TRAVELING AROUND THE WORLD: Our Tales of Delights and Disasters (11 page)

There are also more processed foods here. They were overseas as well but not as prevalent. I had to laugh at the “healthy” snack bar we were given on the plane. The wrapper, covered with photos of fruit, read, “Natural flavors with other natural flavors.” Mike finished reading the sports pages to discover that they were filled with basketball and baseball news. Soccer was relegated to a portion of the last page and rugby and cricket had been thoughtlessly omitted all together.
Imagine!

I’ll adjust and it’ll seem normal again, although I’m not sure that I want some of this to be “normal.” We have flown over the Alps, the Mediterranean, the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, the coast of Australia and New Zealand, and the Pacific Ocean. Now, from the plane, I look below as Arizona and New Mexico pass by and Texas looms ahead. I know I’m home. I know I’ll be glad. I know I’ll love being with friends again. It will just take a little time to adjust to this familiar but now foreign country. For now, I look forward to iced tea, TexMex and barbeque. I just hope our passports work in Texas.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Boogie Back to Texas

We walked off the plane in Austin to feelings of surprise and familiarity. There, across from our arrival gate, was Salt Lick Barbecue. A neon sign read, “Asleep at the Wheel” (my favorite Texas music group) and the shop next door sold tee-shirts in UT orange that blared, “Don’t Mess with Texas” (for those who don’t know, this slogan was part of a litter campaign slogan started by the Texas Department of Transportation decades ago). All this made my head spin. Downstairs, waiting for our luggage, I felt like a stranger in my homeland. My yoga top and pants – my standard travel uniform – seemed out of place among the jeans and boots. Outside gigantor pick-up trucks claimed happy travelers.

Our own gigantor pick-up truck claimed us. George was waiting outside in his new Dodge Ram pick-up with the extended cab and full-sized bed. It was huge! We saw him approaching with my mother’s tiny head just visible above the dash. We stowed the luggage in the bed of the truck and scrambled into the cab. Off we went for the familiar drive home to Smithville. But first, I had a very important date.

We stopped for lunch in Bastrop at the Guadalajara restaurant. As we sat, chips and salsa appeared before us.
Perfect.
Next was a Texas-sized glass of iced tea.
Perfect.
A long-awaited lunch of TexMex followed.
Even more perfect.
Over the course of five days, my dear husband humored me. He ate tacos at four different Mexican restaurants, sometimes having Mexican food for both lunch and dinner. (He was lucky to be spared breakfast.) I had enchiladas, tacos, tamales, rice and refried beans (cooked in bacon fat).
Yuuuuum
! And, of course, we had barbecue beef and sausage, too, from Zimmerhanzel’s. Also, my mother hadn’t felt well and lost too much weight so I sacrificed myself by accompanying her to Dairy Queen where we split milkshakes or ice cream.

With all this food, I looked forward to running through town. Smithville is small (about 3,500), and it’s laid out in a grid, making it easy to run up and down the tree-shaded streets. I refreshed my memory of the houses, yards and, well, life. The wood-frame houses with big porches and rocking chairs are painted in sherbet colors or deep mossy greens. Many have tin roofs that make comforting sounds in the rain. Pecan trees were budding and red-bud trees were just showing their pink blooms. Bluebonnets were beginning to blanket the roadsides. As I ran, glimpses of life poked out. There were two little boys in their pajamas throwing paper airplanes in the yard. A woman’s voice behind a picket fence called out, “Ready or not, here I come!” Birds chirped and chortled outside our window at my mother’s house. Trying to be helpful, I decided it was time to remove the Christmas wreath from her front porch. Its red bows and festive bird nest seemed a bit out of place in March. But when I reached to grab it, a tiny, brown bird moved! The nest, it seems, was not part of the decoration but had been carefully built inside the wreath as a new home. The wreath will stay on the wall a little longer.

One of the best things about being home in Smithville is seeing friends and bumping into the people I know. It’s like – well – coming home. The day we arrived, I saw Lynn Doty at the grocery store. As usually happens to me, there is an instant recognition but delay while my brain catches up trying to come up with name, context and history. In Smithville, the context is always about where this person was in relation to me in school. In Lynn’s case, she was several years older and Lynn reminded me that she babysat me and my sister. I barely remember that but I do remember Lynn from when she was in high school and I was a grader schooler looking with envy at the grown-up high school kids. Some seemed aloof and untouchable, but not Lynn. I remember her as pretty, friendly and always smiling. She still is like that. While we were in Smithville, I ran into familiar faces at the post office, the liquor store, the barbecue place, the Mexican restaurant and shopping in Bastrop. The world keeps getting smaller but Smithville is smaller still.

A trip to Smithville wouldn’t be complete without visiting Bobbie and Robert. After our wonderful time together in France enjoying French food, Robert wanted to cook for us – Texas style. It was wonderful! As we admired their recently renovated home, we munched on two types of venison sausage, as well as javelina sausage from game shot by their son, Derek. There were kabobs with veggies, shrimp and venison (that Bobbie shot) – and those were only the appetizers! Dinner was homemade mashed potatoes, broccoli casserole, pinto beans, and salad. Then Robert grilled T-bone steaks and more venison sausage. All washed down with Bobbie’s famous margaritas, and finished off with her homemade lemon meringue pie. They outdid themselves!

It’s funny – being in Smithville again with lifelong friends after a year away brings up confused feelings. With no effort, I drop back into life here. It’s like there’s a slot in my soul where Texas just fits – or maybe, I just fit into Texas’s soul. Either way, there’s deep-seated comfort being in a place that is so familiar and with people who know me, know my family, and with whom I share a history. I open my mouth and am astonished to hear myself say, “How’r yu?” I can walk along any street and know something about someone who lives or lived there. Layers of memories flood back when I’m with my mother’s friends like Joyce, Jeannette or Silky. There’s never been a time that I didn’t know them. I become that little girl from Smithville again – for better or worse – in her jeans and tee-shirt. But at the same time, I’m that woman in the little black dress and pearls enjoying the opera at La Scala in Milan, Italy – and here’s the miracle, it doesn’t feel like pretending. Sometimes, I relish this diversity that lives inside me. Other times, it feels schizophrenic. Which life is the real one? Wouldn’t life be simpler to be one or the other? There’s never an answer. I’ll continue to live with one foot in boots and the other in high heels.

The main event was a joint eightieth birthday party for my mother and George. Mother and George have known each other every day for those eighty years. I love listening to their stories of growing up on farms during the Depression. After raising their separate families and suffering through the death of spouses, they have shared the last several years together. George is the best thing that’s happened to all of us, even though our families are very different. George’s family is large – both in number and in size. He had five kids, all of whom I’ve known forever, and his extended family seems to encompass most of Smithville. While they are many, we are few. And then there’s scale. All of George’s kids are tall – and that’s putting it mildly. I barely come up to Bubba, Andy or Stewart’s chest. I have to look up to talk to their arm pit! They may all be tall, but they and their families have swept my teeny, tiny mother into their family. George’s great grandchildren – Ryan and Will – run to her and crawl into her lap when she walks in the room.

The birthday party was held at George’s granddaughter’s house. Kristin, Allison and Katelyn made all the arrangements; Stewart, Shawn and friends cooked. This was another feast – fried fish, fried onion rings, fried fritters, fired poppers, fried mozzarella sticks, and fried potatoes (and there was grilled fish, salsa and pinto beans, too). We opted not to fry the birthday cake! Mother and George received lots of nice gifts but the best gift was to be surrounded by family and close friends who represent a lifetime of togetherness. When the time came to go home, we all laughed as Mother, Jeannette and George’s sister, Irene, grabbed their walking canes and were individually escorted to the car and carefully loaded inside. It was quite a procession! Smiling and laughing, Jeannette said, “That’s okay! Y’all be old someday, too.” I sure hope so.

By the way, as we were leaving for the birthday party, Bobbie called to say, “There’s a huge forest fire between Smithville and Bastrop, and it’s all your fault!” Our reputation for mayhem and destruction was following us!

All too quickly, George’s truck unloaded us and our mountain of luggage at the Austin airport. With reluctance and a few tears, I said good-bye to my mother and promised that I’d be back in a couple of months. In the words of Asleep at the Wheel, I’ll “Boogie back to Texas; Back to my hometown.” I can’t wait, y’all.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Gratitude

We’re home. Everyone asks, “How does it feel to be home?” Good question. How
does
it feel to be home? I’ve been trying to sort that out since we returned. In one moment it feels like Mike and I never left as we drop easily into old routines. The next minute finds me staring at a wall. What’s with that? While I puzzle over my feelings, there is one thing of which I’m sure. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. No matter which way I look or the direction my thoughts run, I come back to gratitude. The list could run to pages but here’s the Top Ten.

• We made it home safely. There were times when Mike and I weren’t sure as we left a trail of pestilence in our wake.
  

• We’re healthy. After a year without seeing doctors, our many checkups show that we’re in wonderful health. Most importantly, Mike’s cancer checkup was better than ever.
  

• Skeeter is alive and well. Our little, furry kitty almost didn’t make it. But with loving care from Wil and Siena, he is now curled up on the sofa doing what he does best – sleeping.
  

• Our home was beautifully kept. Thanks to the hard work by Denise and Ron, our home was spotless when we walked in the door. They made sure it was ready for our return.
  

• Sleeping in our very own bed.
  Enough said.
  

• My job is waiting for me. Due to the efforts of my boss, I am able to return to my job at U.S. DOT. And thanks to the hard work by the staff, my deputy and my bosses, the program has moved forward without a hitch.
  

• I’m running regularly again. After almost a year of mostly walking, I’m back running with my girlfriends – the RunHers.
  

• Spring is coming. It’s been a little chilly since we arrived, but spring is on its way. The yellow, spiky branches of forsythia are in bloom, perky daffodils look like little suns, and our purple plum tree is in full bloom perfuming the yard. Robins are hopping along the freshly tended flower beds.
  

• Our friends. Everyone was so wonderful. They have made us feel welcome and loved. I have more to say about that.
  

Here’s what our first few hours were like. I was a bundle of nerves as we walked off the plane. Mike sat by the window as we flew into Baltimore because I couldn’t bear to look. Still, from the plane, I could see the ruddy, red trees about to leaf out. After fourteen flights within six weeks, it was surreal to step into the BWI airport. Like many things to come, it was at once familiar and strange. And my tears started. Why the tears? I still don’t know – happy, sad.

Maggie and Enser and John and Raleigh were waiting for us. As we walked down the aisle of the plane, Mike said, “I see John waving!” Sure enough, there they were, waving and smiling – and John with his video camera. I collapsed into the arms of our friends and sobbed. Bless John – he sobbed with me.

They drove us home – in separate cars with our six bags and two backpacks. Maggie took the route through downtown Annapolis. It looked the same – as though we’d never left.
Odd.
How could it look the same? And that was only the beginning. Even after two weeks, I don’t know what I felt driving into the driveway of our house.
Numb.
We walked inside and there we were. Home, but not home. Everything was immaculate. I inched through the rooms with a deer-in-the headlights stare. Our understanding friends left us to our thoughts along with a bag of goodies – wine, Mike’s favorite sparkling water, cheeses, homemade gluten-free bread and more.
How very thoughtful.
They went to a restaurant to wait for us.

Mike was amazing. He was instantly a man on a mission. He raced through the rooms, already busy with hot water heaters and thermostats. He is great with caring for the house and he was back in his element. He hasn’t slowed down yet! I, on the other hand, was dazed and confused. Our home is filled with travel posters from our various trips – many of which were in France. There on our walls were images of Nice, Avignon and Antibes. I found myself standing in front of the poster of Antibes in the dining room. We bought it several years ago during a vacation in France…back when Antibes was a vacation destination. I saw it now with new eyes. Antibes is part of a different “home.” I know the streets, the restaurants where we ate with Linnea, Bobbie and Robert, the market day, and my favorite wine shop. The poster is the same but I’m different. I see with different eyes and feel new things in my heart.