Just a Dream

I woke up this morning, fully awake and fully groggy at the same time.  At 5:00, I was not sure where I really was. It had been five weeks since I had slept in our bed, and as I approached something near consciousness, I heard the pet ducks next door quacking away, picking up their bits and pieces from the ground, snuffling through the grass for bugs and other such delights.  The problem was, when we left, there were no ducks next door, there was no grass - well, that's not entirely true; there was grass, but it looked like an acre of toothpicks sticking up at odd intervals around the backyard - it had been so dry, there was very little humidity...

And now, everything is different.  Our next door rental neighbors are from Singapore (instead of four young women from Queensland), the grass does not pierce the soles of my feet; it's a lush shade of green, and the humidity?  Well, I became aware that breathing actually makes me sweat.  So, it feels like a dream, surreality.  Is this place that I live the dream or was the five weeks that just occurred?  I can't even begin to describe how strange it was to drive to Minneapolis in a blizzard and wake up forty-two hours later in Australia to be welcomed by the screaming cicadas, the palpable, pulsing heat of Queensland and the smell of summer.  But the trip home will be described later...

For now, I think I'll just wander through the American adventure that we just experienced; some laughter and a few tears, lots of food and drink, hours of conversations and a cosmic lack of sleep that finds me contentedly exhausted and ready for a new year.

Here are some of the numbers:

10,200 - number of miles flown one direction on the worst travel itinerary experienced in this young traveler's life.

3,142 - number of miles driven in five weeks in the wonderful car we mistakenly rented at the airport.  To put that in perspective, we drove the equivalent of traveling from New York to Los Angeles.

244 - number of conversations that lasted far into the nights.  I didn't really count, but I'm sure it was at least this much.  I'm not known for exaggerating.  At all.

169 - number of books Elsa, Josephine and Greta read while on the trip.  I think I heard them speak once, I can't remember - it might have been a dream.

37 - number of times Christine proclaimed "Far out!" when the turbulence from the air streams made her believe our plane was going down over the Pacific.

17 - number of movies watched on various flights over land and above the ocean.

12 - number of different beds we slept in. 

5 - average number of hours per night I slept.  Haven't done that since college.

3 - number of college visits and tours for our daughters.

Infinite - number of memories inserted into my brain for future rumination and enjoyment.


In the months preceding our trip, Christine and I carefully planned the itinerary.  When I say 'Christine and I' what I mean is that Christine, in her amazing organizational sense meticulously directed our trip and accommodation and I grunted in approbation.  We wanted this to be a very special opportunity to catch up with family, old friends, newish friends, schools and remembering the things that made us who we are.  In the next few weeks, I'll pick out various events and people, some of you who are reading will find their names in these missives; I promise to be objective - ish.  The odds are I will exaggerate and add a few words to your mouths, but my guess is that it will bring a smile to your lips and if you want to sue me for libel, it's okay; I've got thirteen dollars left.

The expectancy leading up to the trip is very much like my understanding of advent.  Conveniently, we were leaving the United States during the first week of advent, the beginning of the church calendar year, and a period of expectant waiting and hopefulness.  Of course we'd been ready to go, packed for days and excited to get on the plane.  But there is something truly wonderful about the preparation for the journey.  As one sits in the midst of the groundcover of clothes, the shrubbery of suitcases and the forest of expectations, mighty trees that seem daunting by their inability to be encircled by one's brain, it is easy to be overwhelmed.  But I didn't feel that this time, and even though the last days of school can be busy, I always had something for which to look forward.

On our journey, we had planned to catch up with my parents, my grandparents, friends from Rockford, friends from college, siblings, former Youth Encounter team members, friends from seminary and a fantastic selection of people who have supported us through the years.  Knowing that we'd be in vastly differen Burroughs' Center of the Earth like place, we packed accordingly- Vastly different in December is the midwest of the United States than Queensland, Australia.  I'm not writing that to be cheeky, this is just the landscape we faced when we were trying to pack.  Here is a sampling of the conversations that occurred during this beginning phase of our week before the trip.

Christine:  What would you like to pack, hon?

Reid:  (Grunt)

Christine:  I don't know what that means.

Reid:  It means, 'I'm sure you'll do a great job of packing for me.'

Christine:  Don't think you are getting out of this, mister.

Reid:  (sighs) I'll pack some socks and shirts, probably some pants.

Christine:  No underwear?

Reid:  Do I need that?

Christine:  Ha ha.  I know you don't want to do this, but help me out here.

Reid:  I do want to do this, I just am not sure what I should be packing.  You're so good at this, wouldn't you like to feel a sense of accomplishment by finishing it yourself?

Christine:  Reid....

Reid:  Okay.  What are the girls taking?

(Both Reid and Christine look around to where their girls have ceased packing clothes of any kind and are staring intently at book shelves intending to trim down their idea of carrying their whole libraries to only fifty or so books.)

Reid:  Girls, aren't you supposed to be packing the important stuff?  You know, shirts, shoes and things that might help for a winter journey?

Greta:  These are important, Dad. (speaks without looking at me)  It's a long trip to be without any mental stimulations.

Reid:  Who is going to carry all of these books?

Josephine:  You are, Dad.

Reid:  Very funny. 

Elsa:  We don't want to take a step backward in our educational journey by neglecting our literary opportunities.  You have the broadest shoulders and the largest biceps of any homo sapien on the planet so we'd love it if you'd carry the books and we'll carry the back pack.  (she didn't really say that, but it was implied, I'm sure.)

Reid:  Are there any other non-negotiables that I'll be carrying on the trip?

(As he said this, Reid noticed that Christine was packing the 'outdoor' suitcase which carried four sets of snowpants, five winter coats, various sweatshirts (jumpers), snowboots (?!!) and even little pouches that are used as hand and footwarmers.  No one has ever accused Christine of being underprepared.  That's one of the best things about her.)

Reid:  Are you sure we're going to need a jackhammer?

Christine:  Very funny.  We don't know what to expect from the weather.  If it is anything like when we used to live there, we could encounter blizzards, tornadoes, sun-bathing episodes, tropical rainstorms - anything could happen in the midwest in December.

Reid:  I'm just not sure we need to pack the entire house.

Christine:  You'll thank me. 


I did.  In this dream of mine, we found all sorts of things that continue to make me incredibly appreciative that I married Christine seventeen years ago.  She is a constant, joyful companion capable of countless hours of conversation and experience.  We traveled to a distant place and were prepared for all sorts of things.

But we were unprepared for one thing.

I'll start there next time.