No Room to Contain It

Last year was the year from Hades.

It was the year of non-stop work. It was the year of the illness of death. It was the year of no travel, no theater, no sunlight. It was a year for questioning everything I hold dear, wondering if the path I was taking really, truly was the right path (it was). It was a year of hard won recovery after some rather emotionally abusive relationships. It was a year. of. trial.

(There were some good things too. But, not going to lie, I wouldn't relive it.)

In the back of my mind, the storyteller part of my mind, I knew that if I survived the year with faith and hard work and determination, then sometime it would all pay off. The dearth of theater. The lack of travel. The frustration in feeling so lost with who I was and my place in the universe. So I kept going. Worked hard. Bit the bullet of endless responsibility. Fought for what I believed in and came to new understandings about myself and others. Overcame weaknesses. I left 2011 battle scarred and exhausted, but triumphant.

I knew it would pay off, I just didn't expect it to pay off quite this much.

I don't just have one potential show to be a part of this year - I have at least three. And I know for sure that two of them are going to work out.

I won't be going to England like I wanted to, but I will be going on a fantastic trip to the Southeast - Williamsburg, Charleston, Savannah, and Orlando. It's a part of the country I've always wanted to see but never had the chance. Now's my chance.

I am still busy with school and business running, but business running is paying off (literally and metaphorically) in fantastic ways. Plus, as an added bonus, I get to stay at the same school next year instead of moving schools (again), and I'm ecstatic. I love my school and my coworkers and (nearly all) of my students. And, what's also nice, is they seem to like me too.

I am not perfect, but I am learning to be more accepting of where I am in the world and the path I am on. I am striving to do the right thing. Even if my "right" seems strange compared to the "traditional" path people take, I am confident that the Lord knows what He's doing. I feel, for the first time in a long time, peace with myself.

And, best of all, I will be able to go to the temple. I have dreamed and prayed and begged for that chance for so long, and finally the Lord agreed that now is a good time. As a person who generally prides herself on her skills in hiding emotion, at least when it's of the sappy and personal variety, I am quite sure that every time I think of this particular blessing, my cup overflows again and I feel more gratitude than my eyes can contain. 50 days. 50 days and I will be there. With friends and family that I love.

Life is good, friends. I feel as though I understand just a little bit of what the Lord talks about when he says he will bless us and there will not be room enough to receive it. I find myself so full of gratitude that I almost feel guilty, knowing that there are so many other people in the world to bless who have overcome so much more than just working hard, or people who are still struggling with no end in sight - but I'll take it. I'll take it and enjoy it with every ounce of my soul I can spare so that when another 2011 comes around, I'll be ready to tackle it too.

Patriotism

(Photo courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons)

It was a Sunday afternoon in mid June, 2007. I had been traveling through England for the last two months, living a dream. Two months of hiking and sheep and cadbury and trips to the West End had stopped a few days before and I was missing my friends terribly, wishing to be back in London instead of in France, which was crowded and not nearly as pretty as I wanted it to be. All the same, I wasn't ready to go home. A few more days and I would be back in America, biding my time until school started again in the fall, working at a temp job at my dad's company doing data base entry. After a summer spent hiking approximately 25 miles a week, sitting at a desk and staring at a computer screen doing mindless work sounded like torture. I was not looking forward to going home.

The weather mirrored my mood. It was sticky and raining like mad, limiting my ability to explore the beach. I stayed instead next to the seemingly unlimited rows of grave markers honoring those who had died on June 6th, 1944, ready to cover my head with my jacket and run for cover if (and when) the rain started up again.

Sure enough, I had only enough time to take some pictures before the downpour started again. The closest escape from the rain was a monument honoring American soldiers. I dashed toward it and stood underneath part of the monument where a map was displayed, depicting the battle. There were about twenty people there total - all American and (mercifully) speaking English. It was a strange kind of relief to have the luxury of eavesdropping again.

I looked at the map and back out at the rows of gravestones and wished that I felt something. I understood logically the reverence of a place like Normandy, but my England loving heart had never really understood the diehard patriotism of being an American. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy my country and I was certainly grateful for the freedoms I enjoyed, but I longed for the history and museums and culture of Europe, something very much lacking from my midwestern upbringing.

The clock chimed. When it had finished, the speakers around the monument started playing "The Star Spangled Banner". Almost in unison, every person standing around the monument, escaping the now drizzle of rain, turned and placed their hand over their heart to listen. All conversation stopped. I looked around at the group and then up at the monument, out at the graves, and back to the group, suddenly very honored and proud to belong to the country that I did. It was the first time that I ever remember feeling truly, honestly patriotic.

I don't think that my country is any more perfect than others around the world; and we do suffer from a severe lack of decent chocolate (though with Magnum Bars on sale now, maybe times are changing) - but I do honor and respect the freedoms that we have been given here. There is something truly wonderful about belonging to a country that was built with that purpose in mind. Though a large chunk of my heart will always belong in England, I can still say that I am proud to belong to this country.

Happy Fourth.

O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand, Between their loved home and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: "In God is our trust" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave, O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Stamp in my Passport

If you've been following my blog over the last few months, you'll have picked up on a bit of summery angst from my corner. For at least the last ten years my summers have involved world travel or theater or both, and this year it involves neither. The farthest distance I am likely to travel this summer is roughly three hours by car. Not terribly exciting compared to the last few years. Big bummer.

But I'm determined not to be battered down by this. The next few months of my life have a few significant changes in store for me that will provide me with the ability to, if I wish, take a fantastic trip wherever I wish to go next year. With any luck, it will look something like this:

I'll get together with my closest friends. We'll buy a ticket to, say, Dublin on June 1st and a ticket from, say, Berlin on June 30th. Or maybe later than that. I'll arrange for a place to stay in Dublin and . . . no where else. We'll just go wherever the wind takes us that sounds like fun. Typically my stress levels would be way too high to travel that way, but I'm feeling ambitious and impulsive and I have the mad desire to go to approximately EVERYWHERE. (With special emphasis, as always, on my beloved UK. . .)

Stourhead Gardens, Tuscany, Tyrol

Tintagel, Sherwood

Salzburg, Schiltach (Black Forest)

Kensington Gardens

Amsterdam, Loch Lomond, Oxford

Grasmere, Edinburgh, Cork County

(Dirty, smoky place that it is, I can't wait to leave it. . . )

My overall assessment is summed up quite nicely by Fanny Thornton of North and South fame. Parts of Dublin were lovely, and other parts reminded me quite nicely that it is a city to be enjoyed by smokers, drinkers, and "loose women" so to speak. Nice little virginal Mormon women enjoy Dublin in a way that is unlike the way that most other people enjoy Dublin. It was a very nice city that I don't miss is all. If/when I go back to Ireland, I think I'll make time for some of the other cities as well.

The saga that is getting to Edinburgh would take several pages to do justice to, so I'll fill you in on the most important points and let you fill in the blanks:

1. If you book a ticket for the 19th of July, you won't be able to fly on the 9th (Asenath may or may not have been left behind in Dublin overnight. No worries, she's here now.)
2. If you put your hair up with bobby pins, you set off metal detectors and have to be searched (me.)
3. If you put your hair up with bobby pins and you set of metal detectors and have to be searched, then you will probably also lose your ticket in the process.
4. If you lose your ticket, then walk up and down the terminal, go to the bathroom, and continue walking up and down the terminal, then you will probably return to your chair only to feel said ticket slide down your jacket arm (. . . still not sure how that happened)

Point?: We're all in Edinburgh now and excited to go explore the city. With any luck, nothing else will happen and we'll all make it safely to Keswick tomorrow.

Abort! Abort!

I just got back from a family vacation in Mexico early this morning. One thing I love most about my family is that we leave our vacations on good terms and still loving each other. Some families leave trips like this bitter enemies for the next two months until time and space start healing wounds. We're all so good natured that (usually) when things start imploding (or exploding) we just chuckle at the irony and chock it up for something to laugh at later. It's how the Dayleys travel.

One thing I noticed on this particular trip, though, is that plane travel seems to be kind of subtly reverting back to a very Titanic-esque order of business. At least on US Airways. For example, only first class is fed anything. The rest of the commoners have to pay more money to get a drop of water. I wonder if this still applies to screaming babies/airsick passengers.

Airsick passenger in Coach: I'm not feeling very well. I'm pretty sure I'm going to vomit into one of your pathetically small little bags if I don't get some ginger ale into my system soon. Do you have any. . .

Stewardess: Well, Sir/Ma'am, I would be happy to serve you whatever drink you like if you could give me $2. Then I will give you a US Airways commemorable Dixie Cup full of ginger ale to settle your upset stomach.

APIC: But I don't have any cash. Everyone knows that it's stupid to carry cash these days, and even if I did have cash it would probably not be $2 worth.

S: Well, I'm sorry Sir/Ma'am but our guidelines are quite clear - we are not allowed to serve beverages to coach class without a small fee under any circumstances.

APIC: You would prefer that I vomit all over your carpet?

S: Of course not Sir/Ma'am. But for a small fee we could upgrade the status of your complimentary vomit bag. We now provide them in three sizes and colors, as well as scented and unscented options . . .

APIC: But I don't have any money. You're going to have to clean all this -

S: Unfortunately, stewardesses are only in charge of cleaning up messes of any kind in First Class. If you would like me to clean up your vomit, I would be happy to do so for an additional $20. . .

All right. This is a small exaggeration, I admit. But only a small one.

Here are some other great things I saw on my way home yesterday:

1. There was so much humidity in the air in Puerto Vallarta that the plane we boarded was smoking. Seriously. It looked like they'd put dry ice into all the vents. I half expected to hear some kind of creepy music over the vents. I asked the stewardess about it and (after paying her a few quarters for her time) she told me that it was just the condensation and that there was no need to be worried. Very reassuring.

2. There was a woman walking around the Phoenix airport yesterday wearing something that looked like an old Shirley Temple costume (the short, ruffly tap dance skirt variety), pink cowboy boots, and sporting a fro. A big, curly, blondish fro. Amazing. I love people watching. Thank you to that woman, wherever she is, for brightening my day.

3. We waited on the tarmac in Phoenix for an hour (after an hour delay for weather) because the mechanic had to come check something before we could go. The crew did nothing to inform us as to why we were being delayed, so finally after about forty minutes, I asked. I was informed (after spotting her another couple of dollars for her time) that we were waiting for a mechanic to come and sign some paperwork. Apparently, one of the three bathrooms on the plane was out of order. We were still allowed to fly even if the bathroom was not functioning, we just had to have the mechanic come, confirm that the bathroom was broken, sign a paper confirming this fact, and then we would be allowed to go.

I'm being serious.

We waited for an hour for a signature.

Rest assured, though. All class distinction was maintained. The two or three people in first class were guaranteed exclusive use of their bathroom, and the fifty or so of the rest of us had to argue for time over the hole in the back. Phew!