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| The Four Musketeers take on Utah. No temples were harmed in the making of this adventure... |
NOTE: This is a work-in-progress type of column. As I gather remembrances from the trip, I'll post them here... hopefully on the correct date!
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Salt Lake City 2010 Trip Diary
Monday, July 19th:
Leaving early represents challenges since I don’t sleep well before any major event. This trip to Utah is no exception. Travel always means adventure and meeting new people. Sights, sounds and smells are all part of the journey.
Since Kari and Xan were on one airline's flight and Beth and I were on another one, we said our goodbyes to each other at the Huntsville airport until we met up again in Salt Lake City. Their plane flew them from Huntsville to Houston to Salt Lake City. Ours was from Huntsville to Atlanta to Salt Lake City.
Kari informed me that her hair barrette was a source of consternation for the airport security alarms. Apparently, she had the unknown ability to take down the plane with that particular piece of hair care accessory. Who knew?
But can you imagine the headline???
"Delusional Mormon Cosmetologist Endangers Flight". Naturally, her religion would feature prominently since everyone knows 'them dang Normans are weird'.
Then, there is this possible flash in the newsroom: "Mormon Airline Terrorist Threatens Flight Crew with Sharpened Metal Barrette!"
Of course, as a fallback position depending upon WHERE in the nation the 'threat' of hair care products was determined, Kari's state of origin might feature more readily in the bold, black headline: "ACCESSORIZED ALABAMA ASSASSIN ATTEMPTS AIR ATTACK!"
When the truth was revealed, tiny disclaimer words would show up in a page 37, column C retraction: "No actual passengers were harmed when it was determined that the hair accessory in question was part of her "Hello Kitty" ensemble and she was released from the airport security holding pen into the waiting arms of her terrified baby sister who kept screaming "I DON'T KNOW THAT WOMAN!!"
The sensational press might have been a plus for her business... we will never know now since it didn't happen, but there is one constant in all of this. Daddy never would have bailed Kari out since he totally believes in 'natural consequences of your actions'. He’s kind of a buzz kill like that.
So, had it been pressed all the way to the state pen, she would have become the official prison cosmetologist for all those nice women with mustaches at Julia Tutwiler's facility.
Is doing prison hairdo’s a whole lot different that doing funeral hair? I'm not really sure. The selection of product is certain to be limited based on what might be useful for making shivs, prison style bombs or other sure to be contraband items. Then again, some of that hair coloring might find a new life as the 'ink' for some really high quality prison tattoos, but I digress...
On our particular flight out from Atlanta to Salt Lake City, Beth had the appealing option due to her ticketed seating assignment of sitting right up next to a man of undetermined Middle Eastern origin. The reason we came to this particular conclusion was that his wife or concubine or whatever was yelling at him loudly on his cell phone in Arabic or Farsi - loudly enough for the people in the cockpit to follow along with the conversation – if only they knew Farsi.
The “aroma of the market” was freshly upon him and Beth thoughtfully christened him with the moniker of “Achmed, the camel herder”. He certainly smelled as if he had more than a passing familiarity with beasts of burden of every sort. One might even say TOO familiar…
For his part, “Achmed, the fragrant” was blissfully unaware of his personal ‘scent’ and totally clueless about the intrinsic and highly useful properties of soap and water. I am relatively certain that they have some sort of body cleansing products in the Middle East.
I am equally certain that “Achmed” didn’t care to drop a dime (or a dinar) on something that he clearly believed to be a luxury item – sadly, he was more than willing to live without the application of various cleaning potions, lotions and daily ministrations of good hygiene. Now everyone suffers in his presence. Talk about 'natural consequences' coming to bear!
On Beth’s part, she was not only totally aware of the quality benefits of one’s daily ablutions, be they a luxury or a much needed necessity, but clearly by the time we were airborne with Beth sandwiched up near her new “friend”, I’m sure she would have offered “Achmed” some helpful and illustratively tactful instructions. She says she wouldn't be tactful at all. Maybe she'd slip into 'Colonel mode' and go all Army on his butt... gee, that would be pretty cool! Wonder where we could get a scrub brush to use on this dude??
I’m not sure just how cozy the new found relationship might have become since Beth either: (A) fell asleep of her own accord OR (B) - and I must admit this to be the most likely scenario - she passed out from the exhaustively pungent aroma of this smelly emissary from the East. UGH!
Being the kind, decent woman I am, I figured letting her endure this particular trial of newly found, airline matched friendship was best left to the slack-jawed coma that had been proximity induced by the fumes wafting from "Achmed".
Well, that and I am a complete coward when it comes to some of life’s more “interesting” opportunities. Why I didn't offer to swap seats with her and spare her this particular trial is a mystery to me. {Note: imagine the innocent, virtually cherubic expression on my face inserted here. Photos of my innocence are available upon request.}
I just figured that Beth might forgive me for having her sit by “Achmed” later… much later. But, in my own shallow self-defense on this particular segment of our journey, I figured that even if she slugs me later for not swapping seats with her as she endured her ill-timed encounter with the nightmare of her camel jockey dreams, I would survive the lick to tell about it on another day. Just because she's been in the Army doesn't mean I can't take a punch.
Meanwhile, Xan had her own on board adventures on their flight that brought her and Kari winging into Salt Lake City. Remember the song by Frank Zappa about the huskies and the yellow snow?
Apparently, she has annexed the song to include a version, which describes how we should all beware of yellow underwear obtained by the haphazard use of the on board restroom equipment during turbulence. Xan was required to make the ‘walk of shame’ with either moist and/or wet undies PLUS the possible accompanying and/or totally embarrassing aroma of her mishap.
While I more than sympathize about the potential tragedy, I just have to wonder what it is about public restrooms and the girls in our family? Is there some sort of porcelain conspiracy going on here … broken latches, toilets that automatically flush prematurely splashing a deluge of uncertain water upon us? Holding stall doors closed with one leg while balancing on the other in a delicate gymnastic routine all geared to prevent transmission of God knows what from befouled toilet seats?
In any case, Xan survived to tell about her exciting yellow pants brigade ordeal and we all finally met up in the Salt Lake airport to collect our rental. Kari and Xan were scheduled for their arrival a few minutes before we did anyway, and it was compounded by the fact that our flight was a few minutes late due to some late boarding in Atlanta.
Kari called my cell phone panicked that we somehow had either gotten lost or they were in the wrong place and asked in a quivery little voice, “Where are you?” While it was sorely tempting to yank her chain and tell her we'd accidentally gotten on the wrong flight and were on our way to Osaka, Japan, I honestly told her, “We're still on the plane!”
I let her know that we were indeed en route to Salt Lake City and heading in as fast as the pilot deemed safe and that we’d be there in a few minutes so they should just sit tight. Once all of that was sorted out, fears allayed and calm restored, our plane finally arrived.
We girded our loins, gathered our gear and headed out to pick up the rental car. Oddly, the rental wasn't what we anticipated. The little men in the rental booth had made some sort of Rental Car Agency voodoo decision and upgraded Beth’s rental since they had run out of the original choice.
Explain to me how they can run out of what you rented?? Isn't the whole idea of a reservation to SAVE what someone has paid for and which they want to use? It's a bit too much like a Seinfeld episode at this point... "I don't think you do understand! You can TAKE the reservation but you can't HOLD the reservation"...
Everything got worked out PDQ and we loaded up for the getaway in a sweet black Chevy Tahoe. It was awesome! Great gas mileage, plenty of room for people and luggage and a smooth ride. I couldn’t help but wonder if they could handicap modify one for Jared… hmm? I can see us zooming around in that beast even now!
We drove from the airport to the Kimball, narrowly missing getting sideswiped by some dill weed in a sports car who wasn’t paying attention to his lane assignment, all in the name of making the all important pit-stop so Beth could run in to check-in and pick up the keys. Based upon our most recent rental experience, it was also deemed prudent to let them know we were indeed here and would need the room for the next night and through the week.
Since we had planned to go to Vernal, Utah to the temple and Dinosaur Land, without that check-in reminder for the folks at the desk, I really doubt they would have had so much as a laundry hamper for us to use upon our return. I don't sleep well in laundry hampers as a general rule. Particularly when I have to share them with three other people. That isn't to say I couldn't have managed... or haven't ever done anything like that. It just didn't seem like a desirable outcome.
It was about a three-hour drive to get to Vernal and it was pretty along the way. We passed by the Strawberry and Starvation reservoirs on our way over. I haven't been over that way in decades. I was gob smacked by how many housing tracts have been build in the intervening years. Must be a testament to how Mormons marry and have offspring or some such rot.
We arrived at the Holiday Inn on the main drag. As an added bonus to our overnight trip to Vernal, a Harley Davidson motorbike group who all spoke French also inhabited the Holiday Inn that was our overnight stop for the night. It was pretty cool to be in the near proximity of so many Harleys! In fact, it was excellent! Frankly, I would have hopped astride one of those machines if I didn’t think I’d wind up in one of the two cells in the Vernal jail. And again, I know Daddy wouldn't have bailed me out. I also doubt my traveling companions would have either. They would have been way to busy laughing and telling me what an ass I was for getting busted.
I never did find out if the bikers were foreign tourists who rented the bikes for a special Utah Dinosaur land tour or French ex-pat folks who live and work here in the U.S. and simply gather somewhere each summer for Harley tours or if, in fact, they were simply Harley enthusiasts and they had saved up because this was their one shot at a Harley rally. Either way, I was beyond glee listening to the deep-throated rumble of those fine machines! It was a good night to be in Vernal!
On Tuesday morning, July 20th, prior to the short drive from our hotel to the temple that was literally only blocks away, we took advantage of the free continental breakfast offered in the dining room. I was introduced to a new concept today in Vernal - the ‘magic hair styling pillow’.
Apparently, the bed pillow Xan used was somehow able to employ heretofore-unrealized magical powers in conveying damp hair that would normally look like a whirlwind had passed by and use its mystical, magical properties to render her hair beautiful instead of brutal.
She threatened to steal it. I’m quite certain that wouldn’t strike the proper tone for temple attendance later in the same day! I have my faults, but stealing pillows doesn't exactly endear you to the Man upstairs.
Lightening strikes out of clear blue skies are known to happen. I just don’t want to be in the middle of the pack when it does. Finally, Xan was most thoroughly convinced that the pillow was NOT going to be stuffed into a bag to go with us for the return to Salt Lake City after our activities of the day, and we finally got to the first order of business: eating breakfast!
While Xan and Beth stayed in the room and continued to make their preparations to be beautiful for the day, Kari and I sat down in the dining room munching some breakfast. It was quiet and it was relaxing. It didn't last.
The wife/girlfriend of one of the French Harley Club came in full of fury to spill all over her Casper Milquetoast husband/boyfriend.
He stood there at the counter, fully duded out in his riding gear getting some hot toast ready for his breakfast. You didn’t need to speak a lick of French to see that his biker babe was giving him down the road for coming in so late to get his food while she had been in the room impatiently waiting on him to get up and get moving.
Anyone who is female and married knows the drill: the alarm clock sounded and she bounded up to get hustling for the early departure time. That is, after all, the expected routine.
On the other hand, "Casper" lay in the bed until about 5 minutes until the appointed hour for departure, whereupon he arose and took a 4 minute and 37 second shower. After his leisurely twelfth hour shower, "Casper" had planned to stroll down to the dining room for a relaxing breakfast before tackling the next leg of the Harley Tour. He figured he had ‘plenty of time’. Women can hear those mental plans… and it irks them.
Alas, his plans were not to be. His irate biker babe found him in the dining room and started giving him all seven layers of hell – the complete H – E – double hockey sticks.
She snatched the hot toast from his hands while he stood there attempting a quivering, blubbery, French justification for his tardiness. Ignoring his feeble protest, she continued her tirade by slapping a small breakfast omelet atop his toast, and then she slammed the second toast atop the omelet. Then, she then wrapped up the food in a paper napkin and shoved it all rather unceremoniously into a white paper lunch sack. Mind you, all of this happened without interfering one syllable with her tongue-lashing, finger-wagging reprimand.
I do wonder about that little biker man though. I just wonder if he even got to eat his breakfast. I have the feeling he is the one riding in the ‘chick seat’ on that bike and the angry woman was driving.
After some pondering, I think his Harley chick managed to grab the food from him and fling it out on the road for some other infraction. I can just imagine the ill-prepared breakfast flying out of his feeble hands and into the windshield of the vehicle behind them. It’s omelet-cide.
We will never know for sure, but I will forever have the image of that French Brunhilda being large and in charge all up in the grill of a man who could have been blown away like a leaf before the wind. Oh well. We can’t know everything in this life, now can we? But we can guess at it.
I have to say, though, the opportunity to visit the Vernal temple was indeed lovely.
The temple workers informed us that people ‘never’ came to Vernal for temple touring because it was “too far”. It’s their loss if people don’t make the effort since it is an example of an eternal truth. Thought every temple is uniquely special and beautiful, they all have the same ordinances that can bind us together and bring salvation. The Vernal Temple is converted from the old tabernacle building into use as a temple of God.
We now turn our attention from the sacred to the profane. It seems as if my older and younger sisters have an obsession with all things poop. Who knew? I realize that excreting bodily waste is an essential function, but I don’t want to talk about at every meal, quiet moment and temple trip. But, I am not always in charge of the conversations. Everything was poop and gas and pooping with gas. Where do they get this crap, pun intended?
When your baby sister comes out of the temple to regale us with the tale of clogging the toilet in the dressing room only to find an ‘out of order’ sign posted on the door later on, you know the obsession needs to have a break.
Of course, when Kari and Xan got started on their various poop and poop related stories, it was hard not to laugh… so there you go, an entire week of poop. I feel as if I have been offered an emotional enema.
Touring the Dinosaur land museum was really cool. We got to see how the area for preservation of the fossils and the bones was accomplished over geologic time. The movie was really good and I would have loved a DVD of it, but they don’t sell one in their store.
The dinosaur skeletons on display were impressive. They also had a fine selection of various other animals that had been posed and stuffed for exhibits. I think Xan shot up an entire camera card just in the dinosaur exhibits. Of course, we did the typical tourist shots of “see I found a fossil” and “look at me going in this cave”.
I wasn’t expecting the nightmares that followed later that night as I apparently woke Beth up whining about being gobbled up by a raptor of some sort. I have no idea why I dream this kind of scary junky horror stuff, but I do and sadly, it is in Technicolor splendor and seems so very heart poundingly real… and when I wake up from them, I alternate emotionally between being scared and just being irked. I think I’ll hold off on more dinosaurs for the time being.
But, before we abandon the dinosaurs completely, there was an annoying computer generated announcement that blared from time to time in the museum: “Step away from the display!!! You're too close to the display!!!!” Were there some sort of sensors that knew your only desire was to pose next to the ribcage of the triceratops or whatever that was??
Hmm. After a little sleuthing, I have discovered the truth. Using camera flash photocells carefully and strategically placed to keep a light beam going on, these special sensors would trip when the barest mention of breaking the light beam occurred and announce to the world that you are ‘too close to the display’. That’s pretty sneaky technology for a bunch of dinosaurs. . . who knew they were technologically adept? And it begs another question? Which species owned and operated the first Radio Shack in either the Eocene or Pleistocene Epoch? How did they install the equipment with their raptor claws?
Wednesday, July 21st, was a good day. We headed over to Liberty Park so Beth could run and Kari and Xan would be able to practice their walk. They finished in about 1:15 for the 5k with designs on sorting out a faster time for Saturday. In my behalf, I did just over a mile while meeting and greeting the four-legged visitors to the park. There were lots of nice doggies coming to exercise. I was pretty sore after the walk and also after all of the other places we went today.
When we got done at the park, we got set to visit Hogle Zoo. I haven’t been there in quite a while. In order to make the zoo in decent style, we returned to the Kimball to freshen up. Showers were administered to wash off the sweat of the park adventures and we got ready for the animal visits. Sweaty people don’t smell too good and animals may consider that aroma to be something like an attractant to either the table or the boudoir – neither sound like an option I’d like to try.
Beth had a little bottle of Irish Spring liquid soap for said showering purposes. People don’t realize the dangers of liquid soap, and in particular, not the dangers of this violent little evil green bottle of Irish Fire… uh, SPRING. Apparently, Beth was doing the St. Vitus Dance in the shower with no one to help (or who would be willing to do so).
Did you know that misplaced Irish Spring on tender mucus membranes has roughly the same effect as the accidental rubbing of either Icy Hot or BioFreeze onto those same surfaces? Beth reliably informed us in great detail that water does nothing to extinguish the flames and the Kimball is not equipped with a tub side ABCD Fire extinguisher to smother the agony down to a dull roar.
Sadly, when these little adventures occur, only time can deaden the pain, well, make that time and sharing your VERY personal sorrow with your alleged friends who are now laughing so hard at your tragedy that their tears are rolling down their cheeks and you just know that the whole thing will wind up in the blog of the one who claims to be your best friend… it’s nothing but a 24-hour love fest, really.
When everyone was sorted out enough to be allowed to leave the Kimball without fear of police citation for indecent exposure and/or domestic violence against a defenseless bottle of body wash, we headed up the hill to the zoo. It was nice to visit again and I know Xan and Beth really enjoyed it since they are both into the zoo and the animals therein.
Kari also liked the various species of little monkeys and we all enjoyed seeing the various exhibits. As for me, I am strictly into the big cats. When we went to the gift shop in search of presents for the boys, Beth sneakily got me a really cool tiger face shirt. It’s kind of burnt orange with the tiger face and he has green eyes. It’s beautiful! She also got me a really pretty tiger and bird tie dyed t-shirt that is really nice as well and I thanked her very much for her kindness to me.
As an odd aside, while we were at the zoo, I noticed toilet paper strung up in the branches of the trees in the lion enclosure. I’m reasonably sure, despite television advertisements to the contrary, that wild animals seldom squeeze the Charmin. I wondered which of the drunken frat boy fraternity dares from the U had managed to get some ree-tard stuffed into the animal pen to hang the TP without getting a butt cheek munched on for snack time by the residents of said pen. Plus, I cannot imagine the lions stringing a TP job in their own enclosure. Any idiot knows you pull a TP job on the neighbors a couple of blocks over. So they would have done the monkey house. Then again, maybe the monkeys did the job. Only infrared cameras at the zoo would know the truth and I’m not sure they are equipped with them. We may never know the real story.
After all of our outdoor excursions today, we returned to the Kimball to eat a bite. Then we got cleaned up, dressed up in Sunday clothes and went to attend a session in the Salt Lake Temple. It is so beautiful and so humbling that the pioneers would be willing to sacrifice so very much to establish the Lord’s house in such meager circumstance.
The most tender of feelings are reserved for knowing that our family story began inside those sacred walls of stone. So long as there is the memory of the link that binds us to the generations, the Salt Lake Temple will always be sacred and special to me.
Thursday, July 22nd, we finally got the opportunity to tour the Church's Humanitarian Aid Center and Welfare Square. We’ve been meaning to do both for three years, but now was finally the time to go. We also went to the new flagship store of Deseret Book near Temple Square. While we were on the tour bus, we discovered there was a couple from Lima, Peru who were also on the tour with us. They were so nice! They spoke no English. The couple missionaries who were driving the tour van spoke no Spanish. It appeared we were on the horns of a dilemma. Although I have practiced and read the scriptures in Spanish, my conversational skills are limited.
We got to the tours and I assumed that the Lord would provide a translator for the couple from Peru. After all, this is Salt Lake City and home to a vast language culture from generations of missionaries who have served worldwide! They translate for conferences and guest bureaus and visitors to virtually every attraction.
There were no Spanish-speaking missionaries anywhere!
I have never been to anything having to do with Salt Lake City church sites where there were no Spanish-speaking missionaries! Little did I know that I was the person the Lord was providing for the job. How is this even possible? I guess the Lord is willing to take imperfect vessels to be the ones to do His work.
I have to say that I was offering some pretty sincere, hasty and heartfelt prayers – pleas really – to have some kind of divine intervention to help me help them. My prayers (and the prayers of the others of our party that I found out about afterwards) were definitely answered so that I could attempt to talk with them and help them. The words I needed to say came to my mind and I felt them come from my mouth to help me to communicate with these members from Peru. Although they are already members, coming to see the birthplace of so much of the Church’s outreach to the world is a daunting visit without having the language skills in English. I cannot imagine trying to understand the importance and the magnitude of all that compounded by a language barrier.
We take so very much for granted in our lives. Although I know that my words were not perfect from me, what they received from Our Father in Heaven IS perfect. When we were partway through the tour of Welfare Square, a Spanish-speaking sister was located. As the members from Peru were asked if they wanted her to continue with them (for which I was fervently hoping), they said ‘no’ and that they wanted me to continue with them.
Taking a deep breath, I plunged on with them in our efforts to be both understood and to understand. I know that the opportunity I had to attempt to use my language skills was meant to happen. Our Father makes no mistakes. It was both humbling and exhausting.
Following our tours, Beth, Kari and Xan walked to the Energy Solutions Arena to pick up their race packets and information. On race day, I’ll be down in Liberty Park in the “kiss and cry area” to wait for them to arrive and take pictures. I’m hoping I’ll be able to look up a good parking place that isn’t a jillion miles away.
While they were gone, Sherri and I stayed at the Kimball and tended to my wounded ankle with a Ziploc of ice, a couple of pain pills and some elevation. I was sorry that it wasn’t up to the full slate of touring Temple Square afterwards but I did enjoy getting the chance to just talk with Sherri. After the three musketeers returned from Temple Square, we all just sort of hung out at the Kimball yakking and enjoying each other’s company. Sherri was also able to stay and spend the night with us all with the anticipation of activities for tomorrow.
When everyone had gone to bed, Beth and I studied. We reviewed and reviewed. Finally, I got up to brush my teeth and went to lie down. With the addition of Sherri in the room, we were one bed spot short. I put the couch cushions down for a bed area and went to go to sleep on them. Sherri was already out on the sofa bed, Kari and Xan were long asleep in the bedroom and that, according to my way of thinking, left the other half of the sofa bed for Beth. Except that crazy woman didn’t take it. She came down and slept on the other side of me on the dang floor. It was never my intention to kick her out of sleeping on a bed. I wasn’t doing any races so my comfort was secondary to an active participant or a guest. Remind me next time we do this adventure to ask for a rolling bed…or another set of couch cushions.
Friday, July 23. Today sure seemed like a long one. Is it possible for a day to have more than 24 hours and just not be noticed until you collapse in between the sheets (or on the sofa cushions)? Beth and I were up late last night working on her test materials for her Anatomy and Physiology class.
The Kimball has had NO WiFi connection all week and it’s been painfully frustrating for her when it came to getting anything done in her schoolwork. I had promised her long before the wheels were up on our incoming flight that I would do all I could to help her study and learn the material. I just hope that she can learn the needed information in a way that will help her to spit it back out in the correct form at test time despite the limited and/or invisible computer access.
We went to Ogden today to the temple and then had lunch at the Hardee’s. They had a Hawaiian chicken salad, which sounded good, so that’s what I ate. It wasn’t as attractive or as exciting as it looked on the marquee. And we had to BEG them for the pineapple slices that were shown in the picture. It’s not like they can really sell them on the black market, is it? I haven’t been reliably informed of an underground pineapple selling operation in Ogden, but you never know what those Utahn’s are up to these days.
Pointing the Tahoe south after lunch, we went on a merry procession to the Distribution Center to look around and get whatever everyone was in search of while in Salt Lake City. When we finished up there, we took in Seagull Books. I found the movie “The Best Two Years” on DVD and got it for the family library and Thomas. It’s a wonderful movie all about learning what being a missionary really is all about.
Sherri got me the DVD of “The Ten Commandments” for my birthday, early of course. What a sweet thing for her to do! I thanked her and I hope she knows how much I truly appreciate her kindness to me. I am so blessed to have the friends and the family I do. They are all so amazing. And the fact that they tolerate my presence at all is certainly a testament to the fact that they should inherit the Celestial Kingdom since they have put up with and endured the hell I have put them through on earth. If there is a nomination process, someone should let me know so that all of their names can be submitted.
With our shopping trip concluded, the Kimball beckoned to us. Everyone said goodbye to Sherri after we got back to the Kimball since she had to head back to her mom’s place, which was the real reason she was in Salt Lake City at all. Her mom is in need of her help right now and it’s something Sherri can do for her. Regardless of how the intersection of our friendship occurs, it is always SO good to see Sher.
Saturday, July 24, Pioneer Day – The races started early and the clocks alarms didn’t manage to go off. Beth said she woke up because she had specifically prayed for us to wake up in time for the events of the day.
I dropped her off at the intersection for the 10k runners and walkers up past the U stadium, and then proceeded to Liberty Park. I confess…the park moved. It couldn’t have been that I LOST the directions on how to get there… nah! I defend myself with the knowledge that we couldn’t remember where Beth should be dropped off either and just hoped that the place we picked was close enough for her to get warmed up but not worn out.
When I headed down toward the park, I realized I had overshot the mark. I looked around and found a gas station where the dude inside was getting set for business. I tapped on the glass and he hollered back “We open at 7!” I headed back toward the car but then he came and opened the door to ask what I wanted. I told him that I was just in need of some directions, which he provided for me then I jumped into the truck and drove down to Liberty Park.
There was this candy store right on the corner by Liberty Park and right at the finish line for the races. I pulled inside the parking area and paid five bucks for the safety of parking there. The attendant owned the candy store and was happy to have the money and ensure the truck was guarded.
I crossed the street and walked down to the area where the family and friends of the race participants were all sitting and standing. There were lots of people there with dogs as well and I tried to pet as many doggies as I could while I waited.
All three of them, Beth, Kari and Xan, finished their respective events under an hour. I was proud of them all. We had time to get some PowerAde into Beth along with banana and orange pieces. She had a pretty rough cramp going on in her calf and has very sore quads from the ordeal of her 10k.
After all of them made it to the finish area, I took a photograph of the conquering trio. They were please with themselves for the most part and I was jealous for all of the parts. My plans for this year were derailed and the 10k of my dreams left without any warning taking with it the health and well-being of two ankles.
The races completed and bananas stuffed into the participants, we came back to the Kimball for them to clean up and change so we could go out to do a bit of shopping. When we had gone to the guitar shop so Xan could pick up some guitar strings for Sam, we made an interesting discovery. They are WAY cheaper than the exact same strings here locally. What the crap!?! Somebody is making money on those strings and it ain’t us! I tried out a few guitars and a pretty sweet 12-string while I was there. It had a nice mellow and rich sound.
We tooled around for a while then headed Bee’s game at the Spring Mobile Ballpark. I love minor league baseball. The athletes still care about the fans and the game and the seats are still affordable to the masses. It’s little wonder that one of my fantasies in life is to own a minor league team.
We talked to a few people in line ahead of us and Xan was talking to some dude about the “This is ‘nearly’ the Place” monument. He was obviously from the area because he got the joke and laughed along with us.
Finally the gates opened and we were admitted into baseball heaven. The kiosks and shops were open and I was determined to find something for Jared at this pit stop. Beth and I settled on him getting a Bees jersey. He will look pretty snazzy with it on. It’s black with gold lettering. And I was moved later in the night before the game started that the local ‘challenger league’ baseball team was the guest of honor for the game. They are all special needs children and youth. One boy reminded me quite a bit of Jared. I know he would love to play ball if his life allowed it. He enjoyed watching Thomas play.
The game was a totally lopsided affair. I didn’t mind, though, because my Bees were doing the walloping on this fine night at the game. The Colorado Sky Sox were certainly not being treated very cordially in this game. Beth sort of had divided loyalties since Colorado is the land of her nativity, but since no wise men heralded her birth there, I’m quite certain she can be forgiven for the occasional cheer from her going up for the performance of the Bees.
By the end of the top of the 9th, the fat lady had sung and it was all over. The score stood at 17 – 1 in the game over the Colorado Sky Sox. All in all, a good night to enjoy frozen yogurt in a little plastic helmet and sing along with the organist.
Part of the attraction for this particular game was the fact that I got my picture taken, courtesy of Beth, with the Bee’s mascot. I’ve been dreaming of this for 3 years! Yeah, I’m a sap, but I’m turning it into my screensaver when Beth gives me a digital copy. So there! Nyah!
The young folks the row behind us took a group photo of us nut jobs at the game as sort of a reminder that growing up doesn’t have to mean getting old. I hate the idea that you turn in your youth in exchange for a wheelchair, shawl and snood. If that’s where we are headed, count me out.
I love FIREWORKS!! The end of the game had the folks in the grassy knoll area sent to safer spots in the outfield and around the stadium. I love fireworks – did I mention that?!? I love the hiss and the boom and the radiant fire with its iridescent color wheel on display. There is something just so wonderful about what can be achieved with a big boom and some pretty chemical fire! I promise, that’s all I was trying to recreate when I blew up the Butler’s front yard… really! I’m sure you all believe me…
As the various aerial displays erupted into brilliant kaleidoscopic hues and shapes, the sound system churned out music that we alternately sang to or mumbled along. Then, the magic moment came. They played the Alabama National Anthem by Lynyrd Skynyrd and we were compelled to sing along at the top of our lungs. As a contingent of state representatives attending this ballgame on foreign soil, we sang “Sweet Home Alabama”. I’ve never felt so patriotic at a ballgame in my life.
When our moment of State Pride concluded, the group from the Carolinas on the row in front of us got their turn to shine. Neil Diamond’s "Sweet Caroline" filled the air. They were as enthusiastic about there song as we were about ours. We joined in on the accented bits and enjoyed the splendor of Southerners away from home that know how to make their own fun.
We continued our fun into the parking lot as a zillion cars attempted to be first to leave the parking area. We waited and sang with the stereo blasting and the windows down. When there was finally an opening bigger than the front bumper, we snaked out toward the exit that was leading back uphill toward the Kimball.
Some toe rag in a taxicab hollered out some epithets to us as they cut us off to pass the exiting vehicles in their haste to leave the ballpark. Mumbling and deciding how to deal with it, I just started singing the lyrics to Jaron Young’s “I’ll Pray For You” and we all started to laugh and sing along.
I love people with a sense of humor. That song’s video is hilarious and the lyrics are funny too. Most people have been burned in a relationship gone wrong at one time or another and if they are truthful, they have wanted to get back at the person who hurt them for at least a millisecond.
Sure, there are purists who will claim that isn’t true in their case, and I’m sure I’ll never be as good a person as they are, because there are times I sure would have liked to have known the lyrics to this song back in the day…
Sunday, July 25th, found us visiting the 4th ward of the Salt Lake Stake up and over in the avenues from the Kimball. It's an older building with a great deal of character. They have a stained glass window with the First Vision portrayed in it. I hope it wasn't sacrilegious, but I took a photograph of it.
During Sunday School, a newlywed couple introduced themselves as “the Merrill’s”. Hmmmm. Utah... Merrill's... I wonder... Well guess what! We are related. It’s a backhanded behind the in-laws, outlaws and other cousin’s relationship, but it counts.
I have sent an email to Tom and Laura to detail the relationship and doubt I’ll hear from them again. But it was pretty fun to be in ‘no man’s land’ and find cousins!
Monday, July 26th, we got up early to do our packing and final room cleaning before checkout time and to drop Kari and Xan off at the airport. Since we didn’t have a lot to do even though our flight wasn’t until a couple of hours later, we managed to use the time for Beth to study her anatomy for her test which was scheduled for Tuesday morning, July 27th.
We had time to get sorted out and aboard for our flight home. No Achmed on this ride, but instead a nice young lady sat by the window who was heading for the Carolina’s after we made it to Atlanta. Beth took the time to study and a Dramamine induced coma overtook me. Beth said it was for the best since she had the time to truly just study and then we could review on the next flight.
Little did we know a comedy of errors and a tragedy of epic proportion was about to descend upon us. We had some stormy weather that had us landing late. That was enough to make us hustle for our next flight to Huntsville, but we arrived at the gate only to discover that our connection was late in arriving.
I love the broadening effect of travel. You can meet new people from exotic places who are ‘perfumed’ in their own special way. You can sit by someone who snores on you while you are desperately trying to find the toll free number for whatever you are looking for.
You are allowed and even encouraged to become acquainted with those who are willing to rudely inform you that they are preventing you from getting out of your seat by blocking the aisle because they are gallantly holding it open for the person seated next to them who desperately needs to catch their flight to Huntsville in 5 minutes.
Yeah. Here’s your medal of self-sacrificing heroism and your sign for stupidity. We are ALL on that same flight into Huntsville… and it isn’t happening.
Rudeness at this point doesn’t help anyone because we are ALL being cancelled into airport limbo. You can sit by and act like some kind of Samaritan, but we are ALL being cancelled. Even flights to other hubs are now circling the drain thanks to the nasty storms brewing like so much hot coffee all around us.
Rushing out of the plane just to get to nowhere fast only wastes energy better spent on poison pen letters to the Delta corporate folks who haven’t had a ride in decades on one of the planes intended for the great unwashed, if then.
Of course, the point is simple… cattle herd mentality. If we can keep the unruly and the thinking people from being anything but neutral in slack-jawed obedience to airport kiosk signage, then we have prevented anyone from believing they have the right to independent thought. Then, the great operator behind the curtain has full control in the Oz-like kingdom of Airport.
Just as we were about to abandon all hope, the kindly pilot man and ticket counter woman at the airline reservation and ticketing counter assured us that they only needed to clean and prep the plane and we would begin boarding.
It was the grossest lie.
The delays began to mount up. 15 minutes later turned into 30, then an hour and it was followed by more delayed time. Brighter people than us would have gotten a clue much earlier than we did.
But not us! Oh no, we waited. And waited, and waited… After all - WE HAD TICKETS and the faith of the opiated masses to believe that all would work out as printed on the flight plans!
Job himself would have been ranting by the time that the delay turned from more waiting into a flat out ridiculous scenario.
The boarding call was sounded (YEAH!); first class passengers were loaded along with people who had special needs and families with children. Then by zone, we were ushered along like so many blindly trusting fools into the plane, which we were incidentally.
Farce rivaling the British theater was in high spirits on this plane. They went through all pre-flight checks, safety instructions offered faster than I have ever seen them done and the plane pushed away from the terminal to wait the “go” for launch. Our mentally ill pilot then informed us in an in-flight announcement that we were 8th in line for take-off. That sounded kind of ominous...8th in line?
It sounded that way for a reason. It never materialized. The rulers of the airport in there glass walled tower cannot count to 8.
Just as a magician playing the wide-eyed country bumpkin rube like a finely tuned fiddle with skilled slight of hand and deft manipulations, we fell for the bait and switch that was happening right in front of our eyes.
The insanity reached fever pitch when we were informed that we were going back to the terminal to de-plane. Back to the terminal??? Are you kidding me??? DEPLANE??? DEPLANE?? Oh, holy crap… now I sound like Tattoo on Fantasy Island!
But perhaps a sort of fantasyland is where we are because this is where the joke on us really got good. The flight crew then kindly informed us that they had only 15 minutes of legal flying time left and wouldn’t be able to get us to Huntsville even if clearance was magically granted.
Yeah. They knew that little gem when they were boarding us. Trolls. Jackasses. Dill weeds. Then, they politely informed a lobby full of very pissed people that they were looking for a flight crew to take us to Huntsville.
LOOKING FOR A FLIGHT CREW???? LOOKING? Are you frickin’ kidding me???
This is alleged to be an INTERNATIONAL airport hub and you don’t have a single crew rated to fly a McDonnell Douglas MD88? Really? Not one solitary flight crew with more than 15-minutes of legal flight time left on their schedule? This flight is only going to Huntsville... there's only about 8 minutes of flying time at altitude... the rest of the time is the takeoff and circling for a landing... help? Can anyone hear me? Hello? Hey! Is this thing even on???
Look, I’ve got rated hours on flight Sim… maybe I could slip into the cockpit and just get us airborne. I'm kidding. Maybe.
But seriously… they come back with another announcement to cheekily inform us that they don’t have anyone who can help us out of our dire straights. Nope. Not a single pitiful pilot. Not a flight crew. No plane pushing away from the gate. After all, this is Atlanta and we should enjoy our stay here. In the airport... not outside in the real world.
Sadly, with the full knowledge that this was coming, we receive the truth of the message: the flight home is cancelled. No longer are we to be delayed with coy, carefully worded announcements promising fulfillment. No sir, indeedy.
We are now totally cancelled into airport oblivion... and we are now into the wee hours of Tuesday, July 27, 2010. We should have been home last night. It is not to be.
No sticks are required for this particular version of limbo. Instead, a willingness to play their games of vouchers and broken promises is needed. Beth and I were frustrated, hungry and tired. I don’t believe either of us was in any mood to dance with them.
She literally ran down the airport concourse to the area where the little trains take people to various points of need. In a few moments and a few phone calls, Beth secured us a rental car to escape from Atlanta.
There was a tiny fly in the ointment. In her haste to get to the car rental agencies, Beth had forgotten her ticket for re-admittance to the gated section airport. Oops! So, that required a paradigm shift of our plans. Beth called me and gave me directions on how to get to where she was to escape airport limbo.
Directions and me don’t always get along so well. My concern is that despite my hearing the words of how to get somewhere, the follow through of the concept is more than a bit fuzzy. I stayed on the phone with Beth for a bit and did things step by step and got to a “T” intersection.
At that point, Beth had to answer an incoming call from Pete and I was left to twist in the proverbial wind with the directions to "NOT GO ACROSS THE RED LINE!"
Which red line?
Oh no! Have I already passed it?
Is this an alternate reality and I am unaware of the change?
Thankfully, there was a nice airport employee lady who was about to go off duty who showed me the way through areas of the airport designated for airport personnel only. She was not only understanding of my directional plight, but she didn't laugh and instead skillfully took me to where I needed to be. She cut me loose in sight of an enormous sign that said "GROUND TRANSPORTATION" with a big old whacking arrow pointing to the doorway.
I was busily engaged in dragging our two sets of luggage through the last official portion of the Atlanta airport to get to the no man's land of the ground transportation hub. That garnered more than a few glances. My phone rang again and it was Beth calling me for final directions to her location.
I’m sure the sight of a tired, heavy-set woman dragging two stacks of luggage pieces through the airport while glued to her cell phone asking for repeated directions must have been hilarious, in that way that I mean “NOT”…
While I was eagerly talking to Beth on the phone and she was reeling me in to her position, she very clearly said, “Turn around!” I did so, spotted her and said, “Well, crap!” then hung up the phone as she was standing about 40 yards behind me. I had apparently passed her without even seeing her standing there.
Can you spell moron? S-H-E-L-L-E-Y. That should cover it.
Beth got a nice little white Jeep in the rental transaction. It was an okay vehicle since it got us out of our circumstances as near permanent residents of the Atlanta airport, but nothing as fine as the smooth riding Chevy Tahoe. I’m sure that statement will hurt the feelings of the Dodge Chrysler Jeep folks, but frankly, I don’t care at this point. I wanted to get home and I wanted Beth to not miss her test! Plus, beggars can't be choosers and escape was more important than the method of conveyance.
Leaving the airport (gee, that sounds SO comforting!), Beth and I concurred that something resembling food was in order. The growling of our stomachs rivaled any animal sounds we heard at the Hogle Zoo.
Searching the highway signs for a place that might be open, we saw the little signage for a McDonald’s, which we found a few miles down the road toward home that was alleged to be a 24-hour place. Yeah! Food, glorious food!
Apparently they mean 24-hours, but not all in a row. We discovered this alternate meaning when we pulled into the drive in for chocolate milkshakes only to be rebuffed by a curt “We are out of ice cream.” I've always hated those faceless little speakers! You can't feel happy and complete by punching out nothing...
Out of ice cream! How is that even possible?!? I used to work in McDonalds and they use a liquid mixture of ingredients that is pre-measured and packaged into cartons for the milkshake maker to do it’s magic. You can’t ‘run out of ice cream’, unless the manager is a complete moron who doesn’t keep his stocks up! We departed saddened, but determined! There had to be another place open!
We finally sorted out the glow of the Golden Arches in another town just a few miles down the road. Feeling free from our previous experience in the Peach State (it had to be an oddity, right?), we pulled into their 24-hour drive in with our hopes high.
There is something about having high hopes and high ideals that you need to understand… the higher they are, the higher they fall sometimes. They were both dashed into tiny little splinters. The stomach growling was continued in a decidedly unpleasant fashion. After placing the order for the two shakes, the lady came back with a slightly more informative reason for not having any of the chocolaty delight. “We don’t have ice cream since we shut off our machines for cleaning after midnight.”
Well alrighty then. We asked for two Happy Meals. They didn’t have those either. And they didn’t start serving breakfast food until 4 a.m.
Oh, I get it. You, too, are open for service 24-hours a day, just not in a row... and we happened to swing by during the non-in-a-row hours. Plus there is the added bonus of knowing whatever we order isn't served during these particular hours. Goody. The luck of the Irish for sure isn't with us today.
Why are you even open for 24-hours a day if you don’t actually serve anything from the menu?!?
Figuring that ice cream and milkshake tragedy to be some sort of an anomaly in Georgia, a solemn vow was made to not stop at another single McDonalds inside the Georgia border. Instead of the creamy chocolate shakes we craved, we got two incredibly disgusting diet Cokes that must have been the dregs of the bottom of the tank. Bourbon and branch would have tasted preferable to that mess and I’m not a drinker. For the record, this stuff tasted WORSE than the horribly nasty and disgusting Coke Zero episode from several months ago. And that is pretty bad.
At this point, Beth and I agreed: you just can’t make this crap up! It’s not possible!
Pointing the Jeep towards home again, Beth drove for a while. We found a little gas and go convenience store and bought a donut and a drink apiece. Not the idea we had in mind, but better than starvation.
We were slaphappy and in that condition, the truth was also starkly revealed: we were NOT going to make it home in one shot. It was painfully obvious that neither of us had the ability to drive on into Athens. We stopped at “The Guy Hunt Hotel”, which is a rest stop along I-65, to catch a few winks. We folded the Jeep’s seats down and attempted to catch some Zzz’s.
I think we were actually asleep before we pulled over, but we got into the back of the Jeep to nap. My own ability to sleep for an extended period of time was hampered by a dangerously full bladder that required a quick exit for a run to the Visitor’s Center. My uncooperative ankle hampered my run. So I prepared to hobble.
Thinking only of the safety of my lightly snoozing companion who would be left defenseless in the Jeep, I quietly slipped out and locked the door when I got out of the Jeep only to make a fateful realization upon my return... Beth, my shoes AND THE JEEP KEYS were all safely tucked inside and I was locked outside in Roadside Rest Stop Purgatory.
Nice.
Idiot alert, where are you when I need you? I swear I didn't hear your warning klaxon that I was about to do something stupid...
Beth happily reminded me later that she had CAREFULLY laid the keys between us so that we could get in and out of the vehicle. Any thief could have broken in and stolen the key, taken Beth, taken the Jeep... whatever... it was that visible lying there... taunting me. Have you ever heard a set of keys laugh? It's a nasty little sound.
I was only worried about my stupid bladder and my absolute desire to avoid becoming even a charter member of the Yellow Pants Brigade. This is what I get for leaping without looking ahead to the consequences! Dang it!
I walked around for a long time since my leg was hurting anyway and I wasn't going to get any sleep while I was in pain. Did I mention my pain pills were ALSO locked safely away in the Jeep? Lovely.
Later on, when Beth woke up, probably due to the absence of MY snoring, I was able to tell her the sad truth. I’m too stupid to remember the keys when I got out of the car.
Consequently, I wandered around in my sock feet hoping the rain clouds overhead would resist the temptation to soak me until such time as Beth awakened and opened the door. No wonder people judge my IQ to be several points below the idiot savant scale. Of course, my odd behavioral choices do give them something to use by comparison in their conversations – ‘at least I’m not at stupid as…’
We didn’t make it back home to Athens until about 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning. Fools that we are, we should have done the rental thing after the second delay and we would have been home Monday night leaving Beth more rested for her exam. Sadly, that realization also required the action of our non-functional idiot alert early warning system.
Like dating bad boys who break your heart, we foolishly believed we were in a committed relationship to fly with Delta as if they loved us the way we thought we loved them.
One-way love is always by nature love unrequited. It is a love affair that was never supposed to be.
It was a tender, hopeful for take-off kind of love spurned after a promising but tawdry fling with a pretended pre-flight boarding that left us feeling empty and broken. Flying isn’t supposed to feel like a bad second date with a Hell’s Angel.
One wonders if that is truly the business model used by the Delta Corporation. Love ‘em (or their money) enough to seduce them and their baggage into the waiting miniature onboard seating and miniscule overhead luggage storage areas, then apply the proverbial bait and switch will full force and then drop them like they are hot. When the weather gets a bit nasty, instead of creative solutions… just bail.
As a marketing tool, it has served the airlines for years. They may have a few flights end before they began and have to pay out a few bucks to salve over a mess, but they are raking in money that is pretty darn good for each head counted. Besides which, why change what is working?
You never know when some other idiot will open their wallet, pour out their hard earned money and get a personal ticket to paradise only to discover it was really a ride with a Stygian boatman. Sure you get to go somewhere for a short ride, but not the way you anticipated or to the destination desired.
You just can’t make this crap up!
