Items Crossed off the Bucket List

Taking my picture in a traditional red British phone booth.

Standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Seeing the Mona Lisa in person.

Gazing up at the Venus De Milo.

Strolling among the cafes and shops of Paris.

Shopping along the Avenue de Champs Elysees.

Seeing Monet’s Water Lillies in all their glory.

Witnessing firsthand the beauty of the rose windows in Notre Dame Cathedral.

Check!

Almost Golden

Had Mama J. lived she and Papa T. would have marked their 50th wedding anniversary this December. On the way to the cemetery Saturday, Papa T. joked that she would have wanted to have a big celebration for that, and he’s right. She would have, complete with floral arrangements and matching tablecloths. But it’s like I told him, fifty years of marriage is worth celebrating. Their partnership has left me with an example of what marriage is about.


Their union was no more perfect than anyone else’s. I don’t think you can have a “perfect marriage”. It’s just too hard to work through the day to day of raising a family and sharing a home without some bumps along the way, but their marriage was unique in that Papa T. knew at an early age he would go blind as an adult. Mama J. knew that when they got married and agreed to support him when he eventually lost his eyesight. Glaucoma robbed him of his dream to be a veterinarian and of caring for the family farm. He changed his college major to education, figuring he would always be able to earn a living that way, even when he lost his vision. He was right. He had a very successful career as a teacher, administrator and eventually the superintendent of a local school system. Mama J. was right there beside him the whole time, making sure he was sharply dressed, that he didn’t show up for work in one brown shoe and one black shoe and generally took care of little details that could have made him less professional in the workplace as his eyes started to fade. In the last few years, when his eyesight left him, she was still making sure he got what he needed, administering his eye drops on time and reading the newspaper to him each day. Even though she hated sports scores. It wasn’t always easy for her, especially as her health declined, but she did it. In her death, he lost his eyes and ears, and that’s going to be hard on him.

As I pondered this during my run today, it made me think about marriage in general. In the past year, I’ve gone to a few weddings, and at each one I couldn’t help but think to myself that those newlyweds had no idea what lay before them. Marriage truly is a partnership. Help mates get us through life’s ups and downs. There are good times in marriage; the birth of children and grandchildren, great vacations, home purchases and just the fun of having lively family dinners together. But there are so many hard times, too, and it’s those hard times that break or cement a relationship. A successful marriage is sharing in the good times and the bad. It’s helping your mate pick out a casket for his parent, propping them up during grief over a loved one or a lost job. It’s trimming the fingernails of your elderly father in law when your spouse is afraid of hurting him. And it’s holding your mate’s head over the toilet when the flu has taken control and wiping up the mess that comes with that. Surviving those things gives you a connection with your mate that deepens your love for each other as the years pass. Life was not always easy for Mama J. and Papa T.. Besides the glaucoma, they buried two children, two grandchildren and a great grandchild along the way. But they had many good times together, and that will sustain Papa T. in the months ahead. Those memories will prop us up, too. We’ve had several laughs in the past few days about things Mama J. said and did. One day I’ll tell you the grilled cheese story. But for now, I’ll simply ponder the time between the beginning and end of their forty-nine years together and hope to do so well.

How Quickly Things Change

It's funny how you can be on top of the world one day and in a deep valley the next.  We had been basking in the glory of our trip and rushing around trying to get back into our regular routine when devastation hit us like a boulder Wednesday.  Hubby went to Mama J.'s and Papa T.'s house Wednesday evening to take them dinner, just like he does every night, and found Mama J. dead.  We tried CPR, but she was gone by the time he found her, and the EMT's confirmed our fears shortly after they arrived.  They believe she probably had a heart attack. 

While she had not been well for a while, she certainly wasn't giving us any signs of anything out of the ordinary, and we were completely shocked by her death.  We're still in shock.  We laid her to rest today, and for the next couple of days we will try to eliminate some of the complete exhaustion we're feeling.  I haven't been this tired since I gave birth to Teen Angel. 

Our next step will be trying to decide how to best care for Papa T..  We're not sure yet how we're going to do that as we don't really like for him to be alone at any time, and we can't be with him 24/7.  I'm sure the good Lord will show us the way.  We're just trying to take it one day at a time.  This is a difficult time, especially for Hubby and Teen Angel.  Hubby and his mother were close.  Teen Angel and Mama J. shared a special bond, and TA is without one of her best friends.  It all seems so unfair.  We've had so much tragedy in this family in the last ten years.  But it's not for me to ask why.  We'll simply put one foot in front of the other, and move forward.  Your prayers are appreciated, brothers and sister.

A Few of my Favorite Things

People keep asking me what my favorite part of the trip was. Honestly, I think it was just the fact that I got to share so many neat experiences with my daughter. I think it’s one of those trips we will always remember and appreciate that we got to do it together. Even if she won’t admit that now, I suspect she will when she’s older.


As far as things we saw or places we went, I would be hard pressed to pick just one thing that stands above the rest. We squeezed in as much as possible, and I’m still trying to process it all. There was history on every corner and an ooh or ahh at every stop. Teen Angel brought back a postcard from every activity we did to give to a young friend of hers who collects postcards. On the plane ride home, she wrote on the back of each card what we did at that location and some thoughts about that activity. As she sifted through them, she said, “We did a LOT of stuff.” Indeed. We ran from early morning to late at night, trying to see all we could see. If memory serves me right, this is the list of things we did:

-Buckingham Palace tour (It’s only open in August & September. Kate Middleton’s wedding dress was on display.)
-Dinner at The Grenadier (Creator of the bloody Mary)
-Tower of London
-Westminster Abbey
-Big Ben
-Parliament
-St. Paul’s Cathedral
-London Eye (at sunset)
-Wicked Performance
-Train trip to Salisbury & Stonehenge
-Wrote our names on the wall at Abbey Road Studios
-Eiffel Tower ride to the top
-Arch of Triumphe
-Notre Dame
-Saint Chappelle
-Musee de Orsay
-Pere LaChaise Cemetery
-Musee de L’Orangee
-Musee de Louvre
-Lunch at Jardin de Tulleres
-Shopping in the Latin Quarter
-Window shopping at the Champs de Elysees (actual clothing purchases on Ru de Rivoli where it’s cheaper)
-The Catacombes
-Paris Beaches Festival
-Palace of Versailles
-Sitting on the law of the Eiffel Tower, watching the sun go down and the tower lights come on

And that list doesn’t include all the wonderful meals we had (or the theft of my phone, but that’s another post). When I look at that list I marvel at how much we were able to work in, given the long lines (thank goodness for the Paris Museum Pass) and all the subway rides in between. And can I just say Teen Angel and I are masters of the Tube and the Metro. We literally wore out those subways. It was just one adventure after another.

I have to say the most magical moment was probably our trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We arrived in Paris at lunch time last Monday via the “Chunnel” or Eurostar Train from London. We dropped our stuff at our rented apartment and immediately walked over to the Eiffel Tower. The line was terrible, and it was a loooong wait to get tickets and to eventually get to the elevators to ride to the top. As we got on the last elevator up it started to rain, and we were immediately disappointed. It was blowing light rain on two sides of the tower when we arrived at the peak, so the crowd gravitated to the two dry sides, making for a very crowded view of Paris. However, about five minutes after we got there, the rain stopped. I moved to the other side of the tower to take some pictures, and soon Teen Angel hollered over to me, “Do you see the rainbow?” “What rainbow?” She pointed behind her, and there was this big double rainbow stretching over Paris. It was glorious.

It felt like the good Lord has placed it there just for us. Of course, all of the other tourists probably felt the same way, but that didn’t change the way I felt. It was OUR rainbow. Our Paris rainbow, marking the moment we got to celebrate a bucket list item accomplished. We rode back down the elevators, feeling very satisfied.

We then walked down the street to the Arch of Triumphe, and while staring at it, we noticed other people looking in the opposite direction, pointing and taking pictures. We turned around, and there over the Avenue de Champs Elysees were TWO double rainbows. Two! Unbelievable.



Again, it was if they were there just for us. Honestly, I felt like pinching myself to see if it was real or if I was just imagining it. It was a great way to start our Paris leg of the trip.

And to end the trip, we went back to the Eiffel Tower at sunset on our last night, sat on the lawn and along with several other folks scattered on the grass with picnics and wine, watched the sun slide into the ground and the lights on the tower come one. Over and over in my mind, I kept thinking, “I can’t believe I’m sitting on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower.” Magical, I tell ya’, just magical.

Color me Exhausted

Well, we made it home safe and sound late Saturday night, exhausted but pleasantly so. We had a great trip. It was the trip of a lifetime, and we experienced many wonderful things. Especially French ice cream. Holy mother of Mabel, the ice cream from Amarino’s in Paris is to die for! As in I could have taken a bath in it.


I have so many stories to share that I don’t know where to begin, and I have lots, and lots of pictures. Exactly 959 pictures. Don’t worry, I won’t post them all (Facebook friends will eventually be able to see them all). I had to go back to work yesterday, and Teen Angel started college yesterday, so we barely had time to wash our underwear before the normal grind began again. We are still somewhat jet lagged, and we have so much to catch up on that I will simply hit the highlights in this post and share much more with you in the days to come.

A Few of our Favorite Things

The politeness of the British people (please mind the gap)

The Beefeaters at the Tower of London

Writing our names on the wall at Abbey Road Studios

The rainbow at the top of the Eiffel Tower

Sainte Chappelle

Amarino’s cantaloupe ice cream

Things we did not Like

Having my phone stolen in the Metro

Being crushed by the incredible crowds at several tourist sites and the rudeness of many line cutting tourists

The map at the Louvre (the definition of useless)

Magical Moments

The double rainbow at the top of the Eiffel Tower followed by the two double rainbows at the Arch of Triumphe

Sitting on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower at sunset watching the tower lights comes on

My first bite of Amarino’s cantaloupe ice cream

Things From Home we Missed

Hubby!

Thick toilet paper

Big bathrooms

Vegetables cooked with a dab of bacon grease with a side of buttery biscuits

Iced tea with LOTS of ice (I made Hubby stop right after we left the Nashville Airport Saturday night and get me a large iced tea.)

Again, it was a wonderful time, and I’m so glad Teen Angel and I got to share that trip together. It was an adventure we’ll never forget, including the whole mugging, stolen phone incident. I would love to return to Europe and visit several other countries, but I will admit that right now I’m glad to be home. That’s the thing about travel. It reminds you of why home is home. It’s great to be back with family, to not stand in line for anything, to DRIVE instead of riding the subway and to move at a much slower pace. Yes, we are more relaxed around these parts, and I have decided that I’m okay with that. Just as long as I can sneak out into the big wide wonderful world every now and then for a little adventure.



Bon Voyage!

The OCD Gene

Hello, my name is Hula and I’m a control freak. And my husband is holding his breath while reading this, wondering if by some miracle of God I’m about to admit that I might be wrong about something. Let it out, honey, I don’t know if I’m ready to go that far yet. It’s hard enough to admit that I have issues with control. Although, I have managed to admit to him twice in recent months that I was mistaken about something, much to his surprise. And mine. Don’t let it ever be said that I don’t try to work on my flaws. But let’s not tell him I was mistaken Saturday night when I insisted it was NOT Jim Carrey’s voice behind Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. And please don’t be jealous of how exciting our Saturday nights are around here.


Back to the control thing. I’m not sure where this compulsion comes from. I’d like to blame it on all those years I produced live newscasts and had to shoulder the blame when something went wrong in a show for which I was held responsible. But it started before that. I remember at our wedding rehearsal when the preacher asked me to come down out of the audio booth and take my position as the bride since I could not walk down the aisle and run the audio, too. Never mind that the person running the music was a radio deejay or that I had already dubbed all of the music to coordinate perfectly with all aspects of the ceremony, including my entrance which was to coincide with the final timpani crescendo of Pacabel’s Canon in D. God bless daddy for following his cue on the wedding day as missing it would have prevented us from arriving at the altar on the final notes of the song and would have made me twitch throughout the ceremony. Obsess much, Hula?

It permeates several aspects of my life. At the risk of embarrassing myself, this would probably be a good time to admit that I’ve planned my funeral and will leave strict instructions for my family on how it should be conducted ‘cause I can’t stand the thought of being put to rest with the wrong music or attitude. I would really prefer my funeral to be a celebration of my life, complete with tropical attire and leis, rather than some mopey affair with that God awful music the funeral home drags out. Insert shudder here. Which reminds me, do you think it would be tacky to have them play Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress at my funeral? ‘Cause I really think that would be a hoot. If I’m REALLY honest, I will admit that if I develop a terminal illness, I will be tempted to hold my wake before I expire so I can attend and make sure it all goes as planned. And I am well aware of how ridiculous that sounds.

I don’t remember being this way as a child. It’s not like I used to line up all of my toys in a methodical way, although I would get cranky if my Salmon Pink crayon went missing. In fact, I was quite the slob as a child, and I played with anybody and anything. My brothers will tell you I liked to run the show when it came to us playing together, but I think that was more of a “bossy big sister” kind of thing than a need to control my surroundings. I don’t remember being a control freak in high school either, although I’ve always been one to formulate a plan and follow it. I always finished my homework on time. I graduated college in exactly eight semesters, never having a class before 9am and never taking any classes that didn’t count for something. I went right to work after college and followed the exact career path I had planned, up until about age forty.

Despite a wonderful childhood with no trauma or abuse, somewhere along the way, I developed this need to control certain things. Not everything. I’m perfectly capable of sitting on a beach for a week without a specific plan of how I will spend the days. I typically don’t sweat the small stuff on a day to day basis, and don’t fret if the day doesn’t go as I thought it would. Not enough clean underwear? Okay, throw on the swimsuit and go for a swim. No cream? Use up the skim milk and live with runny Alfredo sauce on the noodles. But give me a project or an event, and I’m large and in charge. For the last few months, I’ve been in charge of training the volunteers to run the new AV system at church. Even though we’re 95% through the training process, it takes all the strength I have to sit in the pew and stay out of the AV booth in the balcony on the days I’m not scheduled to work. Seriously, it makes me very uncomfortable to not be up there pushing the buttons; even though my brain knows the importance of letting people get the blessing they want from doing the jobs they volunteered for.

And this trip to Europe? Aye, yi, yi. I’m about to drive myself crazy with the details. I did all of the planning for it, opting not to use a travel or booking agency because I knew we’d get more for our money that way and have a more flexible schedule. We should be good to go. I’ve done my research, bought online tickets to avoid lines, printed maps of certain things we want to see and printed directions for things like getting on the right Metro line from the airport to our apartment. But I can’t stop checking and rechecking the details. I think part of it is a lack of trust in booking stuff online. I called our hotel in London Friday to make sure they had the reservation I made through booking.com, and the lady at the hotel acted like I was silly for double checking. Call me crazy, but I couldn’t stand the thought of arriving at our hotel at 8am Friday after having spent hours on an overnight flight and finding out during the height of the summer tourist season that the hotel did not have our reservation. I had a big sigh of relief when I opened up my email Sunday and found a message from American Airlines telling me they look forward to having me fly with them this week. That meant one less person I needed to call and confirm they still had my reservation.

I have left our online receipts on TWO emails accounts that can be accessed from any country in case I need to print them over there. I have in hand TWO printed copies of all the receipts, and I locked our passports and Paris apartment keys in the home safe to prevent them from being lost in a theft or a fire between now and Thursday. Never mind that if we have a fire in the next two days, we’ll be staying home. I have list after list of things I don’t want to forget. Flashlights for the Catacombs, a Sharpie for writing our names at Abbey Road, umbrellas and on and on and on. I had to go through my lists Saturday and throw away the ones I don’t need any more. When I get on that plane and actually get in the sky I know I will start to relax and enjoy the trip. And I truly have tried to build an itinerary that allows us to see as much as we can while still having some flexibility to change our minds about certain things, but sister mercy I’m going to drive myself crazy between now and then. For instance, I know I will check my purse at least three times on the trip to Nashville Thursday morning, making sure I haven’t forgotten my wallet and the folder of receipts. How do I know this? Because I do it every time we fly out of Nashville on a trip. After the first check (some ten minutes out of the house), I try to make myself stay out of my purse, but I end up pretending to dig for a mint while I’m really taking a peek at my wallet. It makes me crazy that I make myself crazy. I’m going to try to be really good and not be so obsessive these next few days, but honestly, if you gave me a chip for 30 days of good behavior, I’d just be checking my purse every now and then to see if it was still there.