The 'cat' in Vacation

I consider myself a cat-lover, though I don't know if I'd ever like to have my own. (Kittens of course make me re-think this idea every once in awhile, but I've stood strong. I'm too afraid I'd become a "cat lady." That would be awful... plus litter boxes smell really really bad.)

 

This is about how a cat ruined my last night of vacation a month ago.

 

 

Time: 11pm

Place: My friends' house

Activity: Reading

Setting: The house is dark, minus the one little lamp I'm reading by- the other four occupants of the house have gone to sleep

Characters: Me and Sophie- the cat.

 

 

I had been reading for over an hour- I couldn't sleep even though I had an early breakfast meeting followed by a four hour road trip the next day. I was interrupted a couple of times by Sophie, the beautiful ragdoll cat, who was very happy to have a night owl in the house. She'd ignored me the first couple of days during my vacation and then we'd bonded that morning over a long piece of grass at the coffeetable. (I couldn't find any cat toys...) Apparently, that morning's experience had granted me access to her "best friends" list and I was now the very lucky recipient of her attention.

 

She was flighty that evening and pretended to watch things around the corner on the wall out of my line of sight. I smirked at her alertness and went back to my book- cats are trippy. She probably sees a moth, I thought.

 

 

Five minutes later my curiosity was aroused by the scratching sound on the wall. Peering around the corner I saw Sophie standing on her hind legs reaching up as high as she could on the wall. Bemused, I quietly asked her: "What's the matter Sophie?"

 

 

"Ma-oww!" she replied. She glanced at me and then began to insistently paw at the wall and meow even louder. "Ma-ow, mew, mrrow?"

 

 

"Hey now! You're going to wake the girls!" I quietly reproved her and THEN I looked up. The girls are lucky I'm not a screamer...

 

 

 

There at the top of the wall, in the corner was a giant roach. There are very few living creatures I dislike- roaches are one of them. Plus, I don't kill bugs. Can't stand the sound, feel, look, even thinking about it makes me gag and shiver. Usually I like most bugs, but not roaches...this was a large dilemma.

 

 

Well, Sophie will kill it if I bring it down to her, I thought. If only she hadn't pointed it out in the first place. Ignorance really was bliss.

 

 

To reach the roach, the closest things handy were a couple of Christmas tree branches. These had been cut from the girls' live tree and were lying on a dresser near the hallway. I wasn't sure if they were going to use them for decorating or not, but they were the perfect length for my purpose. That'll work, I told myself.

 

 

Very slowly I raised the branch toward the roach and gingerly guided it down the wall- toward Sophie who was sitting down and flicking her tail. She was satisfied that I was bringing her prey closer and stared intently. He was almost close enough when Sophie pounced on the wall and scared him back up a little ways.

 

 

"Stop it!!" I told her, barely containing my desire to flee: "Just wait another minute, ok? You will have to kill him because I won't! Sit. Stay." (Obviously I'm more used to talking to dogs...)

 

 

She sat back down and when I had him within her reach, pounced again. I can't watch, I thought, I'll go read my book now and let her finish the job. I hurried around the corner to the couch and tried to read another page in my book, hoping Sophie would eat the bug or drag it to some corner where I'd never have to see it again.

 

 

"Ma-ow! Ma-ow! Mrrrr-ow!" accompanied by scratching sounded from the hallway again. Peering around the corner I was dreading what I'd see. Sure enough there was Sophie, reaching for the ceiling. Her cries became more insistant when she saw me. (Honestly, I don't know how the roommates slept through the noise! ...It was about to get louder.)

 

 

"Ok, kit-kat, shush! Hang on." I assessed the situation. There was no more corner of the wall- now he was in the long part of the hallway. This meant the roach could travel further, faster. Not good.

 

 

Remembering the broom I'd seen in the house earlier that day I hurried through the dark unfamilar room and found it leaning against a chair. It's better than the tree branch and longer! I thought, this will keep the evil bug further away.

 

I decided to close the open bathroom door and flood the hall with light so the roach couldn't disappear. Hoping the light wouldn't disturb the sleeping roommates-especially my hostess, I raised the broom and glanced at Sophie who sat and practically purred in delight- she was about to hate me. Looking back up, I put the broom just above the roach to coax him down the wall as I'd done last time. Only this time he jumped onto the broom!

 

 

"Nooo!" I whispered frantically. "Get off! Get off!" He began to move down the broom handle like a disease-ridden robot. As he mounted the handle of the broommy panic escalated! I quickly lowered the broom to the floor (threw it)! The roach leaped from the broom to the hardwood floor and ran in my direction! All bets were off. The code of silence was broken. My feet and life were in danger!!

 

 

In a very muted way, this sound proceeded from my mouth: Ahhhh ah-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

 

 

I turned to run, but was hindered by the cat! I began jumping from side to side to avoid the broom handle and the cat's tail. The cat, who was startled by the noise and my sudden movements, hurried to get away from me. The problem was, she had no traction on the wooden floor so she ran in place. Picture a girl trying not to step on a cat who is running in place for its life with a roach charging them both. I'm not sure how we managed to make it out of that hallway. She darted one way and I darted the other until I'd reached the safe distance of 10 feet or so. Then I turned to see where my little brown enemy was...

 

 

He had followed me around my corner instead of chasing the cat and was standing near the wall. Shuddering I considered my options and they weren't good. The cat had failed- Sophie was not going to kill the roach. It was up to me. Grimly I set my mouth and shuddered again. Fine. I could do this...right?

 

 

A cup! I needed a cup or a bowl...something disposable. Stumbling through the dark unknown house I found a light switch for the kitchen. Behind the second cabinet door I opened I found a cup- a single tiny disposable cup. Almost too small. Argh! Why me?! It wouldn't work if it were any smaller. Where are all the big cups? In a hurry, I grabbed the tiny cup and hurried back to the scene of the crime...where the enemy still waited. Part of me hoped he had disappeared so I wouldn't have to come near him and the other part didn't like the idea of not knowing where he was.

 

 

He hadn't moved. Sophie had moved near him and was studying him but when she saw me she darted around the corner! All I could see were her ears and her eyes which glared at me... "I'm sorry! If you had killed him, this wouldn't have happened. Scared-y cat." I felt better after hurling an insult at the feline. Slowly I inched towards the roach and got lucky trapping him under the cup within seconds. Good...now what?

 

 

Seeing the pile of mail nearby I grabbed a magazine and slid it under the lip of the cup so that I had complete control of the insect. Ok ok ok, I coached myself, now all I have to do is, um... open the front door and let him go? No! He could crawl out of the cup and up my arm!! (I could imagine exactly what those little creepy legs with their hooked feet would feel like on the back of my hand and worked to stay calm.) I could leave him for these girls. It is their house after all so technically he's their problem... No. That wouldn't be kind. I'll have to deal with this. The toilet will work! That's a good option. You are getting flushed, Bug! ...And I hope you don't come back. Please don't come back!

 

 

Sliding my hand under the magazine I lifted it and the cup and headed towards the bathroom. Sophie dashed out of my way- still glaring. I fumbled with the closed bathroom door and my very insecure roach prison for a minute. Sighing I glared at the cup and then at Sophie who was twitching her tail. "Don't even start with me- this is YOUR job. It's not like I scared you on purpose, you know." We didn't agree, she swished her tail and put back her ears. "Fine. I can handle it without you."


I managed to open the door. Turning on the light with my elbow I approached the pink toilet. (Yes...it was pink...so weird. I'd have been more weirded out if I hadn't grown up with my grandparents' purple toilet. But I digress...) Checking on my prisoner I made sure he was in the top of the cup before I placed it on the water.

 

 

Ok, now all he has to do is fall out of the cup, I'll lift it and flush...voila! But it didn't happen that way. The cup floated. I was a little amused...the stress was making me hysterical, I suppose. I wondered if the roach could swim out from under that? Probably. I reached to tap him out of the cup so I could grab it, but it fell sideways and filled halfway with water. My enemy had skills ninjas dream of...he was out of that cup and on top of it almost before I remembered to jerk my hand away! He stared at me while floating there and I stared, horrified, back at him. NOW WHAT?!

 

 

Then he began to swim. He circled the cup and then began to climb the toilet walls! The broom!! I need the broom!!! I dashed into the hallway and almost ran into Sophie (who, even though she was still mad at me, knew I had her 'toy' and she wanted to know what I was doing.) Sophie had another 'running in place' moment as she slid and skittered on the hardwood floors to get far away from me. Other than noticing her mad dash I was too focused on the broom to see her probable look of disdain.

 

 

I hurried back to the toilet and couldn't see the roach. NOOOOOO!!! If he got out...just no. After all that effort and panic?! It cannot happen. He must die! I bravely bent and looked further in the toilet bowl. There he was! Crawling towards the top...another few inches and he'd be free. 

 

 

But I can't flush it with the cup in there! I thought. Must get it out! I reached in and grabbed that floating cup faster than I've moved since I ran from the hornet's nest on the playground. Then I flushed that toilet. And flushed it again for good measure. I disposed of the cup, sanitized myself, put the broom back, turned off the kitchen light, and then went back and flushed the toilet at third time...just to be on the safe side.

 

 

Sophie still glared at me from the dark living room, but I ignored her look and returned to my book. I only had 25 pages left and I was NOT sleepy at the moment. Eventually Sophie decided to forgive me and approached for more chin scratching before I finished my book. I flushed that toilet once more before heading to bed that night. In my head I hummed "Ding dong! The roach is dead! Da-dum-dum-dum Da-dum-dum-dum. Ding dong! The wicked roach is dead!"

P.S. The other girls in the house never woke up or heard the battle.
P.P.S. Sophie didn't really ruin my last night of vacation, it was the roach...but I think we're even.

Thanksgiving Transitions

My Dad has asked my sisters and I to start coming up with ideas for Thanksgiving and family traditions. Since the baby of the family just turned 19, it may seem strange that we’re JUST NOW getting around to creating traditions for such a common holiday… Our former Thanksgivings were almost all spent at the family farm in the Ozarks (minus the few years we lived on islands and one or two others where the drive was longer than 9 hours- thank you Navy :)

Thanksgiving used to go like this:

The family would bundle into our minivan, later our suburban, and finally just take two cars and drive to northern Arkansas- a small town called Heber Springs. The tree leaves would have lost most of the radiant red and orange colors and be down to the yellows and browns. The air would be crisp and cool allowing sounds to seem sharper. I LOVED arriving late in the evening when it was dark because we had to drive down and around the mountain into the little town. There were twinkling lights and the car’s windows would be so cold that my breath would fog them up as I savored the view.

The little town is so full of memories because both of my parents had relatives that lived there. We’d stay with my Dad’s parents and spend Thanksgiving day at the farm with my Mom’s extended family.

When we were younger, we’d pile into my grandparents’ house with the long single hallway that connected the main living space to the den/office. Three bedrooms and a tiny bathroom opened up into that long hallway where my sisters and cousins and I played football, monkey in the middle, bowling, did puzzles, and generally got in the way of any adults trying to get anywhere. Occasionally we’d get to commandeer the tv and watch one of the 4 or 5 Disney movies my grandparents owned (my favorite was Bambi), but usually the menfolk watched football and the womenfolk would go shopping and antiquing, leaving us kids to fend for ourselves. We’d often get kicked outside to play where most of our games involved imagination because other than a tire-swing and the old boat by the fence, I don’t remember any toys. The nearby middle school track and playground were a great attraction and the pretty downtown park- but we usually needed an adult and a vehicle to get there.

Thursday morning would find us in front of the tv watching the Macy’s Day parade while Mom brushed and fixed all four of her daughters’ hair. Once we were sufficiently bundled, brushed and staticky, we’d pile into one vehicle, wave goodbye to my Dad’s relatives for the next 7-10 hours, and drive 15 minutes to the Holland Farm. Here anywhere from 85-120 cousins, aunts and uncles gathered to spend the day together. We’d arrive around 10-11am and immediately greet grandparents, before running to play. The Farm is HUGE. The kids would be scattered on the old bag swing, hanging on the fences looking at the cows and mule (and later horses), petting the dogs, watching the guinea fowl and chickens, climbing into the big red barn’s hayloft for some hay fights, poking at the tractors, tossing a football, catching up with cousins from the other side of the continent, walking around the old tennis court, searching through the empty small house used as a storage space, and daring each other to mess with the old white bull that hated the color blue instead of red…easy to do since most everyone was wearing bluejeans!

Once most of the relatives had arrived, the kids would be summoned from all points of the farm for the prayer and the meal. Thanksgiving was a time to be thankful and so Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary (my Granny’s big brother and his wife) would start by mentioning family members that couldn’t join us or had passed away that year and then any new arrivals: spouses, babies, or even boy/girlfriends (how embarrassing for them!). Then someone would be asked to pray before we formed a line for the delicious potluck meal. I never paid enough attention to which family member brought which dish. Aunt Mary cooked all the rolls and kept them in a large cooler wrapped in dishtowels to keep them warm. There were several different sides and some that were almost similar but not quite so that you never had enough room on your durable Chinet paper plate. The tiny kitchen counter would be hidden under all the dishes which meant desserts had to go on a completely separate table at the window behind the little dining table (which was reserved for Uncle Tommy and his siblings and their spouses…and didn’t used to be big enough).

Most of the family would eat outdoors at long folding tables with metal folding chairs. The big front lawn had plenty of room and it rarely ever rained on Thanksgiving- only 1 or 2 times that I remember. Those years the tables were squeezed under the carport and we managed. :)

After the meal, the tables would be folded away and the men would have their annual football game (the old men vs. the young)! The women would sit in the folding chairs along the front of the house and cheer on their spouses and sons. The girls and any boys too young to play, would climb onto the roof of the storm cellar for a better view of the game. I rarely watched, because usually we’d saddle up Old Sally (the mule) and later our cousin’s horses during this time. I preferred to ride. One year I rode a particularly stubborn tall black horse. She decided that she wanted to go the opposite direction I was pointing her and tripped herself. When she started to stumble I thought: “Oh she’s fine” but that quickly changed to shock when she fell over on top of my leg. The stirrup kept my foot from being crushed, but my knee suffered some trauma and every once in a while when I’ve been running too hard or worn heels too long it flares up in pain. I spent the rest of that afternoon watching the men’s football game while icing it and the next day in the ER getting x-rays and a pair of crutches. :)

After the football game, the tractors are attached to the long trailers and hay bales are loaded onto the edges of the trailer to form seats. Many mothers have packed quilts and blankets that are brought out as padding and insulation from the chilly November evening. The family then piles on for the long ride around the farm. We go through many gates and the ride takes about an hour as we go through several of my uncle’s pastures which once were full of cattle but now are mostly tree farms. The cows follow us and eat the hay we throw to them. One year we grabbed my cousin’s hands just in time as the bale he was sitting on was ripped from the end of the trailer by a couple of very hungry cows! There are also deer quietly watching us through the trees and we cross some beautiful brooks. The Ozarks are just stunning.

We get back to the farm as the moon is rising and partake of our second or third helpings for the day before families slowly begin to depart for the evening. The fireplace and the outdoor fire pit are some of the most popular places for the adults while the kids grab some flashlights for fun variations of hide-and-seek or tag.

Eventually our parents bundle us up and take us back to our Dad’s parents' place where we are spoiled with hot cocoa and our parents try to keep any hay from making a mess- impossible, since their four little blonde daughters have been rolling in it, stuffing it down each other’s shirts, and sitting on it for the hay ride.

The following day includes more fun with the cousins, a trip to see the giant trumpet swans, and possibly fishing. The evening includes another get-together at my Mom’s cousin’s house where we have snacks, a light dinner, and play Catch Phrase, Pictionary, and Charades. Usually there’s a dog inside that doesn’t mind cuddling and a cat or two on the porch willing to accept a scratch or two behind the ears. The stairwell wall is covered in stuffed birds and animal heads.

I will miss those many years of tradition. Both my Dad’s parents are gone and that house with the long hallway has been sold. My Mom’s mom is gone and the farm isn’t the same without my precious Granny. The horses have gotten wild because the cousins are in high school and college and don’t have the time to ride them. The little kids are now the men playing football or the young women sharing secrets with their cousins as they walk around the farm. My cousins are too grown up to play and often sneak away to nap or make phone calls or chase down their own children. The babies I held just a few years ago are now kids wrestling in the hay loft, swinging on the old bag swing or chasing the chickens. But most different of all is the tiny graveyard that now exists halfway down the main pasture and down a straight lane between tall trees. There, surrounded by quiet, minus the tiny brook babbling nearby and the wind through the leaves of the trees, rests the body of my Granny. Her headstone is a giant Arkansas rock covered in lichen and moss with a bronze placard. This is a special place where only she, my Grandad, and my Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary (the owners of the farm) will be buried. My Uncle had the place legally designated as a cemetery plot after the bones of Native Americans were discovered there. She is the first of the four to go. It’s bittersweet.

So now that my Dad has asked what I want to do for Thanksgiving and how we should create our own family traditions I have no idea. Thanksgiving this year will be the single day off in the middle of one of my best friend’s wedding preparations. Perhaps as the years progress it will not matter so much.

I think most importantly it will be nice to still get to spend the day with people I love and reflect on the many things I have to be grateful for! So…

What are some of your Thanksgiving traditions? Do you go somewhere, play something special, always eat a certain dish? I need ideas…

Alterations

Sometimes I think I’ll reach a finish line in life. I’ll complete everything I need to and then sit back and relax and enjoy the ‘rest of my life.’

But the problem is: this IS the rest of my life! I’m in it RIGHT NOW! Any goals I have made or want to make- I should be pursuing them now, not putting them away for ‘later.’

I can become easily disappointed with myself when I make mistakes or miss my goals. It’s so tempting to wallow in despair when things don’t go as planned or I make a mistake twice. The self-deprecation is on overdrive when that happens. Thankfully, I am not defined by my goals and/or mistakes.

As I stood in front of the floor-length mirrors watching the lady pin my bridesmaid dress up in preparation for its alteration this afternoon, my brain kicked in. Life is full of alterations. As my Dad has said, “You can’t just set a ship in one direction and walk away from the wheel. You have to take into account the weather and currents (as well as objects that need to be avoided) and adjust the rudder constantly.”

This morning in church, my heart was touched by the testimony of our newest staff member. As that young man (how old am I to call someone a ‘young man’??) shared his story about how he had reached for everything life had to offer and realized that it did not bring the happiness he thought, he struck home. With a musical being published by a major theater and a dream job, he found himself depressed and empty. And it was in the midst of what should have been a joyful and proud moment that he realized- it’s all ashes. That emptiness that he was trying to fill could only be filled by God.

My heart echoed that story. How often am I thrown off course? How often do I get too busy to spend some time reading my Bible or memorizing God’s word? How often after I’ve missed one quiet time do I miss another- consumed with guilt and shame because I missed the first? Why do I neglect my relationship with God? All that time God is there waiting for me- willing to fill that empty-ness that comes upon me when I lose sight of my purpose here on Earth.

So I’m turning my rudder again. I’m allowing God to alter my course and strengthening my relationship with Him. Life is much more wonderful when I follow His plan! My pastor says, “The Gospel isn’t something you add to your life- when added it takes over your life. …This generation is cynical about Christianity and the church because they haven’t experienced an encounter with Christ.” I do not want to add to the cynicism. Paul says:

 1 Timothy 4:16 “Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in these things, for as you do this, you will ensure salvation both for yourself and for those who hear you.” “Be diligent to present yourself approved to God as a workman who does not need to be ashamed, accurately handling the word of truth.” 2 Timothy 2:15

I want to accurately handle His truth!

By God’s Grace and For His Glory,

Hannah

My Emotionless Semester

I never thought I'd see a psychiatrist. I was strong. I was good at holding in my emotions and being the "tough one" for my sisters' sake- especially after my Dad's tumor (see Breaking Point).

I'm the kind of person that holds pain and anger inside. But I remember my last Spring semester of college when my world turned upside down.

My baby sister needed to have back surgery- doctors were surprised that she had the back problems she did.

My Granny B was dying of cancer.

I was "lightly emotionally abused sexually" by the associate of the professor I was working for- I quit after a week and didn't exlain to my prof what had happened and refused to take my paycheck telling him to mark my time as "volunteer work".

I got very sick.

A guy and I were mutually interested in each other, but he was confusing me.

Naturally this was all very distracting from my studies and they began to plummet.

I turned to exercise- running. I ran from all my problems. I pushed myself so hard that I collapsed one night out on the golf course, dizzy and exhausted. Weakly I made my way to a pavilion by the dorms and called a friend who lived in the nearest dorm, "Can you let me in so I can walk through your building instead of going around it? I'm not feeling well." That friend and another came to my rescue. They brought me fries and a milkshake (comfort food at its finest) and let me sit on the cement floor of the pavilion and shake. I couln't cry.

It wasn't until a few weeks later, when my Dad called about my Granny B's passing away, that I lost control. I couldn't take it anymore. My roomie, Kristin, held me as I sobbed. She and another friend, Elana, had been very worried about me the past week. They had threatened to force me to watch The Passion of the Christ, just to make me cry. After a stormy 30 minutes of sobs, I swallowed back the pain. Again, ashamed of the tears, too hurt to breathe or focus.

I skipped all of my classes for a week.

I didn't know too much about panic attacks or depression, but I gained firsthand experience that semester. I was part of a Bible study leadership team with The Navigators and during our meetings I rarely spoke. I listened to the others but I was doing the bare minimum so that I could show up and see their faces. I searched their faces subtlely at the meetings memorizing their smiles. I'd smile back, but it was half-hearted. I was so emotionally detached, I don't know if they knew. Finally, somehow I decided to go and see one of the free psychiatrists on campus. I needed to spill my entire story to someone unemotionally attached to me. I filled out the paperwork and wrote a synopsis of why I needed to see a psyciatrist.

She came and got me. A tall, willowy blonde woman and led me up to her office-a large space with a huge comfortable looking couch in a pattern that reminded me of Arizona or New Mexico. A tiny water fountain ran in the corner and the lighting was natural, but muted. "This doesn't seem so bad." I thought. "Now I just need to tell her my story and..." I didn't know what would happen after that.

"Well, Hannah, I read your paperwork- you have a LOT going on. How are you doing?" she asked me. And I lost it. All of my self-control. Weeks worth of tears came. I cried because I was hurting, I cried because I was confused. I cried because I was missing my Granny. I cried because I was afraid I'd fail all of my classes. I cried because I was exhausted. I cried because I was scared. I cried more than I've ever cried in one sitting and all that in front of a complete stranger. She stayed in her chair and handed me a tissue box.

Who knew crying could be so cathartic? I finally was able to talk. I told her what was going on and she walked me through my feelings- something that I was embarrassed about and didn't think was necessary. She wrote notes for my professors telling them that I had missed class due to emotional stress, had seen her about it, and would be making up the missed work. She offered me medicine but I turned that down. I didn't need medication to help me cope- I'd just needed an outsider to ask me some questions that would help wake up my brain and let me vent.

I wrote an apology note to my Navigator friends giving them a little bit of information about what had been going on that semester and why I had been so detached. I told them that I was going to try to do better. "You don't need to apologize" one of the guys told me and my tears (suddenly thinking they had the right to show up whenever they felt like it) sprang to my eyes. I looked down embarrassed and trying to hide them, muttered thanks and moved on.

I don't know why I'm sharing this. Perhaps because it's freeing to write it down and whenever I feel stressed I remember this time? I do know one thing. During that time in my life I found this Bible verse and I clung to it.

 

 

Isaiah 30:18 "Therefore the Lord longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you. For the Lord is a God of justice; how blessed are all those who long for Him."

 

 

In all that time, I DID seek the Lord. I longed for Him more than I ever had because I could not handle my life at the point in time. I am so grateful for the friends He placed in my life who kept an eye on me and encouraged me through it all. I hope that in your times of stress or pain that you know the Lord and can call on Him to help you. I also hope that you have a church/friends that you can rely on to pray with and for you. God is always there. He never changes. Blessed be His name! No matter what: long for Him, my friends!!

Lost in New York

I file behind my small group, trying to fit into the subway. It's March. I'm in New York. It's freezing.

I can't believe I got to go. It was a trip that came almost out of nowhere. I was preparing to go home for Spring Break and was approached about an opportunity to attend a conference- in New York! A city I'd always heard about, seen on the news and in movies- that's where all the superheros live, you know. And there are taxis! I mean, I've seen a few taxis in my lifetime, but not as many or as yellow as they are in New York.

The conference was fun. We sat and listened to people pray and sing and preach and teach. We were given a few hours to tour the city and my mentor, Sonia, and her husband were our tour guides. About a dozen of us filed out of the Soul Saving Station in Harlem, NY and headed for the subway. We passed the Apollo Theater on the way. I had no idea where we were, exactly, but I didn't worry about it since I was with a group. I should have. I'm always careful now.

The day was a blur- we didn't have time to do everything so we pretty much looked as we walked, rarely stopping. I saw the Statue of Liberty, the Bull from Wall Street (I think it's been sold and moved since then), Ground Zero, the Rockerfeller Center, Times Square, went inside the Trump building and the Apple Store, walked through a corner of Central Park while eating a hotdog, passed a couple of beautiful churches, and several other famous places that I would have to google the names of because I am no New York expert. It was while we were walking past Tiffany's that we heard the CRASH. We stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the intersection. A taxi cab had just slammed into the back of a VERY nice car. Car doors were thrown open, a couple of policemen came running and it was very loud. The New York accent is pretty strong when they're upset. One of the last places we browsed through was Chinatown- where I was forced to buy a purse.*

Finally, we were all exhausted from walking all afternoon and on a schedule to get back for the next session. However, we caught rush hour traffic. I had put my purse into my friend Serge's backpack since I was wearing my Mom's snow jacket. It's hard to carry a purse when you have a few extra inches (a foot!) of padding where your arm used to be... So there I was, waiting to get in when suddenly I knew- there was NO more room on the subway and all of my group was on board. Glancing down to my left I saw Serge and a few more from our group just stepping into the next car. Suddenly I had the speed and agility of Spiderman himself as I raced down to the next car. I could see there was going to be no room for me. The subway was about to leave and Serge was just putting his first leg into the car when I grabbed the handle of his backpack in terror.


***************

We interrupt this moment to point out a few things you may not have noticed

a) I don't know where I am or where I'm going

b) My money and phone are in Serge's backpack

c) I have a very big fear of crowds and New York has LOTS of people

d) I am panicking

Ok, now that you have the facts, let's continue.

****************


With my newfound strength I hauled Serge backwards off that subway. Thankfully, Serge is goodnatured. I didn't knock him down so he was fine, just a little disoriented. He too now realized that we were both not going to fit on the subway and then the doors closed. We waved at the friends in that car and then at the friends in the next car as they sped past us saying something and making motions I couldn't hear or understand. Serge had the good sense to remember where we came from and also had a map so he knew which subway we needed to catch. We took the very next one. It was almost empty. We both sat down and stared at the subway tiles flashing by and the occasional OLD wooden walls...I can definitely understand why so many people use New York as a setting for their books and movies...the subway felt like a roller coaster without the giant hills or loops.

Unfortunately, we were taking forever to get back and our subway kept stopping at EVERY station. See, we had not fit on the Express for a reason...everyone who's anyone knows that that is the one you want if you're going all the way across the city, which we were. A sketchy looking man was sitting across from us and watching us. I stared at my gloves, the floor, out the window...he was pretty intent. Then at the next stop, he moved over and sat next to me. I swallowed my panic and peeked at him. The man smiled a grin with a couple teeth missing and some gold ones flashing. Serge was busy looking at the map.

"Where are you going?" the man addressed us both. Serge told him and the man told us all about how we needed to catch the Express and there was another one that would be behind our subway. We just needed to get off at the next stop and wait a few minutes. So we did. We thanked the man with the interesting smile and caught the next Express.

As I sat indian-style on the hotel bed that night eating Chinese takeout with several of the girls I sincerely thanked God for His faithfulness and protection. It would have been very bad if I had not caught Serge, because I would have had no phone, no money, and no idea where my friends were going. Also, I enjoyed the adventure afterwards. :) My advice if you visit New York? Take the free map from the hotel.


*I still didn't have a souvenior and was considering one of the purses. I checked the price tag and decided that I really didn't want it. I walked out of the store only to hear someone behind me say: "You buy! For you ten dolla! Good deal!" There behind me was the lady from that store with the purse I had just looked at. "Oh, no thank you." I said with a smile assuming we were done. Half a block later she was still following me and trying to haggle the price. Mortified and not really good at confrontation, I gave in and bought the stupid purse. I never used the purse. My sisters didn't want the purse. It went to Goodwill. Moral of the story: avoid Chinatown unless you have a will of IRON.