Travel Scribblings (part three)
Everyone offered. Everyone has a clean spare bedroom. And now that I'm comfortable, it's decided--I'll move around a bit.
On Saturday morning, I bid Laura's goodbye, and head to Catie's. Before I leave, I dish out hugs to Laura's boys. Sweet Zoe from next door wraps her arms around my hips and hangs on tight. Jon Jon comes over and says, "I want to give you a kiss." So I lean in close, and savor the tiny wet lips on my cheek.
...
I wasn't ever sure I wanted to drive here, but as I set out down the highway that winds around the California hills, I feel a strange freedom, and I realize: I was ready after all. So many moments of hesitation are overcome by a single leap.
...
Laura's was like a commune; Catie's is like a palace. She and her family live with her maternal grandmother in a house that looks like the setting for a romantic movie. The ceilings soar, the white walls shimmer, flowers grow in every corner. A pool sparkles in the backyard, and a courtyard welcomes in the front. There are palm trees surrounding. It is Paradise found.
Catie leads me to my own room and I want to gasp. It's gorgeous, fit for a princess. Two armchairs sit opposite the floral-adorned bed and beside a wicker vanity. Outside the window, the sun shines bright over the orange trees across the driveway. And just inside the door, the real luxury--my own bathroom. At Laura's, though I loved the proximity, the bathroom was shared with everyone, which caused half a dozen awkward moments I wished never to repeat again. Here, I wouldn't have to.
I set down my things carefully, wishing I didn't have to mar this perfect space with my real living.
...
"Okay, so Grandpa had lunch plans, but he's gonna call us when he's finished and we'll see what he's up for." Catie has been negotiating a date with my great grandfather, a shopping spree which he requested and I wholeheartedly agreed to. The man is ancient and wealthy, and knows how to love only through his money. I am his oldest great grandchild, and have not seen him in six years; this may be the last time we are ever together.
He calls, and Catie and I climb into the car with her two-year-old daughter Olivia, who happens to be the youngest great granddaughter, and we drive to Nordstrom Rack. I have never shopped here before because I can't afford it, and Catie tells me not to ask for a budget. I am nervous.
We meet him at the front of the store, and he is smiling. He's in a good mood, looks almost jolly, which is never how I picture him. His excitement over this outing far outweighs mine, a fact which relieves me. "I'll get you a cart," he says.
Catie and I have talked about this--we will shop for college. She helps me decide on a color palette and think through what I actually need. I feel somewhat practical. But then we fill a cart to overflowing and I stuff it all into a dressing room, a little numb with shame. I avoid eye contact with the sales associates.
We spend four hours in that store. Olivia tries on every pair of sparkly shoes in her line of sight, and ends up with her own little stack of things, almost all in some shade of pink. I am grateful to find more no's than yes's among my pile, but I still end up with a cartload.
"Is it too much?" I ask Catie in a whisper
"Let's see..." She goes through each item and determines if I need it or want it. That is not the point, I think. The point is do I need to get rid of it? But the conclusion she comes to is, "I think you're good."
We reach the checkout and I fear for the response of the woman ringing us out. She does not judge.
Grandpa shells out Benjamin Franklins of a number I will not disclose, and I exhale when it's all over.
...
We go to dinner, and I study him. He is five years shy of a century old, and still has most of his memory. His hands are covered in wrinkles and his hair is barely a wisp of white on the sides of his head. His eyes are hazel. Like mine.
"What are you doing for Father's Day, Grandpa?" Catie asks.
"Oh, probably watchin' TV." He laughs.
"You could come over to my mom and dad's, we're all getting together," she offers. He doesn't turn her down, but we both know he won't come. There are rifts.
We talk about the family, how here in the same booth are the oldest great granddaughter and the youngest, and there are nineteen children besides us in our generation. "All because of me," he jokes.
"All because of you," Catie says, gazing at him lovingly.
I feel strangely removed from him. He is part of the reason I exist; his blood runs through my veins. I have some of his mannerisms. I have his eye color. And yet, I don't know him. Probably never will.
We walk him to his car and kiss him goodbye, and I throw a last look over my shoulder as we walk away.
It might be the last time I ever see him.
...
"Write him a note." Uncle Johnny is practical when I tell him about going S hopping. "That's all he wants. The people he does this for are the people who make him feel good about himself."
A note? It sounds like by some miracle my great grandfather's love language is words of affirmation.
So is mine.
...
Sunday is church day, and I rise to go with Catie and her family. She and her husband recently planted a church, and the burden of forty or so souls rests on her shoulders. On top of that, this Sunday both of her Sunday school teachers are gone. I volunteer to replace them.
Two by two, the ten children wander in, ages two through eleven, and I will watch them alone. They play for a while, and I turn on the video Catie told me to have them watch. They whisper, eat their snacks, talk amongst themselves, but I listen. The lesson is on the Daniel in the lion's den.
I look around at my own lions and ask God
to use His might to hem them in when I cannot.
...
I have heard of family gatherings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary when someone says they're going to one. But the amount of times I've been with extended family on a holiday probably totals less than thirty in my nearly nineteen years.
So this day is special.
Catie's kids shout it as their father checks in before going in a separate car: "Happy Father's Day!" Everyone gathers on the back porch at Uncle Johnny and Aunt Debbie's, and I soak in the sunshine and togetherness. We laugh. I feel connected to my faraway family in a way I never have before. Joy whispers across my soul.
...
"We should go get our nails done!" Michelle suggests it as she examines her toes under the table.
Laura perks up. "That's what I thought! Do you wanna go tomorrow?"
"Sure, yeah, should we do that?"
Catie leans in. "What are we doing?"
"Getting our nails done," I say, turning to her.
"Can we bring the little girls, too?" Catie asks, excited.
"Yeah, girls day!" we all agree.
"And then we can go to that Italian place Jason wanted to go to," Michelle says.
"What's goin' on?" one of the men comes over.
"We're getting our nails done tomorrow and getting lunch afterwards."
We toss around a few more restaurant ideas, settle on a plan, and compare how badly our nails need fixing. I feel like one of the women.
...
Catie and I are both tired when we return to her house, so she whips up pizza and puts on a movie for the kids. I stand with her as she cooks and happen to glance outside. I'm not sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing.
"Are those hot air balloons?"
"Yep." Catie nods, amused at my excitement. "Go outside and see."
I stand on the veranda and gaze at the horizon, watching the balloons rise. Josh and Jed, two of Catie's boys, come join me, confused by my intense fascination. "Does this happen a lot?" I ask Catie when I come back in.
"Every weekend," she says.
I smile. Bill Bryson said it--"The greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time."
I have now traveled, and I have found it to be true.
...
Catie's grandmother has seemed elusive as a legend since I got here, but she makes an appearance during dinner, and Catie tells her about our shopping spree. "Grandma would love to see your clothes," she says discreetly.
"On, or just in the bag."
Catie gives a little gasp. "Fashion show?"
So it's settled. I model all the outfits and Grandma oohs and ahhs and I can tell she is blessed.
"I remember when my sister and I were young," she says, "we worked a whole summer and pooled all our money to buy one dress. It was white, and trimmed with green." I smile at her memory and wonder what that was like. I have never known poverty, and extravagance such as Grandpa lavished on me is rare. I am somewhere in between and still learning what to do with it.
We finish the show and Grandma heads back to her room. "That made her night," Catie tells me later.
...
I slip out for a solitary walk, the necessity of an introvert, and drink in the beauty of this place. Stooping at the base of a jacaranda dripping with amethyst blooms, I select four fallen blossoms to press and take home. I breathe in the perfume of a thousand flowers, surveying a skyline of palm trees, and think how my life is a series of opportunities. Every moment, every breath, a gift and a chance--an adventure.
As I walk back and open Catie's gate, it hits me--I will go back changed. Not much. But enough. This trip marks yet another step out of childhood and into the adult world.
I walk through the gate and let it close behind me.
...
I pause outside a moment more and gaze up at the dusky sky. Counting stars. It's the whisper across my heart, the title of one of my favorite albums of music, but also more than that. I have a picture of Abram in my head, God's man called to a strange land all for the sake of a promise, and suddenly there is sense that in this moment, God is making a promise to me as well. It's a promise to be with me, to be present beside me, always. Me. Not just me with my family. Not just me with my friends. Me. Alone, with many, wherever, whenever. And along with the promise comes a gentle challenge, a dare of sorts, God's question mark invitation:
Will you trust Me?
I don't answer Him right away.
On Saturday morning, I bid Laura's goodbye, and head to Catie's. Before I leave, I dish out hugs to Laura's boys. Sweet Zoe from next door wraps her arms around my hips and hangs on tight. Jon Jon comes over and says, "I want to give you a kiss." So I lean in close, and savor the tiny wet lips on my cheek.
...
I wasn't ever sure I wanted to drive here, but as I set out down the highway that winds around the California hills, I feel a strange freedom, and I realize: I was ready after all. So many moments of hesitation are overcome by a single leap.
...
Laura's was like a commune; Catie's is like a palace. She and her family live with her maternal grandmother in a house that looks like the setting for a romantic movie. The ceilings soar, the white walls shimmer, flowers grow in every corner. A pool sparkles in the backyard, and a courtyard welcomes in the front. There are palm trees surrounding. It is Paradise found.
Catie leads me to my own room and I want to gasp. It's gorgeous, fit for a princess. Two armchairs sit opposite the floral-adorned bed and beside a wicker vanity. Outside the window, the sun shines bright over the orange trees across the driveway. And just inside the door, the real luxury--my own bathroom. At Laura's, though I loved the proximity, the bathroom was shared with everyone, which caused half a dozen awkward moments I wished never to repeat again. Here, I wouldn't have to.
I set down my things carefully, wishing I didn't have to mar this perfect space with my real living.
...
"Okay, so Grandpa had lunch plans, but he's gonna call us when he's finished and we'll see what he's up for." Catie has been negotiating a date with my great grandfather, a shopping spree which he requested and I wholeheartedly agreed to. The man is ancient and wealthy, and knows how to love only through his money. I am his oldest great grandchild, and have not seen him in six years; this may be the last time we are ever together.
He calls, and Catie and I climb into the car with her two-year-old daughter Olivia, who happens to be the youngest great granddaughter, and we drive to Nordstrom Rack. I have never shopped here before because I can't afford it, and Catie tells me not to ask for a budget. I am nervous.
We meet him at the front of the store, and he is smiling. He's in a good mood, looks almost jolly, which is never how I picture him. His excitement over this outing far outweighs mine, a fact which relieves me. "I'll get you a cart," he says.
Catie and I have talked about this--we will shop for college. She helps me decide on a color palette and think through what I actually need. I feel somewhat practical. But then we fill a cart to overflowing and I stuff it all into a dressing room, a little numb with shame. I avoid eye contact with the sales associates.
We spend four hours in that store. Olivia tries on every pair of sparkly shoes in her line of sight, and ends up with her own little stack of things, almost all in some shade of pink. I am grateful to find more no's than yes's among my pile, but I still end up with a cartload.
"Is it too much?" I ask Catie in a whisper
"Let's see..." She goes through each item and determines if I need it or want it. That is not the point, I think. The point is do I need to get rid of it? But the conclusion she comes to is, "I think you're good."
We reach the checkout and I fear for the response of the woman ringing us out. She does not judge.
Grandpa shells out Benjamin Franklins of a number I will not disclose, and I exhale when it's all over.
...
We go to dinner, and I study him. He is five years shy of a century old, and still has most of his memory. His hands are covered in wrinkles and his hair is barely a wisp of white on the sides of his head. His eyes are hazel. Like mine.
"What are you doing for Father's Day, Grandpa?" Catie asks.
"Oh, probably watchin' TV." He laughs.
"You could come over to my mom and dad's, we're all getting together," she offers. He doesn't turn her down, but we both know he won't come. There are rifts.
We talk about the family, how here in the same booth are the oldest great granddaughter and the youngest, and there are nineteen children besides us in our generation. "All because of me," he jokes.
"All because of you," Catie says, gazing at him lovingly.
I feel strangely removed from him. He is part of the reason I exist; his blood runs through my veins. I have some of his mannerisms. I have his eye color. And yet, I don't know him. Probably never will.
We walk him to his car and kiss him goodbye, and I throw a last look over my shoulder as we walk away.
It might be the last time I ever see him.
...
"Write him a note." Uncle Johnny is practical when I tell him about going S hopping. "That's all he wants. The people he does this for are the people who make him feel good about himself."
A note? It sounds like by some miracle my great grandfather's love language is words of affirmation.
So is mine.
...
Sunday is church day, and I rise to go with Catie and her family. She and her husband recently planted a church, and the burden of forty or so souls rests on her shoulders. On top of that, this Sunday both of her Sunday school teachers are gone. I volunteer to replace them.
Two by two, the ten children wander in, ages two through eleven, and I will watch them alone. They play for a while, and I turn on the video Catie told me to have them watch. They whisper, eat their snacks, talk amongst themselves, but I listen. The lesson is on the Daniel in the lion's den.
I look around at my own lions and ask God
to use His might to hem them in when I cannot.
...
I have heard of family gatherings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary when someone says they're going to one. But the amount of times I've been with extended family on a holiday probably totals less than thirty in my nearly nineteen years.
So this day is special.
Catie's kids shout it as their father checks in before going in a separate car: "Happy Father's Day!" Everyone gathers on the back porch at Uncle Johnny and Aunt Debbie's, and I soak in the sunshine and togetherness. We laugh. I feel connected to my faraway family in a way I never have before. Joy whispers across my soul.
...
"We should go get our nails done!" Michelle suggests it as she examines her toes under the table.
Laura perks up. "That's what I thought! Do you wanna go tomorrow?"
"Sure, yeah, should we do that?"
Catie leans in. "What are we doing?"
"Getting our nails done," I say, turning to her.
"Can we bring the little girls, too?" Catie asks, excited.
"Yeah, girls day!" we all agree.
"And then we can go to that Italian place Jason wanted to go to," Michelle says.
"What's goin' on?" one of the men comes over.
"We're getting our nails done tomorrow and getting lunch afterwards."
We toss around a few more restaurant ideas, settle on a plan, and compare how badly our nails need fixing. I feel like one of the women.
...
Catie and I are both tired when we return to her house, so she whips up pizza and puts on a movie for the kids. I stand with her as she cooks and happen to glance outside. I'm not sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing.
"Are those hot air balloons?"
"Yep." Catie nods, amused at my excitement. "Go outside and see."
I stand on the veranda and gaze at the horizon, watching the balloons rise. Josh and Jed, two of Catie's boys, come join me, confused by my intense fascination. "Does this happen a lot?" I ask Catie when I come back in.
"Every weekend," she says.
I smile. Bill Bryson said it--"The greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time."
I have now traveled, and I have found it to be true.
...
Catie's grandmother has seemed elusive as a legend since I got here, but she makes an appearance during dinner, and Catie tells her about our shopping spree. "Grandma would love to see your clothes," she says discreetly.
"On, or just in the bag."
Catie gives a little gasp. "Fashion show?"
So it's settled. I model all the outfits and Grandma oohs and ahhs and I can tell she is blessed.
"I remember when my sister and I were young," she says, "we worked a whole summer and pooled all our money to buy one dress. It was white, and trimmed with green." I smile at her memory and wonder what that was like. I have never known poverty, and extravagance such as Grandpa lavished on me is rare. I am somewhere in between and still learning what to do with it.
We finish the show and Grandma heads back to her room. "That made her night," Catie tells me later.
...
I slip out for a solitary walk, the necessity of an introvert, and drink in the beauty of this place. Stooping at the base of a jacaranda dripping with amethyst blooms, I select four fallen blossoms to press and take home. I breathe in the perfume of a thousand flowers, surveying a skyline of palm trees, and think how my life is a series of opportunities. Every moment, every breath, a gift and a chance--an adventure.
As I walk back and open Catie's gate, it hits me--I will go back changed. Not much. But enough. This trip marks yet another step out of childhood and into the adult world.
I walk through the gate and let it close behind me.
...
I pause outside a moment more and gaze up at the dusky sky. Counting stars. It's the whisper across my heart, the title of one of my favorite albums of music, but also more than that. I have a picture of Abram in my head, God's man called to a strange land all for the sake of a promise, and suddenly there is sense that in this moment, God is making a promise to me as well. It's a promise to be with me, to be present beside me, always. Me. Not just me with my family. Not just me with my friends. Me. Alone, with many, wherever, whenever. And along with the promise comes a gentle challenge, a dare of sorts, God's question mark invitation:
Will you trust Me?
I don't answer Him right away.
Comments
Post a Comment