A work in progress...
PART UN
While preparing for the journey is sometimes a fun experience and most assuredly the heightened sense of anticipation is exciting and wonderful, sometimes the journey itself is a lot like driving cross country in a '65 Dodge Dart station wagon with a kid kicking the back of your seat saying "are we there yet?" for the next thousand miles or so.
It's a bit wearing.
I must wonder if it's something in my personal genetic makeup that compels me to be involved in adventures in travel: getting lost, repacking and unpacking and repacking again, finding out that everything isn't quite as it seems on the map that I can't really read anyway? It kind of makes me echo Dorothy Gale "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto".
In my case, we are not in Alabama anymore and for the life of me, I don't know who is in charge of this flying umbrella. The day had started with such promise...
Sunday night, we made some extremely late night excursions to transfer bank money to ensure that no checks would bounce and no electricity would be cut off. Then, after returning home and discovering that Kari's clothes for the plane ride out of Huntsville were back at her house, we had to load up again and make a clothing run so that she wouldn't be arrested for public nudity on the flight. Although, that really would have been sort of funny since she is always such a good example...I can hear the phone call to Daddy now... "Daddy, this is Shelley, yeah, uh, we need bail money. DAAAAAADDDDDDYYY!!! It is NOT ME this time...it's KARI!!!" He would have a hard time believing it since Beth and I are both on the officially sanctioned "problem child" list. Eventually, when all the evil laughter subsided and Kari's tearful voice begged for both his clemency and his money, she would be out.
But it didn't happen. DANG IT! It really would have been sort of cool.
Instead, we ran to get the clothes she needed and got back to my home early Monday morning for a 'refreshing' two-hour sleep [NOT!]. This confusion kept circling in my head all while I pretended to sleep as I kept an eye on my watch until the alarm went off.
Then, filled with the confidence that the day would proceed with no major hassles, we proceeded and figured the troubles were over.
Remember that phrase about the calm before the storm? Red sky at morning, sailor take warning!!
Monday morning, the alarm sounded at the cheerful time of 3:30 a.m. for an excruciatingly long day. Let it be said here that I DO believe in miracles. There were too many of them to balance out the potential disasters for me to deny God's hand in our journey.
We hopped into the car with Beth and Pete after stowing out luggage in the trunk and headed into the flight departure lane at the airport. Beth kissed him and we told him goodbye from his 'polygamist wives'. I'm not sure how he takes that, but anyone who is willing to chauffeur a car full of women anywhere at an ungodly hour, but more especially those kind of women who travel 2,000 miles to participate in race events, should at least get a nomination for sainthood because we're nuts.
We checked in and started the adventure full of faith and confident in the knowledge that the adventure was going to be great.
Faith is a such wonderful thing. Misplaced faith... not so much.
The first leg of the flight was a little precursor for what was to come. We flew toward Dallas and the the Big D airport and hit a little turbulence on the way. No big deal. Turbulence while flying is just part of the ride sometimes. But when you are excited about the journey, you ignore little warning signs... to your peril sometimes.
We were wheels up and wheels down from Huntsville to Dallas before our seats could really get warm and arrived at the Big D airport. We disembarked and hopped on the little tram to get to our connecting flight. We were merrily going through the airport with carry-on luggage in tow and singing 'Viva Las Vegas' while trying not to think about the ads for male enhancement products.
That is just another disgusting example of how advertisers can really ruin a good thing. Does anyone really believe that Elvis Presley needed that stuff? Or would admit it if he did? Or worse yet, SING about it??? Now come on, people!?!?! Not the King!!
When our departing flight from Dallas to Las Vegas was called, we boarded for the trip to Sin City. Notice how Las Vegas sounds charming and alluring? The moniker Sin City just tells it like it is. If all the bad stuff in the world belongs to the devil, turbulence is his favorite plaything and Vegas is his playground.
We flew into a level of turbulence that rocked us and bounced us a bit and made me more than a bit queasy. I'll confess that I am not a great flyer. I have flown here there and all over creation and had nary a problem MOST of the time. However, the times where it WAS a problem were a real horror show for me, and I'm quite sure it was a horror show for my long suffering family members as well.
Well, this definitely fit that category for me. Kari and Beth were apparently unaffected by the turbulence, which is fine. But THEY didn't get to see the delightful show I was getting. Apparently, only included in the price of MY ticket, was a complete floor show across the aisle. I don't believe CAESAR'S PALACE or Hollywood could have provided more realistic entertainment...if you can call it that.
For the record, I handle my bouts of queasy, airsick moments by shutting my eyes and concentrating really hard on the voice of my traveling companion, who in this case happened to be Beth. She has a cast iron stomach and enjoys the turbulence. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it!
But, as we flew and bounced along, the floor show took on a decidedly more ominous tone and the results were telling me loud and clear "LOOK AWAY! LOOK AWAY! LOOOOOOOOOOOK AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" But it was too late...
Unfortunately, the 'Mom Gene' in my head kicked into action when I heard the unmistakable sound of a kid's retching turning into a violently repulsive sound. I knew for certain who was just about to toss his cookies all over the seats across the aisle.
I HAD TO TURN and check on him.
Stupid rookie Mom mistake. I know better. I knew what I was going to see. But like rubberneckers on Memorial Parkway, I had to look at the wreckage.
My own minor queasiness turned into reaching for the barf bag myself. (And NO!! I DIDN'T HAVE TO USE IT! I was, however, comforted by just HOLDING it.)
After the poor kid finished his airsickness and several airline barf bags had been deployed to make an attempt at containing it, Beth finally noticed that something was amiss and pulled out some wet wipes to pass across to the poor mother (who, by now, had a handful of disgusting yuck!) so she could clean up herself, her kid and the furniture as best as she could.
I'm just glad I didn't have to clean it up! More importantly, I'm glad that was NOT my seat for the next flight.
EEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWEEEEEE!!! GROSS!!
While the 'entertainment' blissfully came to a close, we realized that we might have a bit of a conundrum on our hands. Thanks to the storm clouds that skipped us across the sky like a stone on a pond, we bounced and then we had a problem. As a result of the excitement of turbulence, the flight was late getting to Vegas.
Just a smidgen.
If you think of one hour as a smidgen.
Because the flight was late, we missed our connection to Salt Lake City.
Since Kari had been originally booked on a later Salt Lake flight than us anyway, Beth and I had this brilliant plan that we would get there in SLC first, get the rental car, dump off the stuff at the Kimball then go back and pick her up when her flight got in.
Well, that didn't happen. Nope. No siree.
Instead, thanks to the rough weather and flight delay, we had to scramble to be put on the later flight WITH Kari. We prayed for a miracle since the flight was overbooked and crammed to the gills like a pregnant woman in her 11th month.
We prayed. We petitioned. We begged.
We got on the infamous 'stand-by list'.
It's the one granted to passengers who have missed a connection and hope for a seat in the cargo area rather than living in the airport as an eternal citizen of no-man's land. Then you hear some goombah in the flight desk cheerfully announce that "All stand-by passengers will be seated after the flight has departed. . ."
Do what???
Now, while I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, you cannot possibly get a seat on a plane that is gone. DUH!
I swear I am not making this up!
When the last passengers had walked down the hallway toward the plane, the palpable level of concern was heavy enough to crush two anxious passengers beneath the weight.
Praying continued. At last, the flight was announced for 'final boarding' and they called OUR two names to come up to the desk. Beth and I literally ran to get to the desk in mortal fear that if we were a mere nano-second late, the seats would be given to an unworthy source... okay, make that less worthy than us.
We got the LAST TWO SEATS on the plan. I was seated on the last row next to the back bathroom on the plane.
Normally that would have been a problem, but I was high on Dramamine which Beth and Kari decided I should take. (Thanks, gals! I needed it!) I can honestly say, I have never been so relieved in a while. Perhaps it was the medication setting in...after all, I did take TWO pills.
I was seated by a couple of 'multilevel marketers' who were leaving a convention to head off for a family vacation. Yeah for you. Yippee. Not interested. But I was polite.
Then I evaporated.
Literally.
Zzzzzzzzzzzz!
The next thing I remember was the reassuring voice of the captain telling us we were about to land in Salt Lake City. As I turned and looked around the cabin, I noticed the cretins across the aisle viewing the hilarious movie they had made of me on their I-Phone while I slept and snored.
I expect it to be on YouTube any day now.
I'm glad I can provide a source of in flight entertainment on this leg of the journey that was better than what MY ticket purchased. While my snoring may bring out their hilarity, at least I wasn't blowing chunks.
Whatever, people, whatever.
One day, you people will be famous (or infamous) for much worse than snoring. I could see that clearly from where I sat. They were Vegas tacky. So there.
PART DEUX
It is still Monday folks, and we figured that when the plan landed in Salt Lake City and we disembarked, we could go and collect the rental car and we'd feel like life was good and the livin' was easy. Foolish mortals that we are, we thought our troubles were over. HA! If you ever want to hear the devil laugh, make some plans...
When we arrived at the airport after a bit more exciting E-Ticket turbulence and a relatively short flight, we grabbed our gear and headed down to the baggage claim area.
This is the part where Beelzebub is shaking with laughter. We watched the light come on to say that there was luggage being dispensed only to watch every single piece of baggage circle the drain and depart in other hands.
At that moment, we made the sickening discovery that Beth's checked luggage was having it's OWN vacation without us. Apparently dissatisfied by the notion of going to Salt Lake City with us, the luggage instead went unaccompanied to Cincinnati instead. Ohio. Not near, people. Not near at all. It's not like you can just trickle over and get the bag. That's like 5 states away! Bad luggage! Bad!
A bit more than crestfallen at the frustrating development that the luggage would not be arriving soon, we headed across the drop off lanes and parking area to collect a sweet little red Chevy Cobalt. Off to the Kimball in the little red car, we planned to settle in for our week's adventures and find out more about the luggage later.
Later came and Beth called to talk to the people at the baggage claim and find out what was going on. Grabbing the car keys, Beth decided the "personal touch" was in desperate need. It was late. Make that very late.
I asked her if she wanted company. She didn't equivocate. "It's going to be ugly and I'd rather go alone."
Well alrighty then, Colonel. Give 'em hell, Harry... uh... Beth!
She returned with the luggage. I'm impressed.
I don't know how she managed to do it, but she got the job done and that's all that counts.
What a frustrating start to a momentous week! It was going to get better... right?
Right???
Hello?
Is this thing on?
PART TROIS
Tuesday morning dawned bright and early as most dawns do. After checking my email to find one from my favorite missionary son, Thomas, we got our gear ready to take on the track at Liberty Park. It was a nice morning and temperatures were good for a nice two lap plus journey. I didn't care for the rutted walking track area. The shifting bed of the track made my ankle hurt and I decided to follow the track in the grass above. Though it was uneven in some places, it helped. A little rough ground I can handle, miles of it, not so much.
Reflecting upon it, I realize that I would have been an almighty whiny pioneer... "This prairie is so uneven! My ankles hurt! Can I ride in the wagon? Are we there yet?" The other members of the wagon train would have killed me and fed me to the bears. And the bears wouldn't have wanted me out of fear of breeding whiny cubs...
When we got back in from our adventure at the park, we got ourselves cleaned up and ready to go to the Salt Lake Temple. We had family names for whom to perform proxy work and an opportunity to share in a special experience as the Three Musketeers in doing so. It just doesn't get much better.
Going to the temple is restful and a joy. The world peels off like the layers of an onion until you are able to just soak in the happiness and peace that can only be found in the House of the Lord.
The opportunity to attend the Salt Lake temple where my parents were married and sealed for all eternity is so cool. It's like stepping into the flowing stream of time to taste a bit of past, present and future in one draught. That they were here to start their own family together is a tender, emotional thing for me.
The Salt Lake temple was not the first temple ever built, nor was it the first in Utah to be complete. Construction took 40 years of diligent labor, lavish craftsmanship and privation in order to complete the work. Despite persistent myths of Mormondom that make the building of the temple more spectacular than it really is through popular but untrue stories, the temple is spectacular and amazing all on it's own without the added embellishment.
After lunch and a rest break, we headed down to Provo to the temple there. One of the joys of going to Utah for what is becoming a ritual event is that there are literally 'temples dotting the land'. We have the opportunity to pick and choose among them and take our kindred dead on a tour. It's cool to see the various temple date stamps on the cards we bring home from the temple work we've completed.
The Provo temple was packed, it was hot and the student population of BYU was well represented. So well represented in fact, that we, and a host of other folks, were relegated to the infamous "session after the session". They promised that no one would be left out. And we weren't. The photos I took outside after our session was over were taken late in the evening, but they turned out pretty well even if I did take them.
PART QUATRE
Wednesday didn't exactly get off to an auspicious start. Odd things kept happening on this trip. Some of our own make and others that just defy description. Beth woke up sickly and puny, which is most definitely NOT part of her usual nature, so Kari and I headed down to the gym to work out while we gave Beth some peace and quiet after taking some medicine to calm her illness.
After we got back upstairs sweaty and hot from the workout, Beth was thankfully feeling better so we decided to go to Ogden to the temple there to see how it looks like Provo but is very different on the inside. We also did some temple work since we made the drive up.
When we returned, we changed into casual clothes and headed over to the mall to walk around and take in the shops and the sights. As hot and sweat provoking as the day was, I sort of felt bad for the shopkeepers and those who might try on the clothes I had tried since I was certain I had left them moist in passing. We drank lots of water, but I still felt like I was running a quart and a half low.
Picking up our race packets was exciting for me. I can't speak for the others. I'm sure Beth was mentally reviewing her upcoming adventure and Kari said she was sick at her stomach just thinking about it.
I knew they would both complete their events on pride alone. You don't just show up at a distant point and decide to quit. Not this bunch of chicks!
Later, we watched the movie "Fireproof". It was a good movie and filled with all kinds of relevant ideas about how we sometimes make everything more important than the really important relationships in our lives with Jesus Christ and our spouses.
One line really got to me. It talked about how this one man was willing to charge into a burning building to save a total stranger while his marriage burned down around him. That is a powerful image to me.
When we finally settled in for the night and tried to go to bed, I had the lovely opportunity of enduring a panic attack of sorts. It's never fun to have those nights, but when I am away from home and my husband, they are worse.
I read my scriptures until I was able to hear more sounds than my heartbeat. I didn't get to sleep until about 5 a.m. Crap!
Despite a lack of sleep, on Thursday morning according to plan, we hauled ourselves out early to attend the Open House at the Oquirrh Mountain Temple. Daddy called while we were on the temple grounds to tell us that Aunt Jewel had passed away. We cried and I thought about how fitting it was that we were at the temple when he called. Aunt Jewel loved doing genealogy and wanted to do all she was asked to do to the best of her ability.
Sherri and her mom and Suzan Webber came to join us for the tour. Afterwards, we gathered ourselves up for our various other destinations and our merry group went to the Draper temple and skidded into the session with just seconds to spare. They even held it up a bit for us.
That was pretty cool - having a whole session wait on you. Of course, it's the kind of fame you might not like. "Yeah Mary Margaret, these three rednecks from Alabama and some woman from Southern Utah came to the temple and held up our session, so that's why I'm late getting here for quiche and salad."
Whatever.
Friday morning finally came. The big day. The day that all of the training would come to fruition. The day that will live in infamy... okay. It wasn't all that, but there were some nerves.
Beth was up extra early to meet her bus to the top of the mountain for her leisurely 26.2 mile jaunt to the finish line at Liberty Park. I told her the night before there was no way and no how that she would be allowed to just sneak out without having prayer and a hug. So when the alarm went off a bit after 2 a.m., I got up too. And we did have a prayer and a hug before she started off for her adventure in stamina and willpower.
A few hours later, it was time to get the other musketeers up for our events. This time, Sherri wasn't feeling well, so Kari and I headed off to be there when the balloon popped to start the race.
I swear, I'm ready to send them a starter's pistol myself! The lady who was making the announcements had a megaphone that she was just to timid to really use. It was like listening to a mouse squeaking along and never knowing what was being said. No matter how close we were, the sound was never discernable as speech.
Finally a balloon popped and the crowd surged forward and we were off to the races.
Late.
Utah standard time is apparently a reflection of Mormon standard time where people feel like they can start late and no one cares.
I care. I care because the data recording, GPS tracking watch I was wearing didn't work. It gave me lap time, but nothing else. Yeah. And when we finished, we had to find someone with a watch so we could find out what the time was and figure in the lost five minutes of mouse squeaking conversation before the starting balloons and attempt to come up with our times.
Oddly enough, when Beth arrived 5 hours, 30 minutes and some seconds at the finish line, we discovered her watch hadn't worked right for her either. Is this some Utah conspiracy? Radiation? Little green bald headed men? Or is it the peas?
In any event, it meant that accuracy and tracking was a nice idea that didn't happen. Yeah.
When Kari crossed the finish line from our event, I had gone a bit ahead to see her face. All I felt was pride! It was cool to share this event with her knowing that Kari had worked hard to prepare for it. We grabbed water and PowerAde and bananas to stuff into our faces and began our wait for Beth to come downhill in the distant future.
I knew if she came in too quick, we'd be slipping what remained of her into a goo-filled Ziplock bag to take home for Pete to reassemble at his leisure. I also knew there was a time limit that she would be totally peeved if she wasn't able to make it. So somewhere between too fast and not finishing was her ideal time.
Honestly, I had no idea how I would feel when Kari and Beth finished their respective journey's. I just knew that it would be cool. What I didn't expect was the feeling of hero worship that I felt for each of them. Kari for doing something outside her comfort zone and Beth for exemplifiying what goal setting really means in a physical sense.
It was overwhelming.
After Beth had been duly certified through her foot tag as a finisher in the time limit, I went around the barracade to hug her. If you ever want to know what it's like to hug a lifesize piece of Jell-O, go to a race day event with a marathon.
Prior to Beth's arrival, Sherri had recuperated enough to walk down to the park and join us in our wait. So the murderer's row was complete in time for the finish.
We pushed drinks and fruit toward Beth in an attempt to help her regain some of the strength she had sweated out all over the roadways of the Salt Lake Valley. Even her clothing had salt lines on them from the exertion she had applied to her goal.
Little did any of us expect the toll on her feet and toes that would be paid. Blisters and bruising were everywhere! It hurt me just to see them.
When we decided before we came to Utah to drive down to La Verkin to visit with Sherri's family, I don't think we really contemplated what that would mean. We didn't think about any aftermath of the races. Stupid people we are!
We only thought of going down and having a few relaxing days in the Dixie sun!
Uh, no.
More like aches, pains, and the inability to rise from a chair without assistance. And that was just me! Beth was hobbling around like a 500 year old woman with gout and Kari seemed relatively unaffected by her 5k.
Good thing. She may have had to piggy back us somewhere in an emergency...
We drove down to St. George after a fortifying stop at a 5-star restaurant.
No one anticipated the difference that a simple trip to Southern Utah would make...I know my life will never be the same - and it's all because of Sherri's Wal-Mart.
The SACRED Wal-Mart Bags - The objects of our affections are varied and the nature of our relationship with worship of said objects is as different as we are. While I cannot lay claim to any particular reverence for such a pedestrian object as a couple of plastic shopping bags from Wal-Mart, I must herein include the tragic tale of objectification that compelled us to bring a couple of Wal-Mart bags up from La Verkin only to find their way into our packing for the return trip.
We have more than we came with. After our quick trip to LaVerkin to visit with Sherri for a couple of days to visit, hoot and holler at Michael in a play and hang out, we managed to come away with a couple of 'must have' shopping bags that we "HAD TO KEEP IN CASE WE NEEDED THEM".
They were deemed to be 'sacred' bags because we had obtained them while at Sherri's house.
I'm not sure how a straight line developed between shopping bags and the sacred just on a visit to her local Wal-Mart supercenter, but no one can accuse any of us of being sane.
The bags traveled back up to Salt Lake City with us and are now part of the official redneck luggage for the trip.
At least they match. They both say "Wal-Mart".
What we plan to do with these special and important bags is beyond me. The nature of their use is in flux right now. Rumor has it, they will be used or carried or whatever, but they can't be thrown away because we NEED them.
Whatever.
We are packed up and attempting to sort out just how the bags will fit in to SOMEONES bag... I have a sneaking suspicion just who's bag that will become. I think my carry-on alone weighs 7,000 pounds, but because "I'm strong" Beth and Kari keep "volunteering" my bag for all of the extra sundry items that NEED to be carried...and I'm quite sure that sometime between now and flight time, when I am not looking, the 'sacred' bags will be stuffed surreptitiously into MY carry-on not only to carry apples for consumption on the flight, but I'm sure that we will manage somehow to carry home the now christened 'sacred apple cores' in the bag as well.
Remind me again why I agreed to travel anywhere but Bryce's Psychiatric Hospital with these people????
I wrote them a note just before we left out on our flight home from Salt Lake City that read:
"Dear people at the Kimball,
Beth and Kari are delusional and not to be trusted. Should you happen to see them, they can be 'baited for capture' with the tune 'Everybody Dance Now' and Wal-Mart shopping bags."
The song is easy to explain. The spiritual and kind Sherri has that as her ring tone. But since I know spirituality isn't the only side of her, it didn't come as a surprise to me at all like it apparently did to both Beth and Kari.
I've gone out dancing at clubs with Sherri so I know full well what kind of music she likes and what she listens to.
I was just sort of hoping it would ring during some spiritual time... but alas, the dulcet tones of "Everybody Dance Now" were only heard at appropriate secular moments. Dang it!
As for the Wal-Mart bags, they do beg the question, will all bags associated with Wal-Mart now be deemed sacred, or is it only those from the particular Wal-Mart near Sherri's house make the cut?
Is it because they are from her area? And if the worship is only about something from her or her area, why in the hell didn't we just kype something really nice from her house? Like a kid or two?
But I digress.
The bags did come in handy, but as I pointed out to deaf ears, we had Smith's bags, and an Albertson's bag back at the Kimball that also could have been pressed into service, but NOOOOOOOOOOO... it had to be the 'sacred Wal-Mart bags' from La Verkin.
At least I know what to give Beth for Christmas this next holiday season. I'll have Sherri pick up a flat of bags from the local Wal-Mart and she can ship them to me after they have lain in her house for a couple of days to distill the special powers that only her house and her local Wal-Mart apparently possess.
Who knew that their slogan of Wal-Mart being 'the saving place' also applied to the relative holiness of their bags?
Another moment of hilarity happened at the St. George Temple. We arrived to catch a session prior to the curtain time for the play in which Michael was acting. No big deal. Beth commented on how it wasn't like the temple in LA where you would go in and the session would be in Tongan.
Sure enough. It wasn't in Tongan. It was in Samoan... no kidding. We don't speak Samoan and neither did the German, the Norwegian and the other people for whom we were acting as proxy. We were issued 'translator receivers'.
Great! Now we can participate while those who use other languages can also participate.
Uh...not so fast, speedy.
My box didn't work reliably. I'm not sure Sherri's did either. Kari was roasting to death as the temple apparently had a sauna setting of which we were unaware. And while our malady with the boxes was going on, Beth was unable to haul her carcass around without passing her little box to me so she would be able to use her arm strength to shove herself out of her seat.
Did I mention the necklace attachment for the receivers was temperamental, to say the least?
Yeehah!
Thank goodness that things finally got done and we were making our way to the play. Except for the kindly little old lady who had a portable oxygen tank with her who was in the same dressing area as my clothing locker was.
Everyone got done long before I even got into the cubicle to change. I hate being late and I hate it when people have to wait on me!! Grrrr!
But we finally survived the adventure and went to see "Annie Get Your Gun".
It was pretty late when we got back to the house.
Time to catch some Zzzz's before Sunday!
PART CINQ
Did you ever notice how even though you are in church, it feels odd when it isn't your regular church? Well, I felt sort of out of place until the music started and I knew the hymn and just dived right in. Then all of the feelings of not fitting in just melted away.
We attended the sacrament meeting and ditched the rest so we could drive back to Salt Lake City and attempt to be rested before our Monday flight back to home and family.
Provo was our designated drop off for Sherri since her van and youngest daughter were waiting for her there after an eventful EFY. We said our goodbyes, watched Beth dance to the telephone ring tone and loaded up to complete the journey to the Kimball.
It's hard to believe the week is gone already!
PART SIX
Monday morning comes early so we won't have to rush around and possibly be late. We made a stop to gas up the rental car so they won't hit Beth with an extra fuel charge on the bill.
There is a Maverick gas station near the airport and it came at a good time. Not only a fuel pit stop, but a quick bathroom break before going through the airport lines while hopping on one foot and searching for a ladies room without attracting the attention of the airline police.
There is nothing like realizing you have entered the restroom only to be visually assaulted by graphic advertising that has nothing to do with Charmin and it's relative merits.
Elmo La Teca, where are you???
That name is seared into my memory. The restroom door and walls took care of that for me.
Apparently he is well known and much appreciated at the aforementioned Maverick gas station nearest the airport because the walls and door of the restroom facilities are hawking the 'special skills' he possesses.
Right.
Shameless self promotion, I'm sure.
I have to wonder who would brashly post their 'business' for the entire world to see and just who would think that was a good idea? Momma used to say "fools names and fools faces often show up in public places". In this case, she was right.
Mr. La Teca and his advertising graffiti left no doubt that he was his own biggest fan. Perhaps this was justified as he may well be the Maverick station's Lothario and Salt Lake City's answer to Casanova for those in the cheap seats.
I prefer more discretion.
But Mr. La Teca doesn't know the meaning of the word. Either that or he has a fan base that rivals that of the Jazz in a winning season. Apparently not everyone has the same since of style or taste.
The delightful Mr. La Teca left indicators of how to contact him and invitations that people should do just that...
Uh.. NO. I think I'll pass.
I'm more concerned about your particular chosen medium of communication than the simple advertisement of services. Surely if you are really good at what you do, you could afford a placard on a bus or perhaps a small billboard on I-15?
Again, we are brought face to face with the reality that the only people who are impressed with Mr. La Teca are numbered in single digits...namely ONE.
Mr. La Teca is his own cheering section and peanut gallery.
How thankful I am that we are leaving Salt Lake City. That kind of restroom entreaty might be hard to resist in my weakened condition.
NOT!
THE WRAP UP
Our flight out of Salt Lake City was not exactly free of incident. But this time, I only took ONE Dramamine. It still had the same effect of rendering me a 5'7" mass of denim and t-shirt clad Jell-O that lumbered through airports and gates to nod drowsily on the flights.
We had more turbulence, but the Dramamine kept me in good stead.
When we arrived in Dallas, we ate dinner at a fabulous Mexican restaurant (thanks, Beth!) and hauled and loaded our now full bodies onto the next flight to Huntsville. I could have slept on the next leg of our homebound journey on the tryptophan from the delicious food alone.
The flight was good. Homebound flights seem too long no matter how calm because we want to kiss our loved ones and pet the dog or cat in our lives...
After we landed, we went down to the luggage and people drop off and pick up area to see if "our husband" was there. Sure enough, there was Pete and Brandon who faithfully came to the airport for the sole purpose of collecting the leftovers of the trip and rolling us into the car to go home.
We loaded a few things in the car then went back in to see if the miscreant luggage was taking another side trip on it's own or if it was arriving with us this time.
The conveyer brought Kari's checked bag right to us. Then the little conveyor stopped. I thought Beth was going to say her favorite Army sanctioned naughty word right then and there.
Mercifully, the Devil was only teasing us and the conveyor hiccuped and started again bringing other luggage pieces around for our inspection.
The miscreant bag arrived and was duly snatched from the baggage carousel and we were off to our homes. I wonder...does luggage laugh? I swear this piece did!
Hugs, kisses and the love of a good dog greeted me at my house. I think Gypsy would have slept under the covers beside me if Rick would have allowed it. (Don't tell, but I would have if he didn't know about it... hee hee)
Jared smiled a sleepy smile as I hugged and kissed him. It was kind of like "Mom, cool. You are home. Now let me sleep."
Rick was happy to see me in the way that people are tired and ready for a break after having the kids all to themselves for a week. I'd say I felt sorry for him, but truthfully - I don't. The fact is, having this time to myself is a wicked indulgence I plan to continue so long as I am allowed and able to do so.
It's funny though, we start out doing this saying "I don't know if I can..." then by the end of the week, we are already planning next year.
Strange people, we mortals.
Until next time... pack light, remember that you don't have to have everything you see, and no matter how rowdy the cell phone ringtone and how tempting it is to dance with, it is no substitute for a live band.
Good night, travelers!
