There once was a decent looking princess….

…who lived high up in a beautiful castle that was built by her father. She loved her castle and rarely, if ever, wanted to leave. She enjoyed her time at the castle with her brothers and her parents-the King and Queen. They were fair and just and were loved by all the land. But one day, her parents decided that it was time the decent looking princess left home to see more of the world and to begin a search for just the right prince.

 

With a heavy heart, she saddled up her white horse and took her most prized possessions to keep her company on her long journey-her black panther-”Oreo”, her favorite red dress and her most cherished books. She knew her journey would be a long one and also brought her favorite provisions to satisfy her hunger-a side horn of coffee, several types of cheese and a few bottles of her favorite wine.

First, the decent looking princess had to cross the Great Ravine that divided her country from her neighboring country. Although the two countries were friendly, she knew that she was no longer under the protection of the King and Queen. She marched on in search of new things to see, new foods to eat and perhaps a prince worthy of the decent looking princess’ love.

After a brief bathroom break or two, and a picnic of cheese and wine, the princess made it into the neighboring country’s market place late in the evening. She saw foods never before experienced, heard dialect never before spoken, purchased fine clothing not available in her own country-and also found a great coffee shop to warm her cold hands.

While gazing upon the city, she heard soft music coming from below. She had never heard this type of music before and curiosity took hold. The decent looking princess searched the market place until she found the source of the new music. Standing before her with a sitar in hand, a crown on his head and a lovely smile, was what she knew would be her prince. For weeks, the princess enjoyed several of his musical performances throughout the city and the two quickly fell in love.

The prince and the decent looking princess were soon married and lived happily ever after. The end.

An Old Venetian Night

According to Biceps, I went to bed last night at 9pm. What am I, 90 years old? My parents have been in town and they are party animals. On one occasion, my parents hung out with brother and sister-in-law till the wee hours of the morning. I saw the clock strike pumpkin hour and couldn’t keep the eyelids open.

Needless to say, I was pooped when they left. Or, I’m just getting old.

I dreamt of our trip to Venice throughout my nine hours of sleep. I swear that my dream had the appropriate smells of the sea, baking bread, pasta and old stone in it.

I wandered back through the narrow streets, hand-in-hand with Biceps. We ate at familiar restaurants and enjoyed glasses of red house wine.

While we were in Venice (in real life), we enjoyed overcast days-great for being a tourist (lesser people on the street), not so great for being a photographer (flat colors). But even in my dream, it didn’t matter as we grabbed hot espressos and enjoyed the coolness of the day.

I don’t smoke, but it seemed appropriate as all the Venetians do while drinking their coffee. However, one cigarette was enough for me. Yuck.

One of my favorite things about Venice were their ancient bricked garages-no cars, just boats. In my dream, Biceps and I zoomed around the open sea with awesome sunglasses and super fancy white outfits.

At the end of my dream, before the cat woke me up, Biceps and I sat in the plaza eating spaghetti, drinking red wine and feeding the pigeons the bread from our table.

When I woke up this morning, I grabbed my computer and snuck out of the room. Biceps slept while I planned our next trip overseas, starting in Germany, winding our way to the south, north, east and west. With airfare just over 1k a piece-why not?! I carry that kind of chump change in my wallet.

Hah. I guess my dreams will suffice for now.

Touring-A Weird Life unto Itself

Dear Readers:
I haven’t talked about touring (as an entertainer coach driver for bands) in awhile. Sometimes, I like to forget that part of my life.

Biceps and I have the occasional rendezvous, but it’s nothing like packing up your life for two months, riding around the country seeing what most never get to see, stressing out over mountain passes and sudden snowstorms, babysitting lead singers that you used to idolize, and watching girls disrespect themselves so that they can have a story to tell later on.

It’s a weird and isolating life.

With a flipped schedule from most normal humans, you get to see cities when they are at their quietest. Often, the only people you talk to throughout the day are other bus drivers (which isn’t always a bonus), the checker at the Flying J and your hubby (if you are lucky and his bus hasn’t broken down somewhere).

Biceps sent me an article found in Spin magazine highlighting the life of a tour bus driver. The article said that they are only 12 female tour bus drivers in the U.S.. I don’t know if I was counted or not, but even if there are 13 of us-we are quite the minority.

Throw in the fact that I wear a dress when I drive, change the oil in the generator and do my pre-trip inspection, I am in the smallest of minorities.

I both love(d) the life and hate(d) the touring life. But with time, you tend to forget the worst and focus on the best.

I loved spending Thanksgiving in a Chinese restaurant in a deserted downtown with only Biceps and a styrofoam container of Mu Gu Gai Pan. Depressing at first, I soon realized we had never spent a Thanksgiving alone, just him and I. It became pretty romantic even if we were eating off of plastic forks.

I loved being invited to the home of one of our coastal living crew members and then promptly being stuffed full of fresh caught crab, corn, potatoes, beer and death-by-chocolate desserts.

I loved seeing the weird stuff in cities that make me laugh outloud. I’ve seen enough cathedrals, city halls and monuments to last a lifetime.

And I loved being so bored on long drives that Biceps and I began to name the bug splatter on the windshield, come up with personalities for each of them and write their obituaries.

And isolation isn’t always bad. Enjoying sunrises and hot cups of coffee on deserted city streets with your best friend is calming.

I can handle the drunk lead singers, dragging my luggage through gravel parking lots, a snow goose breaking my windshield on the last day of tour and waylaying me at a truck stop for two days in Canada, having my anniversary outside of a bait shop, all because I was on the adventure with my best friend.

Touring is a weird life unto itself, but at least I was with my weirdo husband and I (think) loved every minute of it.

God’s Great Country-Salzburg, Austria

Dear Readers:
I’ve felt as of late, that I’m barely making it up the mountain in my life, while being passed by others who don’t seem to mind the climb. While reading this scripture this morning, “I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint.” Jeremiah 31:25, I was reminded of this scenario.

Just outside of the city of Salzburg, Biceps and I found a hostel that perched atop a mountain, promising spectacular views. We had to take a train to get there, but trains meant croissants, hot coffee and jam. Stepping off the train and onto the desolate track, with our backpacks firmly in place, we began the long ascent on foot to Haus Lindner.

A couple of Billy Goat school-aged kids had hopped off the train with us. Dressed in their dark blue uniforms, they immediately passed us by. Their backpacks were only packed for the day-not the entire month. And the Billy Goat kids’ calves and lungs were used to climbing the mountain home.

Biceps and I were sucking wind within five minutes.

With my best attempts at speaking plain German, and hoping they’d understand, I asked how far it was to our hostel. They replied (I think), “Just up that hill.”
The hill was a mountain. And it wasn’t a small one. “Follow us,” they said, looking over their shoulders.
Determined that the whippersnappers would not get too far ahead, and wanting to make America proud, Biceps and I picked up our pace.

Finally, after reaching the top, the Billy Goat kids pointed out our hostel and trotted off for home. My legs ached and my backpack seemed to have gained an extra 10 pounds on the long climb up.

But, the scenery spread out before me-bright, spring-fed grass covered the mountain, the sun had begin peaking its head over the horizon, the terra cotta roofs dotted their way down the lane we had just climbed. It was breathtaking.

The Billy Goat kids had been conditioned for the climb-they were ready. And although I am a runner, my midwest legs only knew slight inclines-I wasn’t ready for the mountain.

But determination of not being the weak link and the promise of more croissants are rather motivating factors for this girl. I knew that I had to just get inside the hostel, set down my backpack and the breakfast would be waiting. The climb had been worth it.

I knew there would be rest eventually for me-”the weary”. If you are, like me, struggling on your mountain climb today, know that there will be rest for you. God in his faithfulness will give you rest and hopefully a croissant.