The Boring Part

   All good things come with a part thats less exciting….

   I waved goodbye to you and told you not to stay and watch me go through security and then I started the flying trip out beside a friendly sun-tanned older lady from Newfoundland. She was flying home to her daughters wedding. She helps out in Saskatchewan on a road crew and she worked through the night last night on a highway near Regina. Her husband is on a road crew in Alberta. She was hoping she could sleep in Toronto somewhere to catch up on sleep. I loved her accent and told her so. She knows Mennonites from seeing them in Alberta often when she worked on a road crew somewhere near one of our congregations and told me a few names. She thought we were mostly good people. Because of the way she said it I agreed and said we definitely weren’t perfect. “Hey, thars bad aigs everywhar,” she said in her rounded accent and chuckled. “There’s a couple on avery road crew I’m on, it keeps life interesting.”

   At one moment we were both watching the cutest curly headed toddler who kept saying “Hello” and she mused about how fast time had flown since her daughter was that miniature size and now she’s getting married. I agree, time does fly when one has darling children that are growing, growing, growing.

   In Toronto at midnight they said we weren’t allowed to stay inside the security area or wait near the gates or customs and they waved us out through baggage claim and into the parking and arrivals terminal. The floor was hard marble and the chairs were few. I found a corner near some closed doors and laid on the floor with my head on my leather bag and propped my feet up on the wall. I was thankful right then I had none of you children along. You would have been miserable for four hours. It was a little chilly from outdoor air. It reminded me of Atlanta except backwards, there they let the homeless in the airport at night to keep warm but in Toronto they put the layover people out with the homeless. If id been smarter I would have veered off like I saw some others do back in the gates area but I didn’t catch on. The Newfoundland lady was one who immediately found a seat and curled up to sleep.

   At 4 the place started coming back to life and all of us bedraggled  people started funnelling back towards check in. I went back to level 3 and returned to level 1 with my baggage like many others because we had to re-check it through to our connecting flight. They finally reopened security and customs and we waited in long lines to get back into the airport. I like people who wait happily in lines and visit. The Asian man who went through the line in front of me talked about airports and lines and frequently laughed nervously about how he was worried he wouldn’t make his 6:00 flight.

   Then i napped a bit more before the next flight where I sat beside a young university student bearing an Atlanta hoodie. He was from Vancouver, headed to university for his second year. It seemed odd timing to be headed back to school to me. He likes the Braves and has tickets for a game in June. We talked about Spencer Strider the Mustache Man pitcher and it didn’t seem like he was really into stats or any certain player. He just likes going to the Braves games for the social part. He was a respectful young man who knew how to keep conversation going by feeding a little more information than asked and then showing interest by asking a question back. Conversation is a real skill that a lot of adults lose and they just get stuck looking at their phones. Speaking of phones, that young man only glanced at his phone screen once in our two hour flight to Atlanta.

   There was a rich older couple across the aisle from us that were both dressed to perfection. They oozed financial success but also weariness on their faces. Maybe they had a long trip. She wore a cream sweater, white skirt, creamy bangles on both arms, large hoop earrings, and her hair was gray, short and styled kind of spiky. She kept her husband hopping up every little bit to dig through the carryon in the overhead compartment, first she needed a blanket, then a pillow, a book, a snack, the book put away…she never smiled much but her makeup was perfect with smokey eyes. It seemed like she had a lot in her large purse to always mess with too, lipstick and mirror, etc, He wore a starched dotted button up shirt, dark jeans, golf type shoes and white socks. He was very patient with her and never got cross at her requests so he must really love her. I saw him trying to fit a wad of cash into his wallet that looked like all $100 American bills. Then he pulled out a roll of Canadian cash and put it in a different spot. He kinda did this while leaning over the aisle to have more space so it’s not like the university student and I were snooping. Obvious.

   Oh, there were two good ole Georgia hunters in line in Toronto with us too. They looked like they’d been hunting in Canada for awhile. I hope their wives like their beards and hair. I liked how they looked like they’d just come in from a hike in the woods. Big long padlocked gun cases and backpacks with a sleeping bag rolled up and tied on. They didn’t get mad at the long lines in Toronto either. They just silently stood and moved easily. I think they were remembering where all they’d recently been out in grand old nature.

   I heard Spanish all over all day and I was relieved I could understand it. I realize most people aren’t as advanced in speech or use as large of words as my Herrera friends but glory be, I can still communicate. I’ll probably say some awkward stuff though with just a touch of the wrong accent at times. Like the time I asked Hermana Thelma at the dinner table if her songbird was still farting. I meant singing, but it was sort of a double entendre I got to learn in fast order. Plus it made the whole table laugh so I had to laugh too when she explained it to me.

   I couldn’t see Stone Mountain when we flew into Atlanta. The cloud cover was too fluffy and thick until we broke through and then the the mountain was on the other side if the plane. I’m really hoping we’ll get a good view of the volcanoes when we fly into Guatemala.

   Grandpa and Grandma were there to pick me up and give me hugs. Aunt Annette was too.

Magnolias are blooming with large white blossoms. The kudzu carpet is as green and lush as ever along the interstate, twining up along the tall pines and blanketing the sycamores.

…we’re driving to the house and listening to Ga church. It’s a good sermon by Brandon about Hope in darkness and all of us carrying burdens. I’ll just type as I listen…How Satan wants to grip us with fear and tempt us with thinking how we could be happy ‘if’ and we need to keep our treasure in heavenly things. About the group of lepers getting healed and one turning back to thank Jesus. Tell it to Jesus and He’ll be with you in The Valley, find something to be thankful about. Be the Daniel that keeps praying and giving thanks before God….even if there’s fear because you know what the earthly king has decreed.  A thankful heart goes a long ways towards building healthy thinking patterns and it starts when we tell it to Jesus.

Grandpa picked up some tree ripe peaches in Macon the other Day that we’ll eat on icecream.

   Uncle Doug has ribs on the grill.

We fly out to Guate on Tuesday morning early.

Wish you were here . So much .