  corn stalk and pull out the tassels.  I'm pretty vague on all things agricultural but it seems like this is some sort of plant life reproductive system deal. Involving pollination perhaps? The word hybrid comes to mind, but I may be way off. 

 Money.  I was there for the money.  

 Anywho, I found myself in a field of corn with about 20 of my closest friends. There I was, all of 5 foot tall, peering up at the top of corn stalks and wondering exactly how to reach those tassels.  I think maybe we chopped sucker stalks away from the base of the corn stalks too and with my vertical challenge that may have been my main task.  But I know I pulled some tassels out also.  On the shorter stalks.

The rows were often muddy from the irrigation system.  It seems like maybe the irrigation system even started up once while we were walking the rows.   There was always the threat of seeing rats or snakes although I don't recall seeing either.  We girls tried to make the job more fun by singing at the top of our lungs as we worked the rows.  And laughing hysterically at the lyrics we could make up.  It was kind of fun. 

I don't recall how many weeks we were hired on to work, but I do recall that well before the intended duration of the job was completed I developed allergies.  Either to corn pollen or work.  Either way, the checking account I opened prior to starting the job seemed pretty pointless.  I used the money I earned to buy a purse.  Not to carry money... probably just kleenex.  I did have allergies, after all.  Allergies, and no money.  And later that summer on a shopping trip I actually left that purse unattended in a Salina department store where it was quickly stolen.  Never to be seen again.  

Oh what a gold mine that cornfield job turned out to be.  

That was my first job.  And now I'm sort of semi-retired from my long career as a radiologic technologist.  Taking x-rays in a hospital and/or clinic setting for over 40 years.  I have no regrets.   It's been a rewarding and fulfilling career though not without occasional ickiness and challenges, of course. Every job has challenges and ickiness.    Attitude is everything, though.  

We live in a new housing development with lots of construction going on.  Last summer I went for a walk through the neighborhood and was greeted by a happy smiling young man driving a truck slowly to a construction site.  He smiled, waved and said "Hello, how are you today?"  We didn't have a long conversation but I was impressed with how pleasant and friendly he was. Clearly a happy employee.  Probably using his skills to build beautiful homes for happy families.

I assumed he was a carpenter on a new home, but then I looked closer at the truck he was driving.  It was a tank truck.  The writing on the tank indicated it was a septic cleaning service.  For porta potties.  Of which there were several at the various construction sites.  

This friendly, pleasant man was removing human waste from portable toilets.  

And happy to do so.

I think I heard him singing funny songs with made-up lyrics as he drove off.  😁

Yes, attitude is everything.  

And the corn is as high as an elephant's eye.  🎵   🎵

Oh what a beautiful morning.... sing it, people!  

"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men,"  Colossians 3:23

The Doorkeeper of the waiting room.

This past Saturday I went on a girls' road trip with friends to the Pioneer Woman Mercantile in Pawhuska, Oklahoma.  Very cool place, you should go there.  Cute little town, lots of character.  The Merc opened last fall and has been wildly popular.  Wildly is putting it mildly.  Averages 6000 customers daily during the week.  On the weekend? Upwards to 15,000 in a day. The population of Pawhuska is 3,666 fine friendly country folks.  Okies are the friendliest folks on the planet.  I mean it!!

So....the Merc was packed with people.  There were lines of people outside waiting to just get inside the restaurant section, with estimated wait time of 2 hours.  Two Hours.  120 minutes.  One hundred twenty minutes.  Far far too long for us chicks to wait.  As it turned out we innocently cut into a line we didn't know existed,  and entered the store/bakery section while the doorkeeper's head was turned.    Of course we never made it to the restaurant section.  Enjoyed superb baked pastries and luscious coffee instead.  

It's one thing to wait in line for a fun event, or to eat a fancy meal.  Pretty insignificant compared to other "waiting rooms" we might find ourselves in from time to time.  You've spent time in your own waiting room, I'm certain of that. So have I.  

Both of my daughters and their husbands were  very eager to become parents. But parenthood isn't a quick process for every couple.   Between both couples there were eleven years total for me in that stressful waiting room.    With prayerful consideration, adoption was the route they both chose to take.  For both of them, it was a roller coaster of emotions.  Lots of "why" and "hurry up" type prayers. While you wait.  And wait and wait.  I found myself trying to cheer them on from the spectator section. Often it felt like I was right there with them on that wild roller coaster ride. The excitement of our first grandson's adoption was indescribable.  But the roller coaster continued to operate for my youngest.

One particular morning during our youngest daughter's wait to adopt, I had a meltdown of epic proportions and found myself sobbing and crying out to God, begging Him to please make my girl a mommy.  Seeing her pain was breaking my heart.   I cried out to God, telling Him that I seriously did not think I would survive if she wasn't able to be a mother.  I cried aloud to Him that I trusted Him as much as I possibly could, but my faith was weak.  

Mainly, I just cried.  And cried.  Sobbing to the point I wasn't sure I could stop. 

In an attempt to just get a grip and stop weeping, I opened my devotional book for the day.  It was a healthy living/diet type book with scriptural content.  Surely that would distract me from my despair and stop the waterworks.  A total change of subject to change my focus was what I needed.  Words on dieting should do the trick, I hoped.

I opened up the devotional book to that day's message on food and exercise and this is what I read:
The scripture was from Ps 139:13-14.  "...you knit me together in my mother's womb...." And then the comments for the day:
    "Perhaps you are knitting a sweater as you await a grandchild's birth.  You have not seen his face, but you know he is a boy.  You knit each stitch and pray for your grandson.  You already  love him and know that he will be a delight to his parents...But God is doing much more to prepare.  He is creating this little boy and knitting his cells together in the womb.  He has plans and a purpose for this little life."   

Well, that stopped my tears.  I had no idea what these words had to do with dieting or a healthy lifestyle, but there was no doubt in my mind Who had intended for me to read them.  I actually looked around the room expecting to see Jesus himself standing by my table, telling me everything was going to be okay.  I couldn't see Him but HE WAS THERE!!  Yes, He was.  And suddenly I was calm. Composed.  Hopeful.  And I knew I'd received a message from God that He was in control and there would be a baby for my baby girl.  He saw my tears.  He dried my tears.  He held me close.  

A few days later the phone rang.  It was my daughter, telling me that they were meeting their baby boy that very evening.  They brought him  home from the hospital three days later.  He had been in the newborn intensive care unit for three months.  Living in the hospital next door to where I worked, and I had no clue!!  A miracle extreme preemie needing a mommy and daddy.  And a grandma heart just waiting to hug and kiss him.  He was the boy that God was telling me about just a few days earlier. 

While we wait...."God is doing much more."    We can trust the doorkeeper of the waiting room.  

I could share a lot more details about the hand of God in regard to this story. So very amazing!!  But I want to leave you with these words of hope that my pastor once shared:

Waiting is never easy

but when there is nothing

you can do, 

it doesn't mean 

nothing is being done.

God is working for you 

in ways

you cannot see.

         

Observations from 1600 miles southeast of home

Today marks the end of a glorious two week trip to Savannah, Ga, with my husband the IT consultant.  He travels 1600 miles from home every week to earn a living. This is his career.  He's had this traveling gig for the past 13 years.  He provides income for us.  To put food on the table and pay bills.  To buy our home where I am the main occupant.  He spends more time living in a hotel than in our home, if I do the math correctly.  If nothing else, this trip has made me acutely aware of the sacrifice required in being a consultant.  He doesn't complain. I believe I might tend to whine a bit if I were in his shoes.  But whining does come natural to me regardless of circumstances.  We all have our gifts.  😃

Retirement is approaching (a little over two years) and I considered this two week period of time a little experiment to see how well we might tolerate living together on a daily basis.  And.....after two weeks I believe we would both agree we'll do just fine.   

Isn't Savannah gorgeous?  And February is a splendid time to visit, meteorologically speaking.  Although the second night we were there, the tornado sirens and our insanely loud weather apps on our phones woke us up at 4am.  I looked out the window, and he pondered what we should do.  We quickly decided to just put adequate clothing on so that rescue and recovery squads wouldn't experience potential mental anguish and visual suffering when they found our bodies.  Then we went back to sleep.  It was 4am, for crying out loud.  Kansas tornadoes generally seem to be more respectful re: time of day.  No worries. Damage and injuries were north of our location.  All was well.  

During this trip I learned some stuff about a variety of subjects.

  Seafood platters at The Crab Shack.  Heap lot of delicious food with one glaring exception.  Crab legs, shrimp, mussels...all delightfully delicious.  See picture number 2?  All that remained was crawfish.  I asked the waitress exactly how one consumes a crawfish and she showed me the beheading process, and what part to eat.  Luckily our first and only bites were small ones.  We were both able to swallow the crawfish meat without making a grade-school child-like scene of spitting it into our napkins while gagging.  And we both agreed it was our first and last bite ever.  Icky stuff. 

For fun on the weekend we drove to St Augustine, Florida for a couple days.  This is the oldest city in the USA and a wonderful place to visit. Go there if you ever have the chance.  

We went to the fountain of youth archaeological park. 

 And drank the water.  

Still waiting for results.  

Not all that hopeful.

Saw our very first drawbridge in action. And our second.  And third. And fourth.   Busy harbor.

 And ate at a fabulous little cafe called Gas Filling Station.  A repurposed gas station with a cool and quirky interior and really really good food.  

And the beach, oh the beach was marvelous.  Lots of long walks on the beach.  Very fun weekend seeing the sites of St Augustine.  You need to go there!

Back in Savannah, while the hubby worked, I found things to do.  Like visiting the Coastal Georgia Botanical Gardens.   I learned,  maybe you already knew, that the Camelia Senesis (pictured) is the source of ALL tea.  The bushes flower from October to March, and tea is made from the leaves.  Processing varies for black, green, white, oolong, or pu-erh.  Just like all wine is from grapes, all tea is from Camelia Senesis leaves.

Such beautiful flowers...I like tea even more now.

The crapemyrtles of course weren't even leafed out yet, but I learned an important horticultural tip:  Don't prune your crapemyrtle bushes! "An unpruned crapemyrtle produces a longer lasting flower display".  Yay.  Saves me some work on my youngish crapemyrtle bush.

The garden is pretty new and will eventually be quite nice.  For now it's in its formative years.  But still a lovely place to walk.

I would imagine March and April would be a great time to visit.  I should come back next month.  😁 And the month after.  

Found this awesome little quirky BBQ joint, complete with Guitar Pickin' Parlor and Music store.  The owner repairs guitars, and constructs his own guitars.  Very cool place.  The store is jam packed full of stringed instruments.  And the food is southern style barbecue.  Pretty tasty. 

But my favorite scene was this one:

The shadow of me and the man of my dreams watching the waves at Tybee Beach.  Something about the "heartbeat" of the ocean that just soothes the soul.

We're back home.  No oceans.  No palm trees.  Oddly enough, the day we returned to Savannah from St Augustine, I opened up Facebook and discovered "Only in Kansas" posted this picture highlighting beautiful sights to see in Kansas:

Even though I'd just seen all the incredible beauty that Savannah and St Aug have to offer, seeing this picture brought a little tear to my eye and warmed my heart.  Now that's home.   Minneapolis, Kansas.  Home of Rock City.  Site of many fun experiences in my childhood.  Memories of home.    

Home's where your heart is.  Home is incredibly beautiful.  Even with no beach.

Comfort? Style? Or Companions?

In the past 13 years the hubby has spent more time living in a hotel than time living in our Kansas home.  He has experienced every Starwood, Hilton and Marriott brand hotel known to man, and can give you detailed descriptions of them all.  

This man is simply the easiest person to please on the face of the earth when it comes to living conditions.  Side note:  he pretty much has to be to endure my slovenly habits.  All that being said, there was one Starwood hotel brand in Baltimore that he absolutely abhorred to the point of near anxiety.  (yes, calm Mr. Coffman.  yes, anxiety).  When driving recently on Oliver near 96 he caught a glimpse of a new hotel being built there and when he saw this same brand he said "I won't be able to drive near Oliver and 96 again".  He was serious!

Hard to believe his least favorite hotel was in the USA considering the accommodations we experienced across the pond in France and Germany.

France.  2008.  In the 12th district of Paris.  See the floor space in this picture?  That's all the floor space in this lovely room.  See that tallish piece of furniture?  It was a combination closet/mini-bar fridge.  So convenient. Room for hanging two items of clothing.  After only one sleepless night spent searching the internet for Marriott hotels in Paris ($$$$$), I marched myself down to the front desk. 

After explaining the difficulties of occupying a room with these minuscule parameters compared to the ample parameters of our bodies, the desk clerk took a look at me, had mercy, and gave us this room: 
Much better. Tiny balcony opened up from the bath.  Right across from the toilet. Odd, but hey the bedroom was considerably larger and way more comfy.  My hips no longer were bruised from hitting the walls trying to walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.  I spent a lot of time in this room while the hubby was working and really appreciated its quality.  Oddly enough one afternoon while waiting for the Mr to arrive after his workday there came a knock at the hotel room door.  I looked out the door's peephole and saw a hotel employee holding a tool box.  When I opened the door and greeted the man it was clear that we had a severe language barrier as he tried to explain why he needed to come into the room for a repair.  He finally was able to come up with 3 English words.  Animatedly waving his arms around he said "Fix your douche".  Hmmm.  That brought me very little comfort but since he was so desperate in his quest to work on SOMETHING, I let him in.  Come to find out, "douche" was our shower.  Who knew?  The shower head needed to be tightened up a bit but we hadn't reported it because to us it was no big deal.  Previous guest must have felt otherwise and complained.   

We found hotel rooms in Germany to be quite a bit larger and more comfortable.  Our first hotel room in Weisbaden was in an older building.  In the process of updating the old hotel to be modern, they needed to add bathrooms to each hotel room.  To do that, they simply put the toilet, shower and sink inside a glass enclosure close by the beds.  Yes.  If you were sharing a room with another person, or happened to have visitors in your room.... all bathroom activity was visible.  Granted, the glass was slightly frosted, but still.  To clarify, I am fully clothed in this picture as I stood in the shower to take my own picture:

Recently when going through old family pictures I came across pictures of a hotel room from the 1980's.  We were on a trip to Arkansas with DeWayne's parents, grandparents, and our two little girls.  His grandpa and grandma never left their Kansas farm to travel anywhere, so this was a big big deal to them. Grandpa in particular made sure everyone we met  knew that we had "four generations of family right here on this trip".  It was so much fun and a really precious memory maker.  Truly, it was a "big big deal" to all of us.

 This picture captures a typical scene in one of our rooms.  Playing Pinochle.  Every single night.  So very much fun.  

Probably our oldest daughter who was maybe 8-ish at the time took this picture.  She and her little sister, maybe 5-ish, spent their time in the hotel room playing "restaurant".  We were served the finest imaginary food known to mankind.  In a little bitty cramped hotel room.  Who knows, the "douche" might have even been in need of repair.  But we didn't care.  

I would have to think that the hotel we used on this Arkansas adventure back in the 1980's was nowhere near as nice as the hotel currently being built near Oliver and 96.  If I were given a choice of re-living any of the above experiences, I would undoubtedly choose the Arkansas trip from the 1980's. Clearly not because of the luxurious hotel accommodations.  Expensive hotel rooms?  No big deal. Spending time with those you love every chance you get?  Priceless.