Learning From Memory

Le Havre, France.  Not a town most people would know or remember.  Probably it's only claim to fame is being a logistically decent place for cruise ships to stop and send their passengers off for day tours of Omaha Beach and other noteworthy WWII sites.  Give me a few paragraphs, though, to convince you of it's redeeming property.

Travel back in time with me to April 2008.  My husband Ben and I, with our 1-yr-old son Beck, set off on a celebratory tour of the continent of Europe.  Ben had finally finished his bachelor's degree so we packed our bags, got on a plane, and flew away!  Not until we were halfway across the Atlantic Ocean did we realize we'd left behind an important piece of equipment.

This is Beck:

No, he isn't what we left behind. But, at age one, you can imagine that Beck was an incredibly mobile child-not yet walking, but more than willing to get himself somewhere in a high-speed crawl.  Even at his best, however, we could hardly expect him to make do on his own for 6 weeks of budget traveling.

Figured out what the missing equipment was yet?  We'd left our backpack carrier in the car at home.  All of a sudden the idea of carrying a squirming, wiggly baby in our arms for hours and hours and days and days seemed daunting.  It was the first time we'd considered that traveling with a child might not be fun.

Enter Le Havre.  We happened to be there at the beginning of our journey and an angel of a tourism official directed us to a second-hand store where we might be able to find redemption.  She seemed ashamed not to be able to send us to a fancy department store.  We gave prayers of gratitude that our first unexpected purchase with euros might not break the bank.

This is the store:

Neither Ben or I speak French and the shopkeeper of this adorable store knew very little English.  After a lot of pointing at Beck and then at our backs, we found ourselves following this nice lady out of her store and up three flights of stairs next door.  She unlocked a door and offered up her entire store room for us to find what we were looking for.  We were inundated with choices and she let us try on everyone.  Grateful and overwhelmed we finally settled on the pack we liked and hoped we had enough money in our pockets.  Truth is, to this day I don't know how much we paid for that backpack carrier.  What I do know is that it was worth it's weight in gold!

This is the pack: 

Honestly, it was perfect!  Beck slept in it, ate in it, laughed in it, played in it.  He rode on our backs through  eight countries.  It was incredibly comfortable and I carried him on my back for six of the seven miles on the Cinque Terre Trail in Italy.  That accomplishment is still a feather in my cap!  We have searched high and low and haven't found this exact backpack anywhere.  They don't exist.  But we have one.  It's our little miracle.

Why, you're asking, am I taking you on this trip down memory lane?  I mentioned in my New Year's post and also my Wandering Still post that my goal for a year from now is to be traveling and exploring exotic locations.  Ben and I have finally talked it out sensibly and we are really going to make it happen!  We have debts to pay before we can start the planning, but knowing that he knows how important is to me has given me the hope I needed to start openly dreaming.  

These are the lessons: 

     ~We've done it before.  Let people be confused and think we're being irrational.  Kids travel and we wouldn't think of leaving them home.

    ~Things will most certainly not go completely as planned.  We'll forget things and there may be setbacks and delays.  That makes journeying all the more exhilarating.

    ~I love my family.  I easily get bogged down in my day-to-day.  Life doesn't magically become perfect when I pack my bags and sail away.  My husband and two cute boys are going to be there along the way.  If I can learn to make the most of the time I have here with them, they'll make sure we live life to the fullest when they're out there (wherever there may be) with me. And that is all I'm hoping for.

And lastly:

    ~Don't leave the backpack carrier in the car at home!

In My Heart On Thursday-

"Dante was so wrong.  At the lowest point, at the nadir of the ninth circle of hell, Satan will be sharing eternally cold space with treasonous brownnosers who abandon their principles and do what is wrong for the sake of a good grade, or applause.  And these brownnosers will have to lick Satan's razor-studded butt forever and ever, with their tongues."

-Carlos Eire,  Waiting For Snow In Havana, p. 232

Where True Friends Are

As my Google Friend Connect following inches closer to that magic number of 100, I'm having a number of "new blogger" thoughts.  But, the thing is, I'm not really a new blogger.  I wrote my first entry for Wandering Still in 2007.  And about that same time I started my family's blog as well.

Gaining a "following" on this blog has been both exciting, motivating, and discouraging.  At first I was excited that there were people on the planet who wanted to read what I had to say.  And not only read it, but relate to it and respond back in some way.  The responses back were particularly motivating.  If there are people interested in what I have to say, then I'll give them more interesting things to read.  I see how that cycle works...that makes writing great for everyone.

The discouragement has come over the past few weeks as I've deleted scores of comments shamelessly advertising for other people's blogs.  I honestly could care less if you have hours everyday to scour bloghops and  directories looking for innocent bloggers who haven't religiously decided to follow your giveaways and freebies.  I have a life that doesn't involve always being attached to my computer, and I'm not going to follow you unless I want what you have to say to come across in my Google Reader and somehow enlighten my day.

Mean?  That's my truth.  And I'm comfortable saying it because I don't know most of you.  I know not every single thing I write is going to strike a chord in my readers.  On those days, I hope you make a promise to come back and see what I have to say the next time.  And let me know-even if you don't like it!

Where am I not comfortable expressing these feelings so clearly?  On my family blog.  If you were to hop over there right now you'd see my GFC counter has "0" connections.  Now, I have a handful of relatives that subscribe through a reader or an email subscription and I love them for that!  The trouble comes in the truth that that handful of people in my life are the extent of all the people I know who have one care to keep up with what's going on in the life of my kids or our family.

As I've started writing more frequently and perusing the wealth of blogs out there, I see that my family blog could easily do well if I decided to make it public.  I've resisted doing that for the sake of privacy and also to save my dignity...I feel like I'd end up making it public in a moment of desperation for SOMEONE to pay attention to me.  Obviously my husband and kids and myself don't need approval or high-fives for everything we do and everywhere we go.  But, just as when I write on this blog solely for the purpose of interacting with other people's thoughts and ideas, it'd be nice if our personal experiences were able to motivate or interest the people with which we share a personal connection.

So what is the answer?  Both in general writing blogs and in personal blogs?  How do you manage your friend connections?  What advice do you have for building up a committed and interested following?  And what made you decide to or not to publicly share your personal family blogs for all the world to see?  I'm just wondering.

In My Heart On Thursday

"One of our sons was spending a few days incarcerated in a local facility to 'pay his debt to society.'  As I looked at his sorrowful countenance behind that glass wall, my heart nearly broken, I only wished I had held and rocked that baby boy.  I couldn't, as hard as I tried, think of a specific time when I had held him on my lap and kissed his head, face, and ears and held him close to my heart.

I had washed that boy, scolded him for misdeeds, sent him to school, even taken pictures of him, but I couldn't remember putting my lips next to his ear and whispering tender, loving, happy words that might have echoed in his memory when he needed them.  When my arms couldn't get to him through that terrible glass barrier, I wanted to remember how it felt to hold him and I wanted him to remember how it felt to be held and loved by his mother.

So, if I could go back, I would hold and rock and sing and whisper love to my child every single day."

                                                                      -Excerpt from Delta, Utah, Ensign Magazine, July 1996

My $100 Dream

I am a thrift store shopper.  And if not a thrift store shopper, then definitely a clearance rack shopper. In Iowa my secondhand store of choice was Goodwill, preferably the Euclid store (or West Des Moines, but it had to be a special treat to make it all the way out there).  In Alaska the goods were at Value Village.  Quality was lacking at Value Village, but when you're thousands of miles from the next thrift store, you take what you can find.  Here in Utah, mecca for used-clothes hounds is Deseret Industries (DI).

Deseret Industries operates along the same lines as Goodwill, I think, offering employment and training services, affordable items for purchase, and a place for the community to donate their time and no-longer-needed belongings.  I support everything DI stands for, but what is the real reason I'm telling you all this?  I have a secret dream...

I want $100 and an entire day alone to DI-hop.  Within 45 minutes driving distance I have access to 10 fabulous stores.  By far my favorites are the Sugarhouse and the American Fork stores.  Sugarhouse always has unique items and American Fork has some tall, presumably wealthy people donating brand new stuff sized perfectly for me.  Whenever this dream shopping spree takes place, I'll start farthest north in downtown Salt Lake City.  That way, if I run out of time or money, I can skip the Provo store and know nothing is there waiting for me.  In the middle of BYU married-housing, that store gets the dregs people have been passing down for generations and should have sent to the trash rather than a merchandising establishment.

Why Deseret Industries you're thinking.  Why not dream and save up for a trip to the mall, or even bigger, to New York City?  Well, first, reality is that holding 100 free dollars in my hand is a pipe dream.  When that great party day arrives, I need to get the most bang for my buck.  I can walk out of the mall with 2-3 things or out of DI with 12-15 things.  Beyond the limitation of money, though, I see cute things peeking out at me every single time I go to DI.  Usually I'm there shopping for my kids or trying to find that hidden gem out in the yard (for my local readers, do you know about the yard?  I was sick to my stomach when I realized I'd been missing out for years and years).  If I do look through the racks for me, a skirt or shirt is guaranteed to fall in love with me, and once in love I have to take it home.  I'll hide it in the laundry basket until it's cleaned and then slip it in my closet pretending it's been there all along.  My husband laughs at me.  He's pretty sure my $3.00 discovery is not going to drain the coffers.

I'm sure a few of you are appalled by now.  It may not seem I have very classy or lofty goals. If that's what you're looking for, hop over to my SIL's blog Timeless.  Emulating and learning from Aubrey Hepburn, her shopping and fashion knowledge is in a world all her own.  As for me, I've got $20 in the bank.  One day that will grow and you'll find me grinning like a kid in a candy store.  You can find me buried in the racks of everyone else's hand-me-downs.

Photo credit: www.waymarking.com