The Picnic

The train to Paris stayed stationary in Lille for several hours. I don't know if they ever found a doctor on board for train car #2 but they never mentioned it again. Shortly after asking if there was a doctor on board, they finally got the ok to open the doors.

After a few more hours hunger set in at full force. It was nearly 9pm by the time I got to eat.

The gentleman sitting next to me on the train and I had been talking for quite some time. He was an American like me and a genuine nice guy. He went to the front of the train and returned several minutes later with two white paper sacks and something tucked under his arm. As soon as he produced the "all day breakfast" in a sack, the bag of bread and two bottled of French white wine, he was my new best friend.

"I grew up watching old movies on TV as a kid. As crazy as this is going to sound, I've always wanted to eat a meal while on a train in Europe." I took a bite of the olive bread and chewed thoughtfully. I figured maybe I should have been more specific about that particular bucket list item. "But I must say," I chewed on the tough bread, "this olive sourdough goes quite well with the French Chardonnay."

My seating companion laughed heartily at me, and from the seat in front of us I heard an unmistakable snicker of a man trying desperately not to make it seem like he was listening in.

Several laughs and "another 20 minutes" announcements later, the meal was finished, my eyes were heavy and the conversation grew more faint. The gentleness in front of us stood up and greeted us with a smile.

"I don't know what you were saying," he confessed in an Edinborough accent, "but whatever you said to make him laugh, keep doing it. It's infectious!"

The three if us burst into laughter. Mere moments later the train. Egan to move at long last and the train car broke into applause and cheers.

While many people would be bent out of shape because of the massive delays and unlikely circumstances (one track flooded and one broke. The only open track had a train break down obit moments before we were to start out again) I have always believed in making the best of a bad situation. Laughter is key. If I can make those around me laugh, things go much smoother.

So there you have it.
I had a picnic on a train bound for Paris with laughing, charming people all around.






And just as I finished writing this one, an announcement came over the public address system. The train needs to stop again. A two hour train ride had become an adventure spanning two full days. In the end, it means that I have been traveling for THREE days!!

Here's to adventure!
(I'm holding up my plastic French Chardonnay wine bottle in a toast right now, but I will spare you the photo.)

Is There a Doctor On Board?

Flying in to London was basically uneventful, other than my excitement and enough turbulence for the lady next to me to have a white knuckle grip for the remainder of the flight about 3 hours in.

Once to London, it was a train ride to a cab to another train statin. That's where the adventures began. I boarded the Euro Star for Paris and was actually physically beginning to sway before being allowed to take my seat. Exhaustion from the many hours of traveling and so little sleep were beginning to catch up to me.

Finally on the train, I was unconscious before the train even left London. I vaguely remember waking up long enough to close my gaping, drooling maw, but not really enough to even have the strength to open my eyes. Finally, after what felt like an hour or two, my eye lids flickered.

The train had stopped on an angle. We were resting on a bend in the tracks somewhere before Lille, out in the middle of the French countryside. There was some traffic ahead they announced, but the delay would only be about 20 minutes. I admired the tiny little church in the distance as it rested on the edge of a tiny little snow drifted town, but was quickly asleep again.

An hour later I awoke to a much darker landscape, but only a darker version of what I had previously been looking at. We had not moved.

The traffic ahead had gotten bad I guess. Somehow I managed to nod off once more, and when I woke up we were at a station in Lille, France.

"Ladies and Gentleman," the first train manager said, "we are still talking to the station master about letting us open the doors here for any of you who choose to exit in Lille. Hopefully we will continue our journey to Paris soon." The best I could figure, a 2 hour train ride was quickly becoming 10 or so. Still, I was on my way to Paris, so who was I to complain? Things could be worse.

The second train manager had an announcement next. He began in French but after a moment shared the translation.

"Ladies and Gentleman, if there is a doctor or physician on board, can you please report to cabin #2 please? Again, is there a doctor on board? Please report to cabin #2 quickly."

Yeah, things just got worse for somebody else on the train. I am very glad I am a patient person.

It's now 9pm and by the best I can figure I've been traveling for two days on two meals and two hours of sleep. However, I'm in France and could almost walk to Paris from where I am. Almost.

Since there is still snow on the ground out there and my warmest coat was a leather motorcycle jacket, I think I will just wait for the train.


I just hope the doctor makes it on time.

Small Miracles

This has been the weekend to remember, and believe me it's not over yet.

While in church yesterday (and anyone who knows me will understand that sentence alone is no small miracle) I spoke with an interesting character. He believed that it was a small miracle that men learned to always have half-full lungs. He said it was a learned defense mechanism. When a woman asked if a particular clothing choice "makes her arse look fat" a man is doomed of he must first inhale before he answers. He believed the half full lungs were a small miracle.

Michael, my boss and close friend, normally isn't accompanied when he goes to church. He goes alone and does the audio mixing. He enjoys the service, but he never has his own company with him. This time was different. Some sort of small miracle granted him not one, but two companions for the Sunday service.

Another small miracle would have to have been that for the first time in quite literally months I haven't had to wake up to an alarm clock even on the weekend. Saturday was spent doing laundry, picking up a thing or two at the dollar store, visiting with people I otherwise never get to see on the weekends and generally just remembering what it's like to have a day off and nowhere to be but doing whatever I liked. It felt like a miracle.


Now, here I sit in a Boeing 777 winging my way toward London, where I will catch a train to (drum roll please)........PARIS.


Aaah, Paris!!

I've dreamed of this day for as long as I can remember. I've always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower in person, touch the ancient walls of Notre Dame, stare into the dark waters of the River Seine, travel the Champs-Élysées, see the Arc de Triomphe, grace the face if Napoleons tomb and enjoy a true baguette at a sidewalk cafe in Paris!

I never thought I would actually get to go. In fact it was exactly one year ago today I wanted desperately to make a daring escape from Scotland but couldn't catch my secret flight home because of a severe kidney infection, in no small part due to the trauma endured in the care of someone I expected to trust when I got there. In the end, all I wanted was to go home and never set foot on foreign soil again.

A friend of mine went to Paris while I was in Scotland last year and again over the Christmas holiday. I admit I was jealous. I never really thought I would get the chance. It was a bucket list item, but one I never expected to come to fruition after I got back in June of last year.

Yet, due to the small miracle of knowing one generous and amazing person, here I find myself winging my way to London, where a train ticket awaits me at the station in order to take me to Paris.

I sit here on the plane, unable to sleep due to the excitement, wanting to scream out in joy. I truly never thought this would happen or I would see this day. I expected to go to my grave as an old woman, having never seen Paris, dying a penniless old maid, known only for never having been a success at much of anything. How many times do I have to prove myself wrong?

If I can go to Paris in March less than a year from the Scotland escape, any miracle is possible.

Wounds can heal. Hearts can mend. Life can go on. Goals can be reached and dreams can come true.

All I have to do....is believe.

I Can't Do It

Here's a crazy story for ya - and believe me I'm far from comfortable with telling the story - but if I'm going to put it all out there, this goes along with the territory I suppose.

I won't mention names or places or fault or blame. It's in the past and it's time to let go of it and move on. It's hard to do. I've tried before. Just a couple years after I learned to deal with one horrible memory, I was suddenly, violently reminded of another. I was a grown woman before I truly remembered either event, but I was 27 when I was reminded of the worst one by a face from the past.

It's one of the hardest things to write. I can't seem to force my hands to spell the words I need. Never am I at a loss for words when I sit down to write. Writers block is a foreign concept to me. I've been very blessed that way. But even though I know what I want to say, what I NEED to say, I can't seem to force myself to say it. I had horrible things done to me when I was young and I never told anyone because I was too afraid of what people would think of me. I never wanted to be the victim and have people feel sorry for me, but all I did by not telling someone about what had happened was victimize myself. Even now as I struggle to find the words, I fear the pitty I know some of you will undoubtedly feel for me - but DON'T! Do not pitty me, it was I who refused to tell and I who will be found at fault.

No less than a half a dozen times now I've sat back in the chair and wondered how to proceed. I want to tell the world, and yet I don't. I want to let go of everything painful in my past so that I might begin to do something about the self-destructive road I've put myself on, and I think at this point writing is far more therapudic than talking to a therapist for me. If I'm going to tell a stranger everything about me, why not tell the world??

When I was 4 years old someone pulled me behind the bushes not far from my own front door and did things they shouldn't. They even brought a friend. Until some bizarre series circumstances revealed this in my memory, I had completely blocked it out. I remembered at 26 years old. It was an incredibly traumatic, sudden realization for me. I cried for days. Once the memory started, it didn't stop. I remembered the details, like the branches of the bush scratching me on the arms and legs and my mother later asking why I was so scratched up. I remember telling her that I was playing in the bushes and her eyes grew wide. She told me never to go back there again - but it wasn't the last time I was pulled back behind the bushes. It happened many more times after that. I never told.

Again I find myself sitting back and staring at the screen, knowing full well that I have done all but state the fact and I know I can't force myself to. My hands are shaking and my mind is reeling. What have I done in starting this post? What have I done? I'm meant to let go of the past, not let it control me as it seems to do. It's controlled me so often and so much - and I never even remembered any of it until I was 26 years old. Yet it's played a vital part of why I'm such a horrible person. Still I'm afraid to tell anyone. We were only children, all of us. I should have run away. I should have told. But I didn't want anyone to get into trouble so I lied. I pretended like I was fine. I wonder if I ever will be.

I can't do it.

Honestly I just said those words right out loud between sobs. I can't do it. I can't even now tell anyoone about what happened all those years ago. I don't know how. I'm sure anyone would be able to figure it out by now, and it's a shame I've put so much time into writing this because I doubt now that I will ever have the courage to post it... and I haven't even mentioned the second time - when I was nearly a teenager.

Belgian Malinois Soldiers - Abandoned?

NO SOLDIER LEFT BEHIND...

EVEN OUR FOUR LEGGED ONES.

My friends at G.R.A.C.E. Animal Rescue have come to be made aware that 10 Malinois soldiers are going to be retired and left overseas. Their handlers are heartbroken over it. The cost to send them back is too great for the military to warrant the spending for "just a dog" or ten.

These dogs need (and deserve) to be brought home.

BRING OUT SOLDIERS HOME!

Contact G.R.A.C.E. Animal Rescue today for adoption or donation information.

Write Them:
G.R.A.C.E. Animal Rescue Inc.
531 Main Street #229
El Segundo, CA 90245-3060

Call Them:
(310) 488-9403

Email Them:
graceanimalrescue@gmail.com


Facebook Them:
On Facebook, HERE


Donate to Them:

THANK YOU

From the bottom of our hears.

Three Trees

This beautiful story was emailed to me today by a friend and blog reader. It was so touching that I felt it was necessary to share it.

I also wanted to thank everyone for the kind thoughts, messages, calls and reaching out. I am ok. I just have to deal with a few things within.

And a special thank you to my friend who emailed this story to me. It touched my heart and brought me to tears as I read it aloud to my boss.


Thank you.

Once upon a mountain top, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up. The first little tree looked up at the stars and said: " I want to hold treasure. I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I'll be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!" The second little tree looked out at the small stream trickling by on it's way to the ocean. " I want to be traveling mighty waters and carrying powerful kings. I'll be the strongest ship in the world! The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women worked in a busy town. I don't want to leave the mountain top at all. I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me they'll raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world.

Years, passed. The rain came, the sun shone and the little trees grew tall. One day three wood cutters climbed the mountain. The first wood cutter looked at the first tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining ax, the first tree fell. "Now I shall make a beautiful chest, I shall hold wonderful treasure!" the first tree said.

The second wood cutter looked at the second tree and said, "This tree is strong. It's perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining ax, the second tree fell. "Now I shall sail mighty waters!" thought the second tree. " I shall be a strong ship for mighty kings!"

The third tree felt her heart sink when the last wood cutter looked her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the wood cutter never even looked up. "Any kind of tree will do for me." He muttered. With a swoop of his shining ax, the third tree fell.

The first tree rejoiced when the wood cutter brought her to a carpenter's shop. But the carpenter fashioned the tree into a feed box for animals. The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold, or treasure. She was coated with saw dust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals. The second tree smiled when the wood cutter took her to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing ship was made that day. Instead the once strong tree was hammered and awed into a simple fishing boat. She was too small and too weak to sail to an ocean, or even a river, instead she was taken to a little lake.

The third tree was confused when the wood cutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard. "What happened?" The once tall tree wondered. "All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountain top and point to God..."Many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night, golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feed box. "I wish I could make a cradle for him." Her husband whispered. The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and sturdy wood. "This manger is beautiful." She said. And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the old fishing boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out into the lake. Soon a thundering and a thrashing storm arose. The little tree shuddered. She new she did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through the wind and the rain. The tired man awoke. He stood up, stretched out his hand, and said, "Peace." The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun. And suddenly the second tree knew he was carrying the king of heaven and earth.

One Friday morning, the third tree was startled when her beams were yanked from the forgotten wood pile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man's hand to her. She felt ugly and harsh and cruel.

But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy beneath her, the third tree knew that God's love had changed everything. It had made the third tree strong. And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God. That was better than being the tallest tree in the world.

The next time you feel down because you didn't get what you wanted, sit tight and be happy because God is thinking of something better to give you.

Sent from my BlackBerry® by Boost Mobile

Reconnecting

While at the Animation Awards I ran into an old friend I hadn't seen since 2006, and while it was good to see this old friend, having a conversation with him brought up some old memories.  I began to realize how much I've changed since then... Some for the good, but mostly not.

I was an idealistic kid with more hopes and dreams than brains.  I knew that I was destined for bigger things.  I planned to make a great name for myself by the age of 30 and determined to get married to the man I thought was the love of my life.  He and I had just bought a home and we planned to build on it.  College was a short term goal.  Virtue and innocence were still a big part of me.

Since having that conversation and remembering who I was, I've taken a long hard look in the mirror.

I'm far from being that 20-something kid now.  I've been bashed upside the head with reality several times since then.  Most of the hopes and dreams I had back in 2006 disappeared long ago, along with my uhaul trailer.  These days I have no idea what I'm destined for or where I'm going.  I don't know how I'll get there and the man I thought was to be 'the one' was gone even before my idealistic vision.  There's someone in my life now, but I'm living in an apartment with roommates and college is farther away than ever.  I've lost that innocence.  I've lost my dreams.  I've lost my goals and hopes.  Somewhere along the way, I forgot who that 20-something person was.  She's a stranger to me.

We all have good and bad days, but I have to admit that when I looked in the mirror, I didn't really like what I saw. 

It may be about time to change that.

I'll never get my innocence back.  I'm not going to be headed back to school anytime soon.  Those hopes and dreams I had are dead now.  But I can change something within my life - at least enough to reconnect with myself.  That was quite a wake up call for me.