A Simple Note of Thanks

It's been a weird few days here. We got back from visiting Dave's parents in Cambridge on Sunday night. Monday, I had to be at work for most of the day working on some curriculum writing for the digital world (that would be for a cyber-school). It's a whole new beast, and it honestly made my head hurt at one point. However, the real fun was saved for Tuesday. Seems Dave's on-again-off-again "love affair" with gout was on-again . . . only it decided that their old meeting place - the big toe - wasn't painful enough so it picked a new place - the middle of his foot.

So, a quick trip to the doctor's to confirm that this new painful spot was the same old gout meant a trip to the pharmacy and the realization that the previous meds were no longer on the market since the drug companies had done a new study to "improve" them. At least his doctor gave him some sweet painkillers to take the sting out of that news.

By this morning, he was feeling much better but still not capable of walking or going to work. We spent most of the day reading, watching dumb movies, and basically doing absolutely nothing. But the mail brought the most welcome sight in a long time. A simple note of thanks from a woman I never met before and probably never will again.

Veronica was one of my fellow passengers stranded in Austin, Texas, after Continental decided to dump our asses there when a flight attendant called out sick. I guess getting you as far as Austin in a state the size of Texas was a pretty big accomplishment. But at midnight, it seemed like a death sentence. However, I overheard Veronica talking to another woman (her name wound up being Pam, which I learned after she was heaving her bags in the trunk of my rental car) about sharing a ride to San Antonio. My normal shy side took a backseat, and I volunteered to drive them to San Antonio because a) I had no idea where I was going, b) I needed people to keep me awake, and c) there was no sense in three people driving when one would suffice. Needless to say, we picked up another Continental cast-off (Addeline) at the rental car desk, the ride went very smoothly, and no one was harmed in their attempts to make it to San Antonio. Pam and Addeline each chipped in with some cash, but Veronica said she would mail me some. So . . . I gave her my address, never intending to hear from her, wished the ladies well, and went on my merry way to the Riverwalk where a soft, comfy bed and my husband were waiting.

But today, I got that thank you note from Veronica saying that she hadn't forgotten my generosity and was sorry for not writing earlier but things had gotten crazy. She also included $40 in the card, which was a fraction of the cost of a one-way rental. However, her generosity was the one that should be applauded. She was an excellent navigator and never once stopped chatting since sleep was something that neither of us had encountered for close to 24 hours. So for that . . . thank you, Veronica! Besides, that $40 will buy me enough yarn at the Fourth of July sale to make a new sweater.

- Jill

PS - Finished Beautiful Creatures this evening. It was pretty good . . . I'll summarize it later this week. 

Day Late, Dollar Short . . . Story of My Life

Kinda forgot to post this . . . but who could forget stalking prey amongst the high plains grass on the Ohio State University's campus? And as a Pennsylvania girl, that bumper sticker really resonates with me.

Columbus + Flickr = LOVE from Jill Greenwood on Vimeo.

Music: "The One Thing" by INXS

- Jill

That Last, Tangible Reminder

Ever since I can remember, I've been in love with England. I'm not sure how it happened or why, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not alone in my fascination. It got really bad when Lady Di married Prince Charles, culminating with me getting the obligatory "Di 'Do" and getting up at an unimaginably early hour to watch the fairytale unfold. It returned with a vengeance when Bridget and Shannon received orders to an airbase in England. Finally . . . an excuse to visit the country I adopted as mine.

Nothing really prepared me for that first trip. Sure, I thought I had everything under control by reading every conceivable travel book. Hell, I had some itineraries memorized for that trip, but it was the goofs that are the best part. Asking for cheese in Cambridge and finding a gem of a cheese shop. Getting caught in the rain with the Girls in the park. Missing a train to Scotland and then watching the Girls charm a more seasoned traveler.

On the subsequent trips back, we found new places to explore, new things to savor, new favorites to file away. Dave and I stumbled upon Charbonnel et Walker when we were looking for another sweet shop; one look in the window at these tiny, pink boxes sold me . . . one taste kept me going back. The last trip to London was in 2007, and the chocolates lasted about a week after we got home. See, the problem was we always went back to London, even after Bridget moved to Omaha so I figured it wouldn't be too long before I got that pink fix. But then saving for college and reduced travel and budgets got in the way, and we haven't been back.

I opened up my last Christmas present this year,  and I burst into tears when I saw the top of the box. The lettering hasn't changed nor has the slightly showing gilt-paper. It's not that I'm selfish, but I didn't open the first box until the 27th and then I didn't share a whole lot (so maybe I am a little selfish). Part of me thought that if I left the chocolates inside their pink home, I could make them last a year. The other part - the more rational part - knew that I wouldn't stop eating them.  I ate the last one today, savored the final, sweet bite . . . and pretended I was in London.

- Jill

I Wouldn't Want the Electric Bill

Hopefully, Las Vegas harnesses solar energy . . . hopefully. Dave was in Las Vegas for his annual convention, and I flew out to spend the weekend after with him. Even though I've been there before, it never ceases to amaze me from the glitz and the tackiness to the hopefulness that still reeks from every crack in the pavement. Time-share salespeople push beyond what any person would call politeness. The men and women clacking their stacks of "Live, Nude Girls" cards on every corner don't really care if you are a man or woman or with a man or woman as long as you take one of their cards. Super-cut and highly inked guys who probably spend more time in the gym in one day than I do in a year have girls who spend more time on their hair in one day than I do in a year on their arms. Panhandlers move from one spot of shade to the next. Homes off the strip clearly haven't had legal occupants in them in ages if you go by the "no shades in the windows must mean foreclosure" theory.

It was 101 in the sun, and for once, I didn't really mind.

Glitz, glamor . . . and a CVS

Love, Peace, Hope, Passion, Desire . . . all words I can get behind

And again . . . that hopefulness still pushes through from the cracks in the pavement whenever someone drops a $10 in a penny machine and makes $120 in two punches of a button. Luckily, he bought me a gellato for dessert that evening.

I'm headed off to bed to try and recoup some missing sleep . . . there more photos on Flickr in the Las Vegas set.

Jill