Pantheon

Friday morning, November 15^th, we were to catch our ship from Civitavecchia, the port city for Rome.  Still disoriented, I had no idea what time it really was…only that the sun was shining and Steve was standing, fully dressed and holding coffee, by the side of the bed quietly calling my name.  (Have I mentioned that this is the sweetest man on earth?) 

 

Our driver was coming at 11:30 and we had a precious couple of hours to see the Pantheon.  He was going, with or without me.  But he had also bought me a couple of pastries to sweeten the deal.  I was up and showered in no time and we set out on a bright fall morning.

 

The streets were bustling – it was a work day for people after all.  Have I mentioned how completely thin and chic most Italians are?  And they do have the most gorgeous shoes and boots.  We dodged scooters and walked as quickly as we could for the couple of miles or so.

 

I was in my mid-twenties the first time I came up from a subway in New York City and caught my breath in amazement and excitement.  I haven’t had that sensation since, until that morning.  We came out of one of the narrow alley streets and there it stood – a magnificent antiquity in the clearing of a busy neighborhood.

 

Before this trip, Steve and I had no idea of the difference between the Pantheon, Parthenon or Acropolis.  We had studied them in school; and we had studied some (via YouTube) before we left.  I will never again forget the difference.

 

The Pantheon was commissioned by Marcus Agrippa as a temple to all the gods of ancient Rome, and rebuilt by Emperor Hadrian in about 126 AD.  It is one of the best-preserved of all Roman buildings. It has been in continuous use throughout its history, and since the 7th century, the Pantheon has been used as a Roman Catholic church dedicated to "St. Mary and the Martyrs.”   The square in front of the Pantheon is called Piazza della Rotonda.

 

It is said that if you plan to visit antiquities, the Pantheon is what you should see first because it is the best preserved.  The great dome has a hole in the center and the center of the floor has holes for a drain.  The area is roped off so that when it rains the water can run out.  The dome would collapse without the hole.

 

The columns are enormous and beautiful.  They are in the Corinthian style (the most ornate).  As we walked into the building, we were amazed by the art and sculpture.  I felt the need to pray and the conflict of standing in a building that was built for gods and now used as a center for worship of the one true God.  I sat down on one of the pews and tried to absorb the history I was seeing.  It was the first of many instances of my own inadequacy to fully “feel” what I was experiencing.

Fontana di Trevi

Before I ever knew anything about Rome, I knew the Trevi Fountain.  When I was very young, I used to watch old movies with my Grandmother, John.  (That’s another story for another time.)  I’ve known “Three Coins in a Fountain” for over fifty years.

 

Pretty much everyone who comes to Rome has three sights in mind – Vatican City, the Colosseum, and the Trevi Fountain.  Because the fountain was the closest to our hotel and matched our energy level best, that was our goal.  We studied our map and headed in the right direction this time.  I had a problem keeping my mind on the goal because I was overcome with the beauty of the buildings and the amazing quality of the people-watching.  But Steve is a little more single-minded and he pulled me along.  

 

I heard the fountain before I saw it.  Its size caught me by surprise.  I had read about it; but the sheer beauty of the sculpture and the architecture “took my breath away.”  Yes, there were crowds of people, taking pictures, tossing coins (right hand over left shoulder, please) and eating gelato.  Since our cruise will bring us back here at the end, I didn’t feel the need to toss a coin.  However, I will toss on my second trip because I most assuredly do want to return.

 

A gelato shop called to us and, after we had pistachio in hand, we found a spot overlooking the fountain and the people and proceeded to “be”.  For the first time of many on this trip, I stared at a piece of history that I simply could not comprehend.

 

The fountain is at the juncture of three ancient roads (“tre vie”) and marks the terminal point of the Aqua Virgo, built in 19BC.  The Roman aqueducts were destroyed by the Goths four hundred years later.  The Roman custom of building a handsome fountain at the endpoint of an aqueduct that brought water to Rome was revived in the 15^th century, with the Renaissance.  The Trevi fountain was completed in 1762.  But the water that still rushes from the fountain has traveled along those ancient Roman aqueducts for approximately fourteen miles!

 

By the time our room was ready in our hotel, we started the walk back.  So many things to see, hear and smell.  The most ridiculous are the newest toys the teens of Rome are trying to sell the tourists.  They are multicolored eggs that, when thrown against the ground, break open and spread like a raw egg.  I didn’t stick around to see how they gather them back up, but somehow they do.  Have you ever timed traffic lights just so?  And they change as you drive through them?  Eggs of every color hit the ground with a splat as we walked by.  So much fun.  I may have to buy one when we go back! 

 

Exhausted and needing to take a bath and a nap and not in the mood to sit in a restaurant, we decided to stop by a little grocery store and get whatever we could find.  We found (for only 2 euro) the most gorgeous sandwiches.  Within an hour, full and comfortable, I went to bed and I don’t even remember taking a breath before I was out!

 

A couple of hours later, Steve woke me so we would sleep later when it was really night-time.  It was getting dark and we set out again to simply wander, again in the direction of Trevi.  We were still tired enough that we knew we wouldn’t be going far.

 

How those alleys changed from the afternoon to the evening!  Playtime for adults!  And I don’t mean in any kind of a bad way.  Just that people were out and enjoying the night.  The teens were now selling some sort of lights that shot high into the air and Trevi and the surrounding area was covered with light and sound.

La Dolce Vita con Scooters

I spent way too much time while we were in Rome wondering what it would feel like to get run over by a scooter.  They were everywhere – buzzing down alleyways, zipping between cars, zooming down main thoroughfares.  I’m not talking about motorcycles and I did not see big Harleys.  These were small to mid-sized Hondas and Vespas.  And those Italians who don’t ride, drive teeny little cars that have no rear end or trunk space and barely hold two people.  Understandable, since gas is almost $10.00 per gallon.

 

Most streets are more like alleyways.  Alleys are different here than in the United States.  They are beautiful cobblestone streets with trattorias and coffee and wine bars.  Most of them have huge baskets of bougainvillea or impatiens. And oh so narrow.  Those who do not drive the tiny cars drive big ones that squeeze between the people and the parked cars.  Even on the main roads, while there must be some sort of law or order, it’s not in evidence.  Lanes are more “suggestions” and a single lane will usually fit two small cars and a scooter weaving between them.  I believe even the “do not hit pedestrians” is more of a suggestion.  I got a bump on the rear end by a big Mercedes that was “suggesting” that he was bigger and perhaps I should move over.  I moved as far as I could and he still hit me in the side with his rear-view mirror.  I felt a little more Italian when it was over.

 

And parking?  It’s hilarious.  There are big areas reserved for scooters and there will be forty or fifty of them near a restaurant or attraction.  Then the tiny cars parallel park (no big ones, I’m pretty sure those just ferry people between the airport and monuments).  They park as close bumper to bumper as they can.  But in the rare case that they leave five or so feet open, someone will pull in nose first and park perpendicular.

 

Our hotel, the Hotel de Petris was located in the center of Rome in easy walking distance of many of the sights.  Pretty much any hotel there could be called quaint or charming.  Many of them are B&Bs and, if they have an elevator at all, it will hold only one person at a time.  Since Steve and I are not fond of the idea of hauling luggage up three or four flights of stairs, I booked carefully.  In the final screen of one reservation, I noticed that we would not have a private bathroom.  Thank goodness for the “previous screen” button.

 

The Hotel de Petris has a beautiful little courtyard out front with many potted plants and trees on either side, including lime and orange trees bearing fruit.  The staff is mostly young and so very sweet.  It is very much a family atmosphere, though I did not get the sense that it is a family-run hotel.  There is an older gentlemen who speaks very good English and who seems to “ride herd” over the operation.  He owns a twelve-month old puppy that they take turns walking and bringing back to him.  I felt quite at home!

 

The gardens and interior areas are ancient.  There is an old, round marble staircase that runs up through the center of the building, circling the glass elevator.  It is a marvelous mixture of antiquity and modern convenience.  The stairway is accented with tall arched windows looking out onto the gardens.  

 

Our room was simple, classic and very modern.  (We were very relieved.)  The bathroom was huge and, again, more modern and updated than we would have dreamed.  Lots of glass, a flat-screened TV (situated so that when you looked into the mirror, you would see it reflected over your head).  The shower had really cool tile that was about six inches long and ¼ inch wide.

 

Our first intent was to walk to the Trevi fountain.  (While there were crowds of tourists and locals, we are in the off-season and were able to see the sights with no problem at all.  I cannot imagine how crowded the tiny streets must be in the summer!)  We are the wrong-way Horns after all, so the first sight we actually saw was the Palazzo Barberini.  Let me just put the phrase “it took my breath away” out there and get it over with.  Because that’s pretty much the impact of the entire city.  It’s just old! – in a dear and beautiful way.  And almost any sight will include a fountain of amazing size and some sculpture and marble.  And even that description is so inadequate.

 

We were aware of time and of our tired condition, knowing that we were running low on energy.  So we didn’t stay (and we didn’t have our camera because it was locked up in the hotel with our luggage).  We reluctantly left the Palazzo and started down the hill in the direction of Fontana de Trevi.

Rome in a Sleepy Day

Let me just say that “ruin” means entirely different things on each side of the Atlantic.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Some very sleepy observations while we wait for our room (we both hit a wall):

 

• Where the Germans were trim and grim, the Italians are fast and loose.  By loose, I mean relaxed and, well, really very “fuhgetaboudit.”  They are not South Carolina friendly, but they are willing to work with you, especially if you seem hungry or ready to shop.
• I’ve learned that I can go almost 26 hours without sleep and still function.  When I’m traveling where there is history all around, I will still walk five or six miles, even uphill.
• I said I was going to learn Italian before I came.  I learned a little; but I’m finding it like the German.  I’m so scared to use it, I might as well know none as a bunch.
• I have learned that there is some weak something in my demeanor that attracts panhandlers and hucksters (and I suspect it would be pickpockets as well but I’m clutching my purse under my arm like Ruth Buzzy on Laugh-In).  I know how to look straight ahead without making eye contact but it still doesn’t work.  They come flocking in my direction and it takes serious concentration to ignore them.  If I crack a smile, I’m done for.
• The young me could never have handled the raised eyebrows and snide European looks.  I’m American – so it has nothing to do with age or money or thin.  Well, yeah, it is about all those things.  But even when I was very young and thinner, you could’ve given me money and I still would not have been able to pull it off.  It’s an attitude and good, leather shoes.  It’s a scarf thrown just so around the shoulders.  It’s often a cigarette.  And it’s a cool I-don’t-really-care-what-you-think that I never, ever had.  But I do so love to watch it.
• Language makes no difference when there’s a mutual intent to communicate.  Our driver from the airport to the hotel did not speak English.  It was a quiet ride for some time.  Then one of us pointed out a cathedral and asked about it.  Our driver proceeded to give us the information in Italian.  And we repeated what we thought he said in English and we all nodded in agreement.  And from that point we rattled away the rest of the trip – he speaking Italian and we speaking English.  We drove around the Coliseum and laughed about the Roman gladiators pulling people over to take pictures.  They had one man sitting in a chair and were cramming one of those uncomfortable-looking gold helmets down on his head.  And we all carried on about it in two languages and laughed like crazy.

 

I’ll get to the ruins later.  I’ve run out of steam except for one more observation.

• I’ve learned that a sense of humor is a gift from God and there are a great many people in the world who have missed out.

Just Like Daddy

Is there anything cuter than a toddler struggling with a plastic toy lawnmower behind his daddy pushing the big one?  How many imaginary plates of spaghetti, cookies and cakes have you eaten?   I’ll consume cups and cups of pretend tea if my granddaughter’s serving it.  And advertising scores with those pictures of little boys standing on the bathroom counter peering into the mirror as they watch Daddy shave.

 

Everyone who has children is aware of just how closely they watch us.  Almost every parent becomes a little more patient, aware of his language, and conscious that small eyes observe every move.

 

This is what our Father desires from us.  He wants us to mimic Him.  We study His Word for glimpses into Jesus’ personality and teaching.  We need the longing to be like Jesus.

 

So does that mean that we go out into the world carrying a Bible and trying to copy Him?  In a sense that’s exactly what it means; but God wants to make it a much simpler process for us.  Think of the kids.  They watch.  They listen.  They take in the very essence of their parents.  If you don’t believe that, then you’re not old enough to have had some instruction from your mom come flying out of your mouth.  In many ways we do turn into our parents, partly from genetics but also from many years of observation.

 

God sent us a powerful ally in our quest to become more like Jesus.  His Holy Spirit is there to read Scripture along with us, to whisper a special application just for us.  He goes with us into the world to remind us that we are part of God’s family and to show us how to act like it.  He brings verses to mind as we need them.

 

I love my family here on earth.  But being a part of God’s family?  There’s nothing like it.  My life is richer, my love is more tender, and I’m going to be at the biggest family reunion in history when I join Him.  

 

Ephesians 5:1-2

Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

Deconstructing a Chicken

We love rotisserie chicken.  Chiefly because we can buy one and have a simple meal of chicken, bread, and cheese and still have enough left over to make some sort of casserole or chicken dish.  Yesterday that meal was chicken enchiladas.  I love them and they’re super easy to make.  After I get the chicken ready.

I do hate the chicken part.  It’s messy and yucky and I am driven to clean off every little piece that isn’t good meat.  

So yesterday, I opened the container and started the process.  And I was two-thirds of the way through when I realized “this is going really quickly today.”  I was ripping bones apart and skinning the bird with no sense of ooginess.  Then I stopped to consider why and I laughed out loud.

I just finished reading “The Hunger Games.”  That little slip of a girl was efficiently killing, skinning and tearing apart rabbits, squirrels, and birds on a daily basis to stay alive.  And that had worked its way into my brain.  

And once again, I remembered Romans 12:2, Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

I’m not sure that we realize what we read, watch, listen to or text gets so deeply ingrained in our minds.  It becomes a part of who we are.  And if it is the world, we become more a part of the world.

Don’t misunderstand me.  I loved “The Hunger Games” and I am running to the store to buy book two.  I just believe though that I need to make sure the time I spend communicating with God and studying His Word is enough so that my mind is renewed by His purpose and will rather than conformed to the world.  

A little TV, Facebook, Pandora?  Absolutely!  But not so much that my ears are stopped up when He calls my name.

Mixing Ideas

My grandson has been baking and cooking with me ever since he was old enough to stand on a chair and place frozen break-apart cookies on a cookie sheet.  We’ve stirred spaghetti sauce together and spilled chocolate chips from the bag on purpose so we could eat them.

This Christmas he is seven and baking Christmas cookies was more of an adventure.  He measured and poured and gingerly turned the mixer to the numbers I told him.  It was a cooperative and memorable Saturday afternoon.  I had left the butter out for a while to come to room temperature and I told him he could unwrap it and put it in the bowl.  “Don’t I need to cut it up, Gramma Jo?”  I assured him that it would blend without a problem.  Several minutes later as I continued to scrape and mix, he wondered what was the holdup.  I explained that I was having a little trouble getting the butter to mix in.  With the wisdom of an experienced chef, he said, “I told you we should have cut it up, Gramma.”

His mother and I chuckled over the story later.  I said they must have covered this question while baking cookies at home.  She assured me that they hadn’t, but that he is an intuitive kid and probably just reasoned it out.  I smirked.  I’ve been cooking for forty years; he’s a seven-year-old.  

I’ve got my ideas set in a lot of areas.  My faith is most important to me.  And I think I have it all figured out.  I’m so sure of it that I begin to feel proud, willing to tell anybody who wants (or doesn’t want) to listen how this world works.  Then someone older, or younger, a new Christian or one whose eyes have recently opened to the joys of the Word will make a statement that feels funny.  It doesn’t quite fit in with all the little blocks and pieces I’ve worked out for myself.  I have to tiptoe up to the creaky door of my mind and force it back open.  God wants me to be as excited about learning as I was when I started this journey.  He wants me to be willing to change my habits and continue to grow.  Today I baked cookies again.  I want you to know, I cut up the butter.

Proverbs 11:2, 1:5
When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom…let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance.

You're Not the Boss of Me

The two’s bring it on.  We learn to stand on our own two feet, push our boundaries a bit, and handle things we used to rely on others for.  We begin to get the idea of independence and it feels good!

The phrase follows soon after – “You’re not the boss of me!” – particularly if we have older siblings.  As we grow older, and braver, we get bold enough to use it on our parents, probably only once depending on the parents we have.

Isn’t it an idea, though, that we struggle with from that time on?  Teachers – oh how we wish we could use it with them!  Professors – we argue with them, but we know when to back off.  Spouses – where do you think the rebellion against submission comes from?  Bosses – that dream of walking in and quitting on the spot comes from those first thoughts as a toddler.

But consider this – what if that boss loved you more than you could imagine; wanted only the best for you; was in control of and allowed or caused every single thing that happened to you for your good; knew you better than you know yourself; had untold gifts to shower on you; and had a plan worked out for your life that would astound you if you knew it?  How would you feel about him?

Our sovereign God is all of this and more and he adores us!  And still we disobey, rebel, and shake our fist and yell, “You’re not the boss of me!”  Oh yes, He is.  And He is good and powerful and loving.  He is the perfect boss.  He’s in control anyway, but I think I’m going to try this obedience thing a little more strenuously.

Ephesians 6:5-7; 1 John 3:21-24

Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ. Obey them not only to win their favor when their eye is on you, but like slaves of Christ, doing the will of God from your heart. Serve wholeheartedly, as if you were serving the Lord, not men…Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have confidence before God and receive from Him anything we ask, because we obey His commands and do what pleases Him. And this is His command: to believe the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another as He commanded us. Those who obey His commands live in Him, and He in them. And this is how we know that He lives in us: We know it by the Spirit He gave us.

My Father's Daughter

This afternoon I considered that the God I pray to today is the same as the One I prayed to when I was a little girl.  Not earth-shaking, right?  I’m pretty sure you probably knew that.  You learned the concept of “I AM” a while ago.  But doesn’t something dawn afresh every once in a while and make you reconsider what you thought you knew?

From the time I was a very little girl I had a relationship with my Abba Father.  When I prayed, it was not “Dear God” or “Dear Lord”, but “Dear Heavenly Father.”  I can remember lying in my bed when I was very young – after I had been on my knees and said my prayers in the presence of my Mom – and talking, still talking to my Heavenly Father.  (It was not until I was a much more mature Christian that I had that very personal relationship with Jesus.)  And I can remember praying the same way as a teen in high school, in college and throughout my adult life.  

Today, I am trying to get my arms around all the changes that I went through and all the ones that He did not.  In “Crazy Love” Francis Chan discusses the attribute of God that is the one I find most comforting – He is unchanging, faithful, and eternal.  (Psalm 102:12, 27) “But you, O LORD, sit enthroned forever; your renown endures through all generations. But you remain the same, and your years will never end.”

I got sick a bit ago and slept a great deal.  I also got distracted by life.  I found that I had so many things I wanted to do that I needed to cut back on something.  So, as I often do, I did the bare minimum in my prayer life and time in the Word.  Within the last week I have changed my habits back to serious prayer and Bible study.

And, once again as I often do, I waited for the good and warm, cozy feelings from God.  I was doing all the right stuff.  Where was the pay-off?  And then last night, as I talked to Him right before drifting off to sleep, I reminded myself that He was the same and that I rely way too much on my feelings.  I would continue to do what I tell everyone else to do – trust that He is Who He is and that He is there, even when I can’t feel Him.

Today Steve was playing golf and asked if I would like to ride along.  I sometimes say no because I think I need to be doing more “serious stuff.”  Today something told me to get out and enjoy life a bit.  

Before we went to the course, we drove down by the lake to see if there were any gators.  Apparently we surprised one because there was a huge splash in front of the cart and then we saw him gliding across the lake.  Then Steve pointed and there stood a great blue heron on the dock, just beautiful.  I began to relax and enjoy not just the warmth of the afternoon but also the warmth of God’s unchanging presence.  

When the thought of His unchanging faithfulness occurred to me, we were on the third hole; and Steve whispered, “Look!”  He stopped the cart and we both held our breaths as an eagle soared just overhead followed by an osprey.  Then the eagle circled and landed yards in front of our cart.  Sometimes I miss the feelings; but sometimes God just takes my breath away.

Small to Overflowing

Luke 6:38 says, “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” 

Several weeks ago a dear friend had a birthday and I was searching for the best gift.  I found a beautiful little birdbath, cobalt blue porcelain.  It was small enough that, I warned her, her dog would consider it his perfect new source for fresh water outside, which he did.

Last week someone, also dear to me, presented me with a gift, a beautiful large birdbath, cobalt blue porcelain.  I was thrilled.  I remembered the other gift I had given and I recalled the saying that the gifts you give are usually what you would like to receive.

When I was refilling it with fresh water today, the analogy of what God had done caused me to stand and smile for several minutes.  I had given; He had given more, better and larger.  

Now before you run out to buy a Mini-cooper to give someone in hopes of receiving a Cadillac in return, let’s look at another verse or two:

Matthew 19:29, “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for My sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.”

The Father loves to give us gifts.  And I believe He loves it even more when He does it in response to our giving.  But we’re missing the point if we begin to give to get.  We may get our tithes, our offerings, our gifts back one hundredfold here and now, in this life.  We may be blessed with His loving approval.  Or we may find reward waiting for us in Heaven.  

If our motive is out of love, like His, our lives will be rich, abundant and full.  If it’s not, His blessing of approval here won’t mean anything to us anyway.  Start with love and give through it.  And God will give you everything you need to accomplish it.

2 Corinthians 9:6-8

Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.

Forward Thinking

“Just do it” is a good one.  My favorite is from “Meet the Robinsons”, a very cool kids’ animated movie that is entertaining for grammas as well.  Mr. Robinson’s favorite phrase is “Keep moving forward.”  I’ve adopted it as a personal anti-procrastination motto.  It works great when I remember to use it…and when I then decide to listen to myself.

I’ve written blogs before about feeling the need to  write.  Aside from a couple of closets that need cleaning and some plastic boxes of old pictures and papers that need to be filed, sitting down to get thoughts out onto the screen is my hardest area of discipline.  (Let’s just agree we’re not considering food or exercise in this one, okay?)  There’s an old saying about writing, that the hardest thing about it is the “BIC” (butt in chair) time.  It does require a level of self-discipline, whether you have a lot or a little time.

At the end of most days, if you asked me what I got accomplished, aside from some laundry and a few chores, I usually wouldn’t have an answer.  I don’t spend time in front of the TV and my time on Facebook could more likely be counted in minutes rather than hours.  I usually spend some time in God’s Word and in having quiet time with Him.  But I get discouraged because I don’t seem to have anything “concrete” to show for my time.

But there is another side to this issue of putting off writing and I’ve said this before as well.  I believe it’s something God wants me to do.  I get frustrated because I don’t know where to start.  But mainly, I think I just lack the faith to begin.  And really, what’s the worst that can happen?  I might learn something?

I am just finishing up Mark in my personal study and a few verses hit me hard this afternoon.  It’s early Sunday morning after Jesus’ death and burial.  Mark 16:1-3 says, “When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, 'Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?'”

Are you wondering if I left off a verse or two?  My lesson was in verse 3 when it occurred to the women that Jesus’ tomb had a stone rolled in front of the entrance.  This stone would have been very large, round, flat and heavy.  It fit into a groove in front of the cave and was rolled down into place.  It would have taken several men to roll it back up.

The women realized this, they discussed it among themselves and still they “kept moving forward.”  God’s Word doesn’t address whether it was their level of faith that kept them going or whether they assumed someone (several men?) would be there to help them.  The point is they continued on to Jesus tomb.  And they were rewarded with being the first to know of His resurrection!  

So I’m going to make the writing a priority.  When you see me, keep me honest.  Go ahead and ask.  Or just remind me to keep moving forward.

Donuts for Breakfast

Is there anything better than a big cup of Starbucks coffee?  Okay, maybe a big cup of Starbucks caramel macchiato.  And to go with it one (or two, or three if they’re warm) sugary Krispy Kreme donuts with chocolate icing or cream filling.  I’ll wait while you savor the thought.  And the sugar high that hits gets us up and going!  

But what happens after a couple of hours?  We lose energy, start to drag, head for the vending machines and refill on more sugar or salt.

We all know these things.  Mothers, young healthy women, wise older grammas.  We know that to start the day we need juice, whole grains, milk, fruit, yogurt – healthy stuff!  This food doles out energy as our body needs it and keeps us going.

I got up this morning and, as usual, hit the laptop first.  I have a mental list of visits I make every day – check email, look for Facebook notifications, see what’s going on with Facebook friends; weather channel for the next 10 days; pinterest to see if anyone pinned any of my pins; iGoogle for world, US and entertainment headlines; back to Facebook for Words with Friends.  This keeps me busy and interested; but I’ve found that sometimes it also makes me a little discontented and grumpy.  I mull over dissatisfaction, feel slighted in some way, forget to be thankful for this very blessed life I’m leading.

It’s an old story – get up and read your Bible first!  We hear it too often.  But truth, God’s Word, is our oatmeal with cinnamon and apples, our granola with blueberries.  It is our life sustainer, our energy, our time-release pick-me-up that keeps us going with peace, gratitude, and hope throughout our day.

So I guess this is notice to my Words with Friends..friends.  You won’t be hearing from me as early as you did.  I’m changing my morning routine.  I’m going for healthy.

Psalm 119:27, 30-32
Let me understand the teaching of your precepts; then I will meditate on your wonders.   I have chosen the way of truth; I have set my heart on your laws.  I hold fast to your statutes, O LORD; do not let me be put to shame. I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free.

On Germany

Some thoughts:

• Forget yoga.  I will arrive back in South Carolina with the balance and grace of a cat because I have ridden the German bus system.  People line up with passes and the driver scans them through.  The second he gets us all past the turnstile, he revs the engine and goes 1 to 60 in 5.4 seconds.  I’m left dodging bodies and pulling myself forward against centrifugal force by grabbing hold of anything in sight.  (I must learn how to say “I’m sorry, ma’am” in German.)
• I am suffering from smile withdrawal – not my own, but being on the receiving end.  It has become my own personal challenge to get someone to return a smile.  I have gotten precious few and they are treasures.  I think it may be because of all the cold weather.  On the other hand, when we manage to cross the language barrier and someone actually understands what we’re trying to say, they shout it out and everyone in the area joins in.  Those are occasions for smiles. 
• Have you ever had a hair stylist that asked what you want and you described it in great detail?  Then they went ahead and did what they wanted?  I was so pleased with myself today when we went to the café.  I actually knew what I wanted – well, potato soup but they didn’t have that.  Steve had gotten sauerbraten and spaetzle (lovely, tiny potato dumplings) on the mountain yesterday and it was excellent.  So I actually knew a German meal to order.  So I said “Sauerbraten and spaetzle.”  Our server frowned and said (rather loudly), “NO!”  No, we don’t serve that?  No, I hate that stuff?  No, you won’t like that?  I had not a clue.  They have an English translated menu in the back but the food doesn’t look very good.  Which once again leaves me to wonder…  But she pointed out roast pork, red cabbage and dumplings.  I was enthused.  I said “Spaetzle!”  She smiled and brought me pork in brown gravy which was really quite good, red cabbage that was really not, and two mounds of something that looked and tasted just like dressing.  I guess you can take the girl out of South Carolina…
• Nothing is free here – not the grocery bags, not the bread, the bathroom, water.  I was irritated by it at first.  But I’m beginning to realize how very environmentally conscious that is.  Trust me, after Steve and I paid .2 euros (about $.27) for two grocery bags, we remembered every time we went to the store.  There is no half-eaten bread sent back to the kitchen.  If you pay for it, you’re probably going to eat it.  There is just more care with what you have paid for.  The country is so clean.  The public waste cans are divided and labeled with recycling sorts. 
• Children and dogs are extremely happy here.  Yet there is no whining (not with the children, anyway) or begging (same goes).
• I was walking down the hill to the bus stop today and thinking how, once again, I seem to have come late to the dance.  Only just now using a little German, knowing which buses to take, etc.  Steve turned to me at that moment and said, “Do you feel like we just learned our way and now we have to leave?”
• Smiling and nodding goes a long way, no matter where you are.  I have practiced a few short German phrases and have not had the courage to use them.  Finally today, I was sitting in a window seat on the bus and a lady came in and asked if she could sit.  I nodded.  And I began to practice mentally, “Entschuldigen Sie, bitte.  Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Entschuldigen Sie, bitte.”  It means “excuse me, please” and I would have to use it to get her to let me out.  I was extremely intimidated but determined.  As we approached our stop, I tapped her and said very quietly, “Entschuldigen Sie, bitte.”  She looked at me funny and ripped off a long sentence in German, not at all unfriendly.  I started back with the old hand motions and we did a lot of nodding and smiling as she let me off the bus.

On to Oberstaufen

You left us sitting in first class on a train full of skiers and kids leaving the station at Uhm and heading toward Oberstaufen.  Once the conductor gave us a pass, we could relax and enjoy our journey the rest of the way.  We flew through a couple of stops and stopped at a couple of depots including Landau, Switzerland.  There all the skiers went flocking off.  We just settled in and smiled.  

A stop or two later as we sat in the depot, they attached another car to the front and Steve remarked that there must be more skiers coming on at the next stop.  Sure enough, he was right.  We sat there snug and smiling in our first class seats as they finally all got on board and closed the doors.  We moved on to the next stop, the skiers got off, and the extra car they had added to our front began to pull away.  And we began to move backwards, again!  So many expressions crossed Steve’s face, as I’m sure did mine as well.  We were confident (after all, we had been through this before), concerned, amused, and the real panic seemed to hit us both at the same time.  

We ran through the train trying to find someone who spoke English.  Turns out Obersdorf is a big ski area as well as Oberstaufen.  And when everyone is saying, “Obers…”, it’s possible for the brain to take a break and latch on to whatever it wants.  Apparently everyone we had asked for help, latched on to the "Obersdorf."  

We finally found someone who could help us head in another direction.  We pulled into a stop and started to get off.  A bunch of people yelled, “No!  No!”; so we got back on.  We got off at Sonthofen with the help of a man who looked very much like the sarge who used to say “Let’s be careful out there” on Hill Street Blues.

While I snapped some pictures, Steve went into the depot and came back out with a small handout which was labeled Sonthofen to Oberstaufen.  But it only showed Immenstadt to Oberstaufen. I found Immenstadt on the train schedule and realized we only needed to change trains in Immenstadt to get to Oberstaufen. We met a man on the platform who spoke impeccable English; I know it’s not polite to hug strange German men, but his was the first English I had heard in a while.  Meanwhile we saw a train that said “Immenstadt” and gathered our luggage and ran toward the train.  He yelled “No!  Other way.” 

So we settled in to watch for the next train that came along going the opposite direction to take us where we needed to go. I watched people and listened to conversations I couldn’t understand.  I saw a family with three adults and two children who were going on holiday.  They had formed a box of skis and a long, wooden sleigh and their belongings were packed in the middle.  The toddler had on a ski jacket and hiking boots.

Seems like it should have been an easy trip from there.  However, we were very tired and a little hesitant.  But we found another kind conductor who pretty much pulled us off the train at the right station.  He even lifted the luggage off for us.  I suspect we were more trouble than the cost of our train pass.  But we’ll make a good story for someone,

By the time we arrived in Oberstaufen, pretty much any kind of room and bed would have been suitable.  However we were so pleasantly surprised.  The young women behind the desk spoke English and were dressed as milk maids.  This pleased Steve more than I can say.  They asked if we wanted fresh pastries and pretzels delivered to our room the next morning.  The charge was not great.  Our room is cozy, sweet and totally what we would have hoped for.  I have rambled on about the trip, and I ask your forgiveness and patience.  However this is also a travel diary for us and we would not want to forget any of these details.  

It gets funnier.  I just read this to Steve and he said, “You might want to add that we were at Immenstadt when the train started going backwards.”  Bottom line, we were only twenty minutes away and couldn’t seem to get there.

Bavarian Alps

So here I sit on my Alpine balcony, sipping afternoon coffee (with half and half, no small feat at the grocers, had to find a carton with 50% written on it and go for it) and sugared pastry sticks.  Let’s go back to Ramstein because you all need to travel with us on the train.

We took some cash with us on the trip and, not knowing how much to carry, started out with more cash than euros – none of those in fact.  I visited a machine in Rota, Spain and got us enough to get us moving in Germany.  As I was getting ready to go down and explore the mall attached to the military hotel (did I mention there is a huge mall attached?), Steve came rushing into the room.  “I found a Bank of America, main branch downstairs!  We can exchange our money there.”  We rushed down and presented our military ID’s and passports and, most importantly, our BofA cash cards.  All was well until the young lady looked at our ID’s and realized we are retired.  “No, no.  All you can do is cash savings bonds.”  Steve grinned and said, “No, it’s all right.  We have our account with Bank of America.”  A manager came up and told us that, while they have the name, they cannot let us use their service.  They said we could do it at the base exchange.  So we did.

I was excited by some of the shops and we decided to do our shopping on the next day before we left.  We had decided to stay an extra day in Ramstein because we were tired.  Also the fact that we had to travel to Frankfurt to get our rail passes gave us a good excuse.  We ducked into the express shop and grabbed some water and the all-important gummi candy.  I piled the stuff on the belt and showed the lady my ID.  Retiree, shot down again.  We’d have to go to the American Embassy and apply for a customs card.  I do love gummi candy, but not quite that much.

Yesterday morning, bright and early, train schedule that I had pulled off the internet in hand, we began our trek.  We caught a train to Kaiserslautern and on to Mannheim.  We were so impressed with the trains – lots of room, easy to navigate, big leather seats.  We changed trains in Mannheim and set out for Uhm via Stuttgart.  We sat in the station for a bit at Stuttgart.  Have any of you ever ridden the Alpine roller coaster at Disney World?  The one that goes backwards?  Our train began to slowly roll out of the station – backwards!  We looked at each other and wavered between hysterical laughter and pure panic.  We had passed a really big Bosch factory going in, still quite a ways from town.  We passed it going backwards and I said, “We’ve seen this!  I know we’ve seen this?”  Presently the young female conductor came by and Steve started, well, sort of shouting, “UHM?  UHM?”  She was smiling and nodding and saying, “Ya!  Uhm.”  We were trying to give her hand signals that meant backwards but she all but patted us on the head and said, “Uhm, ya.”  Finally the train took a large curve and broke out into beautiful hilly farmland.

As we pulled into Uhm, we were getting hungry and had plenty of time.  Because we were pulling three rather large suitcases (don’t give me a hard time about overpacking – one had Steve’s inflatable bed for the plane trip), we began to look for an elevator.  We finally found a really long ramp at the end of the platform and went underground and came back up, slowly, on the other side.

I had to go to the bathroom and Steve got directions for me and sat with the luggage in the terminal.  I followed the signs that showed both men and women around a corner and down the stairs. I came upon a gate, beyond which were the men’s and women’s bathrooms.  There was a sign that said “.5 euros” and a little German woman came scurrying out, big smile and I shrugged to let her know I had no change.  She continued to smile to let me know she didn’t care.  I pulled out my little passport case and got a 20 euro bill and gave it to her.  She opened the gate and motioned for me to follow her to the office.  She got my change.  

I learned a very few German phrases before I left, general stuff, but I have been afraid to even utter a “guten tag” out loud.  So I got really brave and said softly, “Vielen dank?”  That means thank you very much and it’s usually not a question.  She grinned really big and said, “English?”  I nodded enthusiastically and said, “English.”  She said, “NO.”  But we both fell out laughing and had a moment anyway.

Steve and I went back down and up the two ramps, a shout-out to Steve who pulled all the luggage up, and settled down on a bench to share a sandwich.  A train pulled in and back out (backwards again) and we enjoyed people-watching.  We chuckled as they began to run by us.  Then it occurred to us that we did not have full view of the entire platform.  Our train had been hidden from view by the other one and it was ready to pull out of the station.  Steve and I started to run with everybody else and heaved our bags up and in.  The train was packed with skiers and kids.  Not a seat to be seen.  And the panic must have still been on our faces because they all stared as we made our way to the front of the train, helping us by and opening doors for us.  We finally found 2 seats in the first car.  We had a suspicion that they were first class but I could honestly say I didn’t see a sign.  Of course I wouldn’t have understood it anyway.  The conductor came through and I handed him our rail pass and waited to get kicked out.  He just nodded and smiled and moved on.  

I’m closing out for now.  This makes me tired just reliving it and I know you’re tired of reading it.  I’ll add more later.

Espana

I had set up this blog on the plane.  When we found out we were on the flight to Ramstein so soon, I figured I’d just delete it; our plans changed.  Some Spanish observations:

The temperature had dropped and it was pretty cool.  Of course I was dressed for the high altitude, cold cabin – long underwear, long-sleeved tee, scarf, mohair sweater, wool coat (Remember this, it will figure in later.)  I went outside to walk.  A beautiful, full Spanish moon met me and I strolled under lines of tall palms, listening to Tori Amos on the iPod.  Perfect.

I sat up all night in the terminal, what there was left of “all night”, about 4 hours.  When the sky began to lighten I went outside and saw the sunrise on my left and that beautiful full moon against a dark sky on my right.

Our fellow travelers all still slept and visited in the terminal because they had to wait for the car rental agency to open.  The agent arrived and they all cheered.  The intense British lady stood visiting with us while her husband went to claim the car.  He drove up in one of those funny little European cars in lime green.  She shouted, “No! No!  Green won’t do.  Green is unlucky.  Green is very bad luck in Britain.”  When her husband came in to claim her and the bags, she talked him into going to the agent to trade the car.  The agent said, “Nothing to fear.  Green is very lucky in Spain.”  They left in the green car.

There is no customs station on base – it is run by and located at the local police station.  So we had to hire a taxi and drive into town to get our passports stamped in case we were not able to fly into Ramstein.  The reason?  (get this)  They close on the weekends and are only open Monday through Friday from 9:00 until 2:00.  So we carried all our papers inside.  There were several very smartly uniformed policemen standing there staring at us.  One of them marched over and said 386 words in Spanish in 18 seconds.  Then he looked at us and said, “Comprende?”  Steve and I turned into Lucy Ricardo and Fred Mertz.  We stared at each other and looked back and said together, “No.”  They all motioned for us to go sit down and went in search of the official who spoke our language.  He turned to his fellow officers and said one more word in Spanish; I’m pretty sure we know how to say “idiots” in Spanish now.

After we impressed the local police, we decided to walk around a bit down by the ocean.  I was struck that I was looking at the Atlantic from the other side.  It was a pretty little town.  We had planned to go somewhere to sit outside and enjoy tapas.  However, I learned a little something about myself – 23 straight hours is my limit.  I hit a wall.  I simply could not go on.  Of course the fact that we were dressed for the arctic tundra in a sunny little seaside town probably didn’t help.

Do you know how tired I had to be to stretch out in a public airport across a row of seats?  I didn’t care.  I couldn’t go on.  Two hours sleep, a club sandwich and a cup of coffee later and I’m ready to take action and wait some more.

However, let me close with one more little travel miracle.  Our plane sat on the tarmac.  We were checked in and holding our boarding passes.  We were due to board at about 9:45.  10:00 came; 10:30 passed.  The agent walked up to the tower to find out what was wrong.  Turns out there were no crew, no call for a crew, and mechanical problems.  No flight.  She said, “It’s just not going to happen.”  Steve began to work with the agent looking at trains, flights, and a combination of the two.  Nowhere in that equation was a bed or sleep.  I sat in the back and prayed.  I asked God to send us an answer.  I told Him we were too tired to do this and, if He didn’t have it in His will to rescue us at that moment, would He please send us extra strength.  We had pretty much reached the end.  About that time a young agent, the one who had originally signed us in, came up.  She had been away for a bit.  She said, “This will not happen.  The plane is sitting there; it will go.  Flights do not just disappear.  You have boarding passes and you are on the manifest.”  She told us to continue to try to make other plans; meanwhile she got on the phone.  When she hung up, she said, “The flight will take off at 4:00 and you will be on it.”  The other plans would have cost us well over $400.  God is good.

En Route

Sitting in an air force terminal, I look around and I see two groups of people – retirees and soldiers, many of them, two busloads in fact.  They are headed for Ft. Bragg, North Carolina and most of them are young.  Some look nervous, some make an effort to look cool and unconcerned, and some small groups are clustered and talking.  I am amused at first to see so many of them; then it occurs to me that they are all carrying rifles and I have to wonder if any of them may have to use them.

Almost immediately I become aware that I belong to the second group.  And if anyone asked the young soldiers who was in the terminal, they would answer, “ah, just a bunch of old people.”  I consider getting my feathers ruffled, but then I reason that the young folks are off to serve and we’re off to play.  Happy seniors retired and seeing the world!  One couple is trying to get to Spain to attend the wife’s family reunion there.  

It’s early morning on Thursday, March 8^th.  When we checked in on Wednesday night, we found out that a great many people want to go to Ramstein, Germany!  And there were only six seats available.  As retirees, we’re very low on the totem pole.  Active duty is a higher grade.  With a family of five active-duty, there wasn’t much hope unless they released more seats.  So here we are, waiting on Spain once again.

We don’t have to wait long.  When they begin roll call, I’m back in second grade waiting for my name to be called for dodge ball.  Will I make the team?  Turns out there are more seats than people waiting to go; so it’s not an issue.  Still, I’m relieved when Steve and I are called first.  We go through the check-in process, just like a commercial flight.  We agree to take the box lunch since the flight is 8 ½ hours long and there is no snack or beverage service.

I look around the preboarding area.  There are only 9 of us and we are all retired.  A British woman comes near and begins to inquire about our plans and to offer suggestions about what to do when we get to Spain.  Another woman, the one going back home to Spain for a reunion, overhears her and moves over excitedly, joining in.  The conversation moves to Spanish and British history, particularly the royals, and both ladies keep jumping in with even more enthusiasm.  At this point, I’m just sitting quietly watching the verbal and facial tennis match with great enjoyment.  Both women have very heavy accents and, one on one I can understand each of them.  But trying to understand them both gives me a preview of what I am about to face.  And they are speaking English!

We board a bus to come out to the plane, the very large plane, and we march in the back door one by one.  I am amazed.  Imagine a huge airplane, completely hollowed out.  Look up and you see the round of the top about twenty feet above.  As we walk around the cargo, shrink-wrapped and strapped onto pallets down the center of the plane, there is our luggage, also stacked and strapped together.  And our seats wait along the side.

The noise is already enough for us to use the ear plugs we’ve been given.  A crew member in camouflage approaches to brief us.  It’s the standard “find the exits, fasten your seatbelt” lecture and I’m almost amused by the circumstances until they start to tell us about our flotation device (also standard).  I sit up and pay attention; this is no small body of water I’m crossing.  In addition we get briefed on some sort of plastic thingy you put over your head for oxygen in case of fume leaks.  I’m pretty sure my mom told me not to put plastic over my head.  I’m really hoping we won’t have to use that one.

So here I sit, only three hours into the flight and having gone through most of my nifty box lunch.  It was a regular treasure trove of sunchips, nutri-grain bar, sandwich, Dr. Pepper, water and Snickers.  I’m a little worried.  Not about the food – of course I have more in my sling bag.  But I have already finished the soda and most of the water and I have almost six hours to go.  Ah well, I won’t miss the bathroom breaks.