Monaco

Before getting into my little travel log on Lyon, I want to share about our last full day in Nice.  We thought we couldn't very well be such a short distance away from Monaco and not drive through it.  Just to say we did it.  It took us about 20 minutes to get there and of course, it was raining.  Grrrrrr
I had wanted to get out and walk around a bit.  However, once again I sucked it up and just enjoyed our drive and made the best of it.

I had heard that Monaco was small.  And it is.  Very small.  As we drove along the winding highway I wondered to myself--is that it?  Yes, it's that small.  It sits on a hillside next to the sea.  It's like a large marina sticking up out of the water.  Everything seemed massive--buildings, boats.  Which also seemed strange--where was the quaintness of this little country?  

We saw extremely expensive cars--and if you are into cars like I am, well, let's just say you would be in car heaven.  We saw outrageous yachts and beautiful high-rises.  If you think about it, Monaco has only one way to grow and that's up.  High up!

We did enjoy our ride, however--we took some back roads into small neighborhoods, and we wound around following the coastline as far as we could.

Would I go back?  Would I want to stay there?  No.  I've seen it, it's not for me, but I'm glad I went.  I can now check that box.  I am more of a traditional European groupie.  I want charm--bigger is better is not one of my mottos.

So, here are a few of my photos--please enjoy.  Remember though, these were shot through a car windshield and it was lightly raining.  So, don't shoot the photographer--pun intended.

Getting there--Roman ruins and aqueducts...

                 

Leaving Nice...

                     

I can't get enough of these trees...

                     

Little boxes on the hillside...

               

This is the view that people pay for!

               

Cruise ships and boats...

                 

Small spaces and tall places...

               

I kept thinking of Princess Grace...

                   

This was way cool...

                 

 It's hard to see but the road follows along the mountainside...

                 

 Every country needs a Crest...

                   

 One of the little neighborhoods...

                   

St Paul de Vence

I am in love with little European medieval villages.  The thickly walled cities with tiny cobbled streets.   I love everything they represent.  Community, protection, family, friends--I feel all these things as I walk through them.  I feel the history, the stories, the people.  I don't believe that I would have wanted to live during that period of time, however, as a history lover, it's fascinating for me to walk amongst the small timbered buildings peering into the leaded glass windows and wondering what life must have been like.

The very first village I visited was in Italy.  We could see it off in the distance perched high on a hill.  From the highway it didn't seem far, so we decided to take a detour and check it out.  I am so glad we did.  We found that most of these villages are pedestrian only.  We parked our car and began to meander through the shops and cafes.  It was the most beautiful place I'd ever been, and right then and there, my love for these walled cities began to grow.

We made Nice our home base and found there was a village about 20 miles from us up in the foothills.  We got our car from the parking garage and away we went.  St Paul de Vence.  Beautiful.  I fell immediately in love.  I could hardly wait for the car to stop before I was out and taking pictures.  The streets were about 2 people wide--cobbled with a star pattern, and winding up and up and up.  Little shops and restaurants everywhere.  In the past few decades, it has turned into an artist colony.  Olive oil, linens, paintings, everything you can imagine, but of the highest quality.

We walked for quite some time before finding a cafe for lunch and then began walking again--up and up to the top of this medieval village to where the church stood.  The views were spectacular.  Our cameras never stopped clicking.  What a day to remember.  It was one of the most wonderful intact cities that I have visited.  I'll share some of my photos here--and then you'll see for yourself.

I could see it from far off and it looked awesome!  I couldn't wait to arrive.  It was beautiful.

St Paul de Vence

Cannons for protection, every home needs one!

Look closely--the cobblestones are patterned --flowers!

Little shops and cafes tucked into tiny homes.

Very thick doors and windows.

We had lunch up there under those umbrellas.

OK, yes,  I bought lots of stuff in here.

So many little shops!  I was in heaven. 

Beautiful displays.

I am already planning our next adventure, and yes, it will include a medieval village or two.  I just love them.   I might even come back here one day!

Nice in Nice

I want to share a little more about Nice before leaving these pages and running off to Lyon.  Once over the horrid apartment fiasco, we settled in to enjoy the beautiful south of France.  After all, we were on the Mediterranean!  It was breathtaking--the water was blue, the buildings bright and the people friendly.  We went to the local outdoor market which went on for blocks--taking pictures, sampling fruits and buying treasures.  We had lunch that day at a little outdoor cafe and did some people watching, which is one of our favorite pastimes.  Between eating, shopping and people watching--well, let's just say, we were totally in our element.  I think it's best to describe this part of our vacation in pictures!

 Olive trees for sale at the market--I had to wait and purchase one in the states after we returned.

               Lots of wonderfully smelling soaps--yes, I bought a few.

                 And of course Olive Oil--I brought home a few.

                Oil and vinegar were sold in many markets--they were abundant.

                    Chefs--just taking a break.

 I wanted to buy as many fruits and vegetables as I could, but we were in Nice for just a few days.  The strawberries were the sweetest we had ever tasted.  Everything was wonderful.

               And of course French cheese, my husband could not get enough.

Yes, our time in Nice was great.  We felt that we were there long enough to learn the city, explore the markets and enjoy the neighborhoods.   We were able to make Nice our home base and visit some other local areas--one little town that we visited while staying in Nice was St Paul de Vence.  Just wait until I tell you about that!

Apartment Living--Nice

We did something different in France this time.  We rented an apartment--sight unseen over the internet.  Yeah, I don't think we'll do that again.  This will be a hard blog for me to write as I don't want to come across negative.  Nor do I want to come across snobby.  However, even as I am thinking about the 5 days we spent in Nice, I can feel the pampered American coming out in me.  I am so very spoiled.

This is the description (as told by the owner) of the apartment--in the heart of the pedestrian city, 1 bedroom, air conditioning, washing machine, shower, coffee maker, kitchen utensils, linens, the internet, TV-- close to shopping and restaurants.

This is the description (as told by me) of the apartment--2nd floor apartment 2 doors down from a bar that doesn't close until 3 am, 1 bedroom with hard mattress that slopes, very noisy air conditioner, washing machine/no dryer--can wash 4 items at a time, (very) limited hot water, 20 year old coffee maker (bring your own filters) spotty internet, extremely small (13 in) TV.  And BYOTP--toilet paper.

 The kitchen--the blue door is the refrigerator, no dishwasher but there was s little oven.

 The living room, the arrangement was not good, I was dying to rearrange the whole place.

 Eat in (kind of ) kitchen, the small door held the washing machine, which was about 15 inches wide.

And lastly the bathroom.  The smallest shower ever, with the smallest water heater ever.

And that's probably what started the whole bad attitude thing--we met a woman at the apartment (that we were unable to park near--remember pedestrian area) and unloaded our luggage while my husband was double parked.  He then had to look for a parking garage while I proceeded to follow the barely English speaking lady to the rental.  She showed me where everything was--really not that hard to figure out--and then left.  I liked her, she was nice, however--why didn't I ask her how to work the washing machine?  How could I be so stupid?  We did eventually figure it out, so all was well.  Kind of.  OK, not really.

This apartment was small, really small.  Really, really small.  I soon discovered that there wasn't anywhere to store our luggage, and I wasn't going to put our things in the dusty old chest of drawers.  So that took a while to figure out.  But, that's OK, I was determined to make the best of a badly decorated, super small, noisy apartment.  It was sort of cute--had I decorated it.  I'm sure that 30 years ago all the decor looked fresh and clean.  We unpacked, as best we could, and then realized that there was just one-half of a roll of toilet paper in the bathroom.  Only 2 sets of towels and only 3 coffee filters in the kitchen.  It was a Sunday evening, and if you know anything about most of Europe, you know that on Sundays it's pretty much shut down.  We decided that we had better quickly google a map and find a nearby grocery store--and that's when we found out about the poor internet connection.  We took off on foot, found our little store and made the necessary purchases.  I felt settled then--parked, unpacked--toilet paper and coffee filters bought.

We found out later that night about the hard bed and the loud bar.  It's a good thing that my husband and I are seasoned travelers.  We laid in bed that night and were overtook by a laughing attack--with tears rolling down our faces, and our bodies sloping on our small extremely uncomfortable bed, we laughed until the wee hours of the morning.  The next day, not so much.

Since adventure and exploring are our middle names we took off to discover all that Nice had to offer.  We walked the pedestrian streets, took a pedicab tour (totally fun) and that evening walked the famous Promenade des Anglais.  Sightseeing and food improved our moods dramatically.  Until that night when we crawled into that horrible bed.  After another night of sleeplessness, I was ready to check into a hotel and leave the apartment life far behind.  My ever brilliant husband though had a thought--don't we have a pull out sofa sleeper in the living room?  Ummm, yes, yes we do!  There we were at midnight, pulling out a sofa sleeper, praying that somehow, someway it would be more comfy that our bed.  And it was.  Oh, sweet bliss.  We were able to sleep the next 2 nights much more comfortable.  It's funny how much better Nice looked to us once we were well rested.  Call us old farts if you want to, but we need our sleep.  Nice was finally beginning to look nice.

Lose In Toulouse

I forgot to mention something that occurred while we were in Rennes.  I can't believe that I didn't write about it, as it was a significant part of the beginning of our trip.  Our second day into our vacation as I was blow drying my hair I did something stupid.  You know how you mindlessly throw your head forward to dry underneath?  Yeah, I did that and was immediately assaulted with vertigo.  The only thing I could do was grab onto the bathroom sink and yell out my husband's name.  He came running and sat on the bathroom floor holding me tightly and patiently waiting for the episode to end.  I was sweating, and sick to my stomach for the next couple of hours.  I won't do that again--ever.

To say that I was fearful of another attack like that coming on again is an understatement.  I was terrified.  I got out my iPad and did the only thing I could.  I reached out to my friends and family on Facebook and asked them to pray for me.  We still had another 2 weeks of vacation ahead of us, and believe me, I didn't want to spend it laying down with spells of vertigo and feeling sick.  Fortunately, I have several friends who are nurses and they told me to get some motion sickness pills.  So, once we arrived in Toulouse I walked right across the street from our hotel armed with the French words--Dramamine, car sick, motion sickness, dizzy, and vertigo.  I figured maybe one of them would be translatable.  It was, and I left with an ample supply to get me through our vacation.  Thank God for friends!  And for a pharmacist with a good sense of humor, my French wasn't too good when it came to those types of words, but we made do and from that moment on whenever I began to feel dizzy, I'd pop a French motion sickness pill.  I am very thankful that I have these special people in my life, who cared enough to pray and enough to help me out with some sage advice.

For me Toulouse was interesting.  First off, I loved our hotel.  It was located right in the city center, which is what we love.  It was modern and clean and perfect for us and it had a Nespresso machine (score) and big comfy bed (double score) and a window seat looking out over the main square.  The city of Toulouse though was really truly not my cup of tea.  For one thing, we were a bit too old.  It's a university town--loud, lots of bars and tons of live music.

We set out to explore, walking through the main plaza and soaking up the scene.  We listened to live music, stopped for a coffee, did some shopping, and then had dinner.  Looking back, there is something that I was very thankful for and that was double glazed windows.  We were able to shut out the noise (which was still going on into the wee hours of the morning) and get a decent nights sleep.  Funny how small things matter.


Honestly because of the age factor I wasn't too enamored with the city and wished I had picked a different destination.  However, it was just one night and we were soon off to Nice.  We had a 6-hour drive ahead of us, tollways, rest stops and coffee to buy-- it was time to go.

My husband wondered why I had chosen Toulouse as a stopover,  I told him that years ago we were supposed to go there for a business trip.  After much planning and looking forward to the trip--it was canceled at the last minute--the very last minute.  I was so disappointed.  This was my way of finally seeing the city that I had researched all those years ago.  Checked that box--on to Nice.

Beautiful Bordeaux

Here we come Bordeaux, are you ready for us?  We packed up the next morning and drove on down. Why in the world have I not heard much about this city before?  That's my question.  Because it was awesome.  Yes, I had heard about the region, and the wines, but not much about the city.  And I can't figure out why.  I didn't really have any expectations, as it was just on our route as we traveled throughout France, just another city to check off on our list.  However, was I in for a pleasant surprise.

First off, our hotel was fantastic, it was owned and operated by the Monaco Consulate.  Our room was actually the old stable, it had tangerine walls and cement floors--very industrial, but super neat. I loved it, and it also had a courtyard with beautiful roses right outside our door.  It was just a 5-minute walk to the main plaza where we had a wonderful dinner at a cute outdoor cafe, and then we roamed around taking some incredible pictures.

                                                        Our view during dinner...

In the morning we went for a walk and stumbled upon old Roman ruins.  In fact, as we were leaving our hotel to begin exploring a lady flagged us down.  Being American, we were a little skeptical at first (kinda like, what does she want with us?) However, as it turned out, she was a school teacher that didn't want us to walk right on by those beautiful ruins and not notice them.  Does she know us or what?  We took pictures as she shared with us the history of the ruins--they were built in the 300's.  Unbelievable.  I just love how others are able to catch our excitement and our love for foreign cities.  I think they sense our love for Europe and want to become a part of our unquenchable thirst for exploration.  Between the teacher's English and my French, we were able to converse nicely.  I'm so glad that she took time out of her holiday and played tour guide.


After saying our goodbyes and thank you's, we wandered through the city and found a flea market which was to die for.  I have found that I am a total flea market junkie.  Any flea market, anytime, anywhere--my new tag line.  Yes, French flea markets are the best thing going, it is now my prayer that heaven looks like a French flea market, that's how much I love them.  I picked up a little woven hand-basket--with the thinking that it'll be great for future flea markets.



Honestly, we hated to leave Bordeaux and have already discussed going back again--we need more time to explore that city and eat a lot more of their food.
There was a river through the middle of the city that I did not cross, there were vineyards and castles and villages to travel to in nearby regions, and probably a lot more flea markets with my name on them.  I seriously did not want to leave.
Too little time for such a wonderful city.  We will return--I promise.  I really do promise.

However, our next destination was waiting--Toulouse.

Finally, Mount Saint Michel

Oh yes, this will certainly be a multiple part-er blog.  My husband and I traveled to 6 cities in France over a 2 week time period.  6 cities!  So, I shall start from the beginning--sharing my best of times and my worst, my thoughts and my fears, and also a few photos along the way.  The trip was a celebration of our 40 years of marriage--we laughed, I cried, we ate, I shopped, we had tons of fun and we are now a little (OK a lot) depressed that it all went by much too quickly.

We landed in Paris, and although all I saw was the airport, it was still exciting.  We then proceeded to drive to our first destination--Rennes.  We decided to stay in that particular city due to its proximity to Mount Saint Michel.  I was determined that I would see it this trip.  Very determined.  I have been to France many times before and every single time something has come up to change the plans (mainly due to business meetings) so that I missed seeing it all these many years.  To say that I was excited would be an understatement.  I was practically like a big ole' dog hanging out the window.  But wait--back to Rennes.

I didn't really mind our hotel room--had it been in a different location in the city, and had a softer bed, and maybe better water pressure in the shower, but nonetheless, it was fine--it was going to just be a quick (2 night) resting place for my beloved Mount Saint Michel.  It took us about 6 hours (remember we stop for coffee multiple times during any trip no matter how near or far) to finally reach Rennes.  It rained on and off that first day, and I prayed hard that the next day, my big day--that the rain would subside.  And it did, God heard my prayers!

I, of course, slept some of the way.  I'm not one to sleep well on planes.  I think I slept maybe 30 minutes total during our 9-hour flight, my husband on the other hand, well, let's just say he was well rested when we arrived.  So, he did the driving and I did the sleeping, and the drinking of the coffee--on to Rennes.

We used our little hotel room in Rennes as just a place to sleep.  I tried hard not to dwell on the negative aspect of that particular hotel.  Really I did.  I tried hard not to notice that there was a movie theater across the square that let out at 3:00 am.  I tried hard not to notice the many stray dogs roaming the streets all night long barking, and barking and did I mention barking?  All night long!
I tried hard not to notice the homeless teenagers, crusty old men and lack of good restaurants nearby.  Yes, I tried hard not to notice all those things as I patiently waited for my day trip to Mount Saint Michel.  She outweighed them all.  She in all her beauty eclipsed the contrary woes of that dismal place.  It was my fault really, I should have done a little more research as to the location of our hotel.  Nonetheless, we suffered through the unpleasantries of that hotel experience and secretly prayed that our next several hotels were in better locations for the next 5 cities.  I was probably praying a little harder.

The next morning I was wide awake and bouncing off the walls ready to take the 1-hour drive up to Mount Saint Michel.  Oh sure--I had been warned.  I knew it was going to be very touristy, but hey, I'm a tourist too!  And things like that don't really bother me.  As long as there are clean restrooms and lots of places for food and coffee--I'm good to go.  Our GPS (in our cute little Renault rental car) took us a little off the beaten path.  Instead of highways, she decided to take us the byways--we drove through little villages and our first glimpse of the monastery was across a field of bright yellow flowers.  It literally took my breath away.  We pulled over along the side of that little country road and began snapping pictures of crazy people and just sat gazing at its beauty.  Was it everything I thought it would be?  Yes, it was.  It was beautiful.  So historical, with fantastic views, and great architecture--everything was perfect.  I didn't let the tourists and t-shirt shops bother me.  I had a blast taking pictures and discovering little-hidden alleyways.  We had a tourist priced lunch and enjoyed our day.  I loved the curved pathways that lead us to the top, I loved the views of the tide being out and the expansiveness of the sandy beaches.  I loved the rooftops of the buildings, the cobbled streets, the French pastries and the coffee--for me, it just doesn't get much better than that.  What a glorious day.  We drove back to Rennes that evening with some really great memories.  Finally, Mount Saint Michel.

               

Yes, I finally made it, and yes, it was everything I thought it would be.  I loved it.  Would I go again?  Probably not.  Been there, done that.  However, I am so glad that I went.  I'm happy that I didn't listen to anyone else's opinion, I'm glad that I followed that yearning in my heart to visit such a wonderful majestic place.  I now have my memories, and my pictures and my heart feels very content.

Now on to Bordeaux.

Afterthoughts

It's funny what comes to your mind after.  Those thoughts that you remember thinking.  The ones that at the time were hard to access.  But then later they surface.  Slowly.  Hazy, lazy, foggy impressions--I thought I'd share them.  For it's one thing to experience a weird accident, it's another to analyze it.  And I'm good at that--analyzing, especially my own thoughts.

As I mentioned in my last blog, I passed out on the street in front of a local restaurant almost 3 weeks ago.  I am still in the midst of testing.  From EEG's to EKG's to everything in-between, I will be poked and prodded for several more weeks to come.  Hopefully, these tests will come to nothing.  However, I will succumb to make my doctors and my husband happy.

Anyway, back to those silly thoughts of mine (you see how my mind now wanders) the first of which happened right there on the sidewalk.  When I first began to regain conscienceness I remember a man kneeling beside me.  He was the one taking my pulse, I heard his voice, and felt safe.  He felt under my throat, he felt my wrist and told me that everything was going to be OK.  And guess what I did?  I reached out and grabbed his hand and held on for dear life.  I did not know what was happening, I did not know where I was, I did not understand anything.  All I knew was that this person was taking care of me, and so I held his hand.  And he let me.  He held my hand right back until the EMT's got there.  I'm a little embarrassed now when I think about it.  Holding the hand of a stranger, someone whom I've yet to lay eyes on.  And yet, for me, at the time, it was the right thing to do.  It brought me comfort.  And I'm very grateful for that.

As I was laying there in a pool of blood, I noticed that my head was laying on something soft.  First thought?  I hope it's not my new sweater!  Seriously.  That's what I thought--not my new sweater!  No worries, it was just a few towels brought out by the restaurant to soak up the blood and act as a makeshift pillow for my head.  Secondly, as I was laying there I felt some tugging on my handbag.  I had fallen to the right and my bag was tucked underneath my arm.  I heard a female voice--she was trying to get to my wallet for my ID and guess what I was concerned with?  Don't cut the strap!  Yep, that is what was going through my mind as I lay there semi-conscience.  Don't cut the strap, you will devalue my purse if you cut the strap!  I'm sure there is a lot to be said about a woman who is more worried about her sweater and handbag than she is worried about her own bleeding head--however, we won't go there now, will we?

Once in the ambulance, and once my eyes were finally beginning to open and the pain was settling in, other thoughts began to form.  When I felt the EMT begin to run his fingers through my scalp, I tried to get the words out (but, they would not come) don't let them shave my head!  Again, vain upon vain--I know!  I'm just being honest though.  Would you want a shaved head?  Fortunately for me, the laceration was on my face.  Oh wow, that comes across ever weirder and more vain.  However, they found that it was to the right of my eye, between the eye and the hairline.  No shaving necessary.  Relieved doesn't even begin to describe how I felt at that moment.  My hair was going to be saved!

One thing that I probably should admit right here and now is that I watch a lot of TV.  I love my TV's, (oh I only have 2, big deal) the bigger the better as far as I'm concerned.  Maybe because I've lived most of my adult life with a traveling husband so it became an important part of my evening--to wile away the loneliness.  Maybe.  Sounds good anyway.  So, imagine this, you wake up in an ambulance, lights, and sirens are going and you pull into some type of big bay that looks like an airline hanger.  OK, bear with me here--I had a random thought--what if I'm being kidnapped--like on 24?  Don't laugh, it could happen!  Never mind that I'm a nobody, without money or fame--it could happen!  Ummm, no.  I then realized it was just the ambulance bay.  Boring...

When taken into the ER my mind was finally beginning to clear a little--which made for even more random crazy thoughts.  Yes, my thoughts were many, and they were random.  I think I kind of told the staff what to do and how to do it.  Hopefully not though, maybe I was hallucinating that part.  I can laugh now, I know that I have a very active imagination.  I don't know why all this happened to me, but it did.  So why not make the most of it.  Why not laugh, take selfies, remember the funny crazy thoughts and just get back to thanking God every day for this wonderful awesome life that He has blessed me with.  Why not take some time to reflect on all that could have gone wrong that didn't.  I'm still here aren't I?

I've spent the last couple of weeks recovering from a concussion, and a big ole' black eye, but I'm OK.  I truly believe that when all these many tests come back, they will come back negative--not a thing wrong with me--just a clean bill of health that will be a comforting piece of knowledge to live with for the next 20-30 years of my life.  God is always--good!

Shiner

That's what I ended up with all right--a shiner and a laceration of about one and one-half inches next to my right eye.  I don't remember much.  Just that I'd had an awesome day.  I had been out shopping and lunching with a friend, then we had decided to meet back up later that same afternoon to check out a little pop-up shop that would be in our town for the next 3 days.  Afterward, I was to drive home and throw a tri-tip on the barbie.  But, I didn't.  And that's when it all went wrong.

It was about 6:00 on a Friday evening, a glorious spring day and I thought--I should call my husband and ask him to walk into town and meet me for dinner.  My car was already downtown and I thought it would be easy to just drive home together afterward.  We live just a half mile away--so close.

I remember walking across the street to a restaurant close by and putting our name in for a table for 2 out on the patio.  We love that particular patio, it's great for people watching.  My husband soon strolled up and we walked inside to check on the status of our table--the place was packed with others having the same idea.  It was a little warm in there for me, so I told him that I was just going to step outside.  I needed some fresh air.

Do you know what tunnel vision is?  Yeah.  I got that feeling along with a clamminess and as I was looking for a bench to sit down on, I passed right out.  Right there on the sidewalk, smacking the right side of my face hard, splitting it open.  I was apparently "knocked out" for several minutes.  I remember none of this of course, but this is what was told to me later.

What I do remember is this--slowly awaking to voices talking about my pulse.  I remember probing fingers checking underneath my neck and also on my wrist.  I could feel someone tugging at my handbag, trying to get to my wallet for an ID.  Once found they rushed into the restaurant calling my husband's name.  I heard his voice but still had not opened my eyes.  I hear another male voice and also a female voice--I believe they were the ones who were taking such good care of me.  I heard someone say that the ambulance was on its way and then I heard sirens.  Still, I had not yet opened my eyes.

When the EMT's got there, things began to move quickly.  I tried to sit up and focus--I saw wadded up blood soaked towels (from the restaurant) where my head had been but then immediately had to lay my head back down as things began to once again spin out of control.  I was eventually loaded up onto a gurney and whisked away to our local hospital.  My husband followed in my car.  I was later glad that I had mentioned to him just exactly where I had parked.

Once in the ER, many tests were taken.  CT, X-rays, blood panel, etc.  All came back negative.  I was in the hospital for a mere 6 hours.  I was fortunate to walk away with a concussion, a one and a half inch laceration and a huge black (and later purple and yellow) eye. The diagnoses came back as
Vasovagal Syncope.  It caused me to faint.  I just wish I hadn't smacked my head so hard on the cement.  It was all the blood that freaked everyone out.  And which prompted my lovely trip to the ER.

Of course, I will have to go for a further check up with my regular doctor, but I am satisfied with the diagnoses that I received from the hospital.  Next time I feel that clammy, tunnel vision type of feeling coming on, I will immediately sit down wherever I am.  It's a much shorter distance to the ground that way!

It's now been about 10 days, I am feeling much better, the swelling is going down, the colors of my eye are changing like the colors of fall, and I am far less dizzy.  I am taking it easy, not making any sudden head movements and getting back to my normal daily routines.

I am so very thankful for those that came to my assistance--for those who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, for my husband, for the EMT's and ER staff.  Everyone was wonderful, caring and kind.  I am very grateful.  All is well.  And God is good.

Hope Again

Sometimes when I pray, I don't get an answer.  Other times, I hear from God right away.  It's the times that I don't hear him, or feel him, or get that answer I so desperately need--well, that bothers me.  I wonder, why isn't he speaking to me?  I find myself praying even harder, spending that much more time in prayer, seeking him, begging him really, to answer me.  I assure him that I can handle the answer, whether or not it's what I want to hear--I guess in a sense, I am reasoning with him.  Oh, what he must think!  I can just imagine him patting me on my little girl head and saying--don't worry, I've got this handled--you're on a need to know basis.

It's the other times though that I want to talk about.  The times when he does answer me.  When I get that yes or no or wait--that something to hang on to.  The times when I hear that still small voice that calls me by name and says to me--here is your answer.  I got one of those the other night.  And it blew me away.

I need to be extremely honest here and say that I had lost hope.  Just a little bit.  I think I was mentally trying to come to terms with the fact that I just might not ever see or get what I was praying for.  I was wondering if I'd have to go my entire life without ever knowing--was my prayer answered?  I know, I'm a little weird, but that is what I thought.  So, when the answer to my prayer came, I was surprised.  I had reconciled myself to not knowing.  I guess I was just protecting my heart.  I do that sometimes.  OK, all the time.

What happened is this.  I read a phrase in a book.  A verse.  And then through God speaking to my heart, I discovered a different way to interpret that verse.  It was in that moment as if time had stopped--just long enough for my little brain to wrap itself around this new concept.  In that short amount of time--my world changed.  Hope soared through my heart.  And at the same time, I felt a little dumb and a little giddy.  Why hadn't I noticed that before?  Why hadn't I read that simple little twist?  I think I know why now.  After spending a couple of weeks analyzing and processing what I discovered, I think I know why.  It's God's timing.  I'm convinced of that.  It's all about God's timing.  It's all about when we need to know.  I didn't need that bit of information until now.  However, I guess I was desperate.  And in my desperation and need for an answer from my God--the only one with the answers--he heard my cries and he showed me something in his word that not only gave me hope but changed my perspective concerning certain things.  How awesome is that?

Have you ever read the story of the prodigal son?  I was raised on it.  I'd heard it told every which way.  I can recite that story like nobodies business.  And I'd like to say right here and now--I was the good one, the faithful one, the one who never left, who always obeyed and who was always faithful.  Yes, I was that one.  Or so I thought.  

You see, in the story, the father was so happy that the prodigal son had returned, that he was alive, and not dead.  That he wasn't lost.  He was just happy to be with him.  To have him back home safe and sound.  This father loved his sons so much.  And right then and there, right after once again reading this story for the billionth time, I heard it--his voice.  He said to me--you've been both sons, and I've always loved you, always gone after you, always protected you, always wanted you near me.  You are my child.  Of course, I immediately began to cry.  I've been both, I thought?  And you loved me anyway?  The feelings of love and acceptance that flowed through my heart right then brought me to my knees.  He loves me no matter what.  No matter what I do, think, or act.  God loves me.  And he wants me back.

I thought of my own children then.  I will tell you this--there isn't anything they could ever do that would or could make me love them any less.  My love for them is unconditional.  Period.  I love my kids, I would give my life for them.  And I would always welcome them back--just happy that they are home, and safe.  Yes, I would throw them a huge party.  And even if the other kids were a little bit jealous, I would say to them--I love all of you.  I always will.  There is nothing that will ever change that fact.

After having this very special moment with God--for that is about all the time it took, a moment--I felt a peace and a rest overtake my heart.  I thought of those whom I deeply love and care for, friends and family who have walked away from God, and I knew then--he will always love them, he will always go after them, he will always protect them.  For he is God, he is their father, and he loves them unconditionally.  They are safe, he will take care of them.  I relaxed into the very arms of my father, and I knew--he loves them.  And in that moment I had hope again. 

I wonder if this is what hope truly looks like?

Changes

It still makes me look twice.  You see, we rearranged the master bedroom and repainted over the weekend.  While I love the new look, I'm still a little shocked every time I round the corner.  It looks completely different, and all we did was paint one wall, move some furniture and buy 2 new lampshades.  And yet--it's all very different.  Don't get me wrong, I love the new look, it's just taking me awhile to get used to it.

You'd think I'd adapt much quicker, what with my track record of moving.  I moved almost every year as a child and have moved numerous times as an adult, and yet change of any kind is somewhat hard on me.  Good or bad change--it really doesn't matter, it's still a bit unnerving.  I realize now that that aspect of my personality most likely will never change (no pun intended)--not at my age anyway.  Change will always be hard on me.  I wonder if it's that way for everyone?  Or am I in the minority?

The insecurities that I wrestle with come about, I am sure, with my many moves.  Never really settling in, always knowing that soon, I would be jerked up and replanted.  As a kid there was nothing I could do about it, as an adult--well, there's not much I could do about that either when I think about it.  That stinks.  I would have thought by now that I would have some type of control over my own life.  But no.  No control.  Just change--scary change.  I don't like it.  Or do I?

However, I have this little problem.  It's called being positive--always seeing the silver lining in every cloud.  I believe that God made me that way--to cope.  With life.  And so with every move, I ferret out the good things about said move and throw out the bad and scary stuff.  And I've learned to adapt.  Because I am an optimist.  My husband doesn't realize what an enormous gift this is.  Or does he?

I'm wondering now if that's why every so often I need change.  I crave it.  Even if it's something as simple as painting a wall.  Moving a chair.  Buying a lampshade.  I need the change.  For self- preservation.  Yes, I think that's it.  For my mental well-being, every once in awhile, I need a little change in my life--maybe to remember that I am alive and that change is OK, good even.  Change is good and fun and stretching and life.

Yes, this little change over the weekend has made me feel good.  I needed something.  And this fit the bill--as they say.  This made all the difference in the world to my mental state.  It was fun and challenging (you've never had to paint a room with a paint hater, have you?) and exciting.  It made me happy.

I think I'll sit in there now and read awhile.  It's so pretty and different and changed...and it didn't hurt a bit.

Challenge Accepted

A couple of weeks ago I read a quote by Francis Chan that went something like this--
"Simon says, pat your head, and we all pat our heads.
Jesus says, go out and make disciples of men and we memorize that verse."

I haven't been able to get that quote out of my head.  I find myself dwelling on it day and night.  And I believe that God is challenging me with that very quote, He's asking me--do you make disciples of men?  I honestly didn't know.  Do I?  I've asked myself that question multiple times over the past several weeks.  Do I?  I did the only thing I know to do, I prayed.  I asked God to show me what that looks like--making disciples, just what does it look like?  How would I even begin to know if I am doing what Christ is asking of me?  As I prayed God began to show me some things I'd like to share.

I've discovered that other believer's gifts sharpen my own skills and giftings.  I drew this conclusion the other evening while sitting in our couples Bible study.  As we were all discussing our latest book, sharing our opinions and looking up scripture, it dawned on me--iron sharpening iron--I was watching it take place right before my eyes.  As one spoke--we were all challenged in our thoughts, as another shared--our spirits were lifted, and as even another talked--we were convicted by the Holy Spirit.  I sat there amazed as I watched God at work.  At one point it brought tears to my eyes, for God was speaking to my heart and He said--this is how you make disciples of men.  I watched as some around the room looked at me most likely wondering--why is she crying again?  However, when I hear God speak, I cry, I just do.  He touches my heart like no other can.

It was hard for me, I wasn't able to articulate right then and there what I was experiencing.  I am a slow processor--meaning that I had to go home and spend some time in prayer about this whole concept.  I now realize that as we share with each other things that we are discovering about our relationship with Christ, we are making disciples of men.  We are causing each other to dig through our Bibles for scripture, we are saying to ourselves--wow, do I do that, or I didn't know that, or should I be thinking that way too?  And that's a good thing.  No, not in the sense that we feel condemned, however, yes, in the sense that we allow the Holy Spirit to convict us.  We give Him rule and reign over our hearts.  I am always asking God--show me your ways.  And I find that one way He does this is by showing me the gifts of the people around me. I am very challenged and humbled by this.

True confession here--I sometimes feel that I am a little too dogmatic when it comes to sharing my faith.  I walk away from conversations feeling that I have been too overpowering, too excited, too in your face--especially when it comes to the topic of prayer.  For I am an intercessor.  A pray-er.  Here is a definition--

Intercession

Intercession is the act of interceding (intervening or mediating) between two parties. In Christian religious usage, it is a prayer to God on behalf of others.

In western forms of Christian worship, intercession forms a distinct form of prayer, alongside Adoration, Confession, and Thanksgiving. In public worship, intercession is offered as prayer for the world beyond the immediate vicinity.

That isn't all there is to living the life of a Christian though--there are so many other facets.  And maybe that's the key.  Maybe our challenge from God is to spread those gifts, share them with others, teach others, that whole iron sharping iron concept.  I push prayer, someone else pushes hospitality, another digging into the Bible, etc.  All these many giftings shared among believers, challenging each other to grow and become true disciples of Christ.  I think I'm on to something.  I think God has just challenged me.  To learn, to grow, to become a true disciple, and to make disciples of men.  Challenge accepted.  

I will follow you oh Lord.  I will learn and teach, grow and share, and I will serve you with my whole heart, all the days of my life.

Things I Miss About California

I was born and raised in California.  I didn't move away until the ripe old age of 46.  I moved to the Midwest, which might as well have been outer Mongolia.  The culture shock was truly that--a surprise.  It took me years to adapt.  However, now that I am nicely settled in, I'm doing pretty well.  There are lots of things to love about the Midwest.  Seasons, for example, I do love the change of seasons.

There are some things though that I truly miss about California--aside from my friends and family of course.  I have decided to share a few of those things with you.  Just because I want to--I'm in the mood.  So here they are, not in any particular order--just random thoughts of things I miss.

Mexican food--that's probably the #1 thing I miss most and it's also the most perplexing, aggravating, easily fixable item on my list.  Here in Chicagoland, we have tons of Mexicans.  My question is this--why aren't you opening up restaurants?  Yes, there are many Mexican restaurants here but I have yet to find one with that authentic California flair.  That's just my opinion though.

The ocean--Lake Michigan is not the ocean.  Enough said.

Mexican food

Lake Tahoe--I want feet of snow, not inches, and blue water, oh so blue

Mexican food

Chinese food--please refer to rant on Mexican food.  Same thing.

Thai food--same as above

The PCH--if you don't know what this is, you are not from California

Mexican food

My favorite fast food joints--In & Out, Jimboys, Rubios

Pine trees--all types

Mexican food

Real people--by that I mean that you can't tell rich from poor by the way people dress

California casual--the best dress code anywhere bar none!

Mexican food

Year around flowers

Flip flops and hoodies--all the time

Mexican food

My swimming pool--floating, tanning, relaxing, daydreaming

San Francisco--especially Chinatown

Mexican food

Camping in the redwoods--shut up, I camped!

Sierra Nevada Mountain range

Driving Highway 1

Free highways--big pet peeve of mine, here we have tollways

I really do miss Mexican food

Beach towns and trinket shops

Camping on the ocean--yes, I said I used to camp!

Napa--I love driving through the vineyards, especially during the fall

Apple Hill--where you can get all things apple

Foothills--aka, the gold country, beautiful dogwoods

Orchards--mile after mile of trees and blossoms

Fruit stands--stopping and buying bags of whatever, super cheap!

Flea Markets and Thrift Shops

Ethnic Restaurants--every type you can imagine

Yes, there are so many things I miss about my home state of California.  And while people here poke fun at her, I will always defend her.  For she is beautiful, from the mountains to the valley, she will forever be my real home.

Now, I must go in search of Mexican food--I've made myself pretty hungry!

Not Too Heavy

"I don't want to make this too heavy for you," she said as she packed up my groceries.  I had one of those huge reusable bags that I brought from home.  I went in thinking I'd just pick up a few things, but you know how that goes.  I ended up with a cart full.  And that's OK, I am now stocked up.
I really didn't think too much about what she said though until I got home.  I opened up my trunk and began to lift the groceries out and that's when God softly spoke to my heart.  "I don't want to make this too heavy for you," He said.  I knew right then what He was talking about.  Funny how that goes.  I knew.  As I carried in the rest of my goodies my mind was on what God had just said.  He was taking care of me, of that I am sure.  Not too heavy of a load--and I truly thank Him for that.

I hadn't planned on sharing the story of my load on my blog.  In fact, I hadn't planned on sharing it with anyone.  My husband knew of course, but no one else.  It was (per my request) our secret.  I really didn't think it was necessary to worry anyone when in my opinion there wasn't anything yet to worry about.  I think that he, on the other hand, wanted to ask others to pray.  I didn't.  And I told him so.  Please, I said.  Tell no one.

For the past few weeks, I have been carrying a burden.  It's unusual for me to be thinking about or praying for myself.  I'm not saying that I don't, I'm just saying it isn't all that often.  I like praying for other people.  It's just more fun.  However, these past few weeks were a little different for me.  I had gone in for a routine doctor's visit and something showed up on a test.  Which then turned into more tests.  And more tests.  I do have to say that all during this testing time, I felt a peace from God--that He would sustain me, no matter the outcome.  There were times though when I would find myself drifting off into what if land.  I hate what if land.  It reminds me too much of I have no faith land.  And that's a land that I will not dwell in, and so I prayed.

I felt all along that God would lift this heavy burden, and that I would be OK.  And thank God, the word benign--was the word on my doctor's report.  I was so relieved.  I felt myself melt right into the very arms of God and thank Him for that simple little word.  Benign.  And life went on.  Things resumed.  Life went back to normal.  Until this morning.  He reminded me once again through the words of that cashier, that He, my father, my God, my healer, didn't want to make this load too heavy for me.  Wow, what a mighty God I serve!

For that reason, I have decided to share this simple little story.  You see, my life rests in His hands.  His load is light.  Even if I had seen a different word written on that medical report, I believe with my whole heart that He would have softly whispered that simple little phrase into my ear--I don't want to make this too heavy for you.  And He never has, He's always been there, and He always will be.  To carry me when I need carrying.  To hold me when I need holding--He's my father.

He Knows My Name

I keep hearing that song, over and over again in my head.  I love the way it is sung by Mercy Me.  It makes me cry.  Just to think about the God of the universe knowing me that well, it just makes me want to fall on my knees before Him and worship.  So I do.

I hadn't thought about that song in a very long time, but a friend brought it up the other night in our small group.  And now--well now, it's running through my brain almost nonstop.  He's always known me before I was born, and after I came into this world, and He knows me now.  That brings such a peace to my heart.  It's almost unexplainable.  I need that peace right now.  Knowing that He knows me, that He knows my name, that He knows my thoughts before I even think them.  There is no hiding from Him.  He knows everything.  He is God.

We talked some that evening about the contrast between the God of the old Testament and the God of the new.  They are one and the same and yet because of Christ--different.  I had to spend some time grappling with this.  Finally, after praying for a couple of weeks, I have drawn a conclusion. Hopefully, it will make as much sense to you as it does to me.  Maybe (probably) God has simplified it for me, He's done that many times before.  Thankfully.

I serve a just God--He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, that's what the Bible says, and I believe what the Bible says, I believe it to be absolute truth.  I read about the God of the old testament and I see where there are instances of swift judgment.  In many cases, they might appear to be unjust.  And yet, I know that isn't true.  One example shared the other night was one of God striking the man dead who went to reach for the arc of the covenant to keep it from falling.  No one was to touch that arc.  Plain and simple.  Those were God's instructions.   So justice had to be handed out.  For He demands obedience.

Now let's look at the God of the new testament.  He has now sent His son Jesus to save us from our sins.  When God looks at us, He looks at Christ covering us.  He sees Jesus.  He is still a just God though because He does not change, He is the same God.  He is a just God.  I believe that He knew the condition of that man's heart--as he reached for the arc, he was unworthy and disobedient, so God took his life.  He does not change, He is still a just God.  However, once we accept Christ into our hearts--we change.  Our desire--the desires of our hearts is to serve an almighty God.  And that's what God sees as he looks at us.  Deep down into our hearts--He sees that change.  That longing to serve Him, worship Him, live for Him.  I do not believe that He saw that in that particular man mentioned in the old testament.

Because of Christ giving up His life for mine--God now sees Jesus when He looks into my heart.  Yes, He is a just God.  He knows my name, He knows my heart.  And that gives me comfort and at the same time challenges me.  Why does this challenge me?  Because I am so very human, so selfish, so fleshly.  I want so badly to serve God with all my heart, and yet many times I fail Him.  Why He forgives me each and every time, why He still loves me and teaches me through these times, why He has so much patience with me is a mystery.  However, I have to remember--He knows my heart, He called me by name, He loves me and He always will.

Humble, thankful, grateful...I will always praise Him with my whole heart.  For my God is a just God.  And He knows my name.

Jar of Coins

This little jar of coins sitting on my counter has once again caught my eye.  I keep looking at it and wondering--why?  Funny that I feel the need, no maybe the desire to talk about this little jar.  This jar is so insignificant, so simple, so not important, and yet each time I walk by it, I feel a pull.  I've written other blogs about my experiences at Triennial.  It was a woman's conference that I attended last summer in San Diego.  A lot happened to me while there--emotionally and spiritually.  I learned much about myself, about who God wants me to be and about what God wants me to do.  Which brings me to another short little side story.  It really isn't anything very notable yet, but maybe someday it will be--maybe someday.

I came home from that very special retreat with the funniest request from God.  While in prayer I felt that He was asking me to start saving coins.  So I immediately went out to a local discount store and bought myself a little coin counting jar.  Altogether I think it will end up holding just about $100.  Once full I plan on taking the jar of coins into my bank and exchanging the coins for paper money.  I will then lay the crisp $100 bill at the bottom of my coin jar and start the process of coin collecting once again.

God does and always has laid different things on my heart--some big, some not so big, but I found this desire to become a coin collector very interesting.  I wanted to know just why I was saving these coins.  Was it for me?  A friend?  Someone, whom I've yet to meet?  I do have the impression it's to go towards the next Triennial in 3 years.  To pay the way for someone.  Maybe even me, who knows.  I don't know where I will be in 3 years.  With my track record of moving about with my husband--I could end up anywhere!  I might need the money from this little jar to get me to the next retreat.  Or, I might be saving it for someone who needs a little extra help getting there.  Whichever God chooses, it is important for me to be obedient--I just know that I need to save my coins--that's how strong this desire has become.

And so, I've been saving.  Even my husband had gotten into the game.  All spare change goes into my coin jar.  I'm almost up to the $100 mark.  And then I'm off to the bank.  I can hardly wait.  Every time I get some change--into the jar it goes.   You know what's funny though?   I find myself praying over that little jar.  Who is this for Lord, who is this for?  It's exciting.  It's like God and I have a special little secret.  And you know what's even funnier?  I'm doing a Bible study about secrets!  Sacred secrets.  Ha!  What are the odds?  I just love how God works.  I love how He teaches me through the simplest of lessons.

A very small task, a small jar of coins, simple obedience for a great big God.

40 Years With You

You can love just one person your entire life.  And for me that one person is you.  It always has been from the moment I met you.

I've been thinking a lot about these past 40 years with you.  And looking back, nothing in our lives has ever normal.  Not us, not ever.  I guess I shouldn't have expected it to be.  Maybe I should think of us as a little abnormal.  Because we are--in a sense.  Abnormal.  However, I like it that way--for the most part.  Some portions I could have done without, but only some.  Most have been an adventure.  Most have our own stamp on them, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.  Although sometimes I do want it to change, I really do.  And then other times I think, nah, I like it this way.  It's exciting.  I change and grow and so do you.  Fortunately, we've grown together rather than apart.  I think we always will.  I can say that now--after all, it's been 40 years.  We've got a good track record.  Don't you think?

The two of us, all those many years ago--we sure were in love.  Everyone could see it, we were meant to be.  Made for each other.  We didn't fight a lot because we were friends.  And out of that friendship grew a deep respect.  We talked so much back then and still do.  I love that about us--our ability to dissect just about any topic, anytime, anywhere.  Face it, we still love to talk.  And we are still very much in love.

Anyway, getting back to how different we were/are.  Even our wedding was a little bit unlike any others we had attended.  My father didn't walk me down the aisle--you did.  I wasn't a thing or an object to be given away to anyone.  We vowed to be mutually submissive to each other, always friends, always faithful, always in service to our God.  Things weren't always easy though, and sometimes they still aren't, but I'm OK with that, are you?  I believe that through those hard times, we've learned a lot about each other as well as learning about ourselves.  And through that, we've grown.  I like that.  And I want to continue to grow and change with you.

When our first baby came I thought, hey, maybe we'll be normal now.  We owned a home, had a baby and had settled in--but just for a very short time.  But, then we were on the move again.  It's crazy if you think about it--we've now owned 8 homes.  How many more will we buy?  Who knows?  God.  He knows.  We trust Him.  As He moves us around from city to city, state to state, church to church--we trust Him.  Now we do.  After many long trials.  Now we do.  That took time too.  Learning to trust Him.  Going through trials.  Learning to lean on God and each other, helping each other, praying for each other and giving each other that extra grace now and then.  And I'm OK with that, are you?

No, normal we are not.  But, we are happy.  40 years.  It's been fun, exciting, frustrating, scary, adventurous, maddening, exhilarating, and every other positive and/or negative adjective I can think of.  I wouldn't change a thing.  Even though many of my friends have led conventional lives--same house, city, church etc.  I wouldn't change a thing.  I have no regrets.  I love our not so normal life--most of the time anyway.  Don't you?

I look back over the last 40 years and think wow!  We made it.  We've raised 3 children, and have 6 grandchildren.  We still love each other, we're still friends, we even like each other and want to be together.  And I can't help but wonder--how many couples can say that?  I hope that those who've known us these past 4 decades have seen the sacrifices made, the willingness to press on, the determination to serve others, and to give to each other and those around us.  I hope and pray that our children have seen these attributes in our lives as well.  I hope we've lived our lives in such a way that they want to emulate us.  I truly want for them what we have--yes, it's been that awesome of a life.  Normal?  No.  Fantastic?  Yes.

Do you know what I want now?  I want another 40 years.  Seriously.  I want that--40 more years of our kooky, weird, abnormal life.  I'd go anywhere with you--you know that right?

So, here's to 40 more years!  And thank you from the bottom of my heart for the last 40.  No regrets.  Just pure thankfulness.  All those many years ago I asked God for a man like you--and I got the answer to my prayer--a husband who makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the room, a husband who makes my heart skip a beat, a husband who makes me laugh, a husband who I could never ever thank enough for loving me.

Happy 40th anniversary.  I love you with my whole heart.  And I always will.