This week is a little like a bookmark , holding my place for what has been happening leading up to and being in Barcelona until today. I was amazed at the number of you out there who have had a B., Spain experience and guaranteed my enjoyment of the visit and provided a list of “you will love” things to do. However, ( remember that word) the trip has opened a need for preparation, travel requirements, and reEntry to new requirements after aging as a homebody. So this week is offering you at the moment requirements and next week more of what eye has seen, ear heard, and heart opened to.

First, the trip was demanding. Rising early with that list checked was only the beginning. Business class sounds like an upgrade. Not so for me because it required separation from my “ baby blanket,” my backpack. Since it had to be stored overhead, a lifter down person had to be recruited for anything from toothbrush, to book, to meds. Twenty-four hours which warped through six time zones dumped us out in España and delivered us to a very nice hotel. Waiting for rooms to be turned over for our family carried a weary me to my next to last straw. Hooray for a nap.

Second, after being with people I know by name, I had two who were close to me and seventy- seven others from various far places. Most of them had at least a same employer connection. I was a green stripe guest along with babies and teens. In the way of a new classroom the first day of school, I read a few names from name tags, shared mine, and opened those connections of likes or talents that tie us together.

Lastly, space does become familiar. Use of my tech required adjustments. My son-in- law’s i_pad charges in my bathroom but not his. The view from my window encompasses some sites we’ve seen and the route to others in the future. After Houston, the weather is a delight, though locals want rain. Above all, I am at the edge of the Mediterranean Sea, a body of water vast enough to be called the middle of the world and am in Spain, a far reaching hope for Paul’s journey. Next week, what are the gifts of Barcelona.

I am planning to go to Spain. Romans 15:24

I guess that’s a good a title as any, I’ve been sitting here in my Girl Scout mode trying to decide how to tell you about my organized self getting ready to go not just to San Antonio overnight, but to Barcelona for a week. All I can think of is stories about my two most loved people in the world for whom preparation was only a four syllable word. Both have been met by angels to ease their way to heaven, so you can just shake your head without embarrassment. The dear husband’s idea of being ready was to stand at the foot of the bed at 4:30 in the morning before he left for the airport and say, ‘Honey, got any spare cash?” He would be gone all week and was carrying an all purpose saddle case with toothbrush, socks, and a pair of underwear. After all, if he needed anything surely New York had some place that sold it and he didn’t like waiting for luggage to arrive. My best friend from the fourth grade and only bridesmaid in my wedding was a petite pageboy blond whose very utterance of, “Ohhh,” called forth a line of boyfriends and me to see if we could help.

Then there is me. I was raised by a mother who managed to have in her purse whatever from an umbrella to a clean linen handkerchief. Between her training and my natural inclination to be a list maker, I rank right up there next to the post office delivery for not being deterred by weather, or schedule changes, or even something to snack on. One begins at the most distant point out and and works toward D-Day. It is Tuesday and my dining room table has two file folders with information for dealing with taxes when I get home. Balancing the far corner are all necessary travel documents from tickets to passport. This morning I bought small zip-lock bags and in the next quiet moment I will count and label pills. After all I am at what causes doctors to say, “At your age.” and I don’t know about Spanish Walgreen’s.

Thank goodness for Wunderground that reveals more about the weather for the week than I may need to know. An early morning temperature of 48 strongly suggests an available outer layer and at least two long sleeve turtlenecks for someone whose springtime is bumping against summer. Not being a strong turtle, I’m a minimalist of carrying with me. If I can’t manage by myself, that it doesn’t go. For the next two days the suitcase will be open. Clothes go in one day and out the other until a zip up early Saturday. I will be gathered by a daughter and a son-in-law who has already supplied me with Euros. Adventure awaits and I know the phrases for finding a bathroom and my hotel. Like the Israelites of yore, I will have finished my banana. I will be attired in comfortable shoes and appropriate clothes. No staff, but a new walker is ready for ease of walking and availability of sitting. Check! Let’s move out!

Now you shall eat it in this manner: with your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it in haste.

Exodus 12;11

You’ve had them. The kind of days in the life of Garfield the Cat that everything goes wrong as far as he is concerned. Owner Jon lets the cat bowl get empty. The mice gang up on him. He is accused of shedding hair even in the toothbrush. The only solution in some cases like that is to curl back up in a cat box and sleep it off.

Monday threatened to be like that. I wrapped up Sunday and went to bed with a doable list for the next day. I arose, but my get up and go was dragging its heels. First thing, the coffee brewed clear water. The night before I had taken step one and had walked away before the important step two of adding coffee was accomplished. Morning routine was pushed back while I regrouped. Then I moved to the NYT Mini Puzzle which wakes up my brain and three of the clues were current culture that required my looking up the answer. I thought just eating cereal would help except I missed the bowl and spilled a pint of blueberries on the floor. By then bed seemed the only solution. Head touched the pillow and the phone rang. It was a robot call reminding me of a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. Push 1 to confirm.

What’s the solution to a day like that? I called on HOWEVER, and that turned what was happening around. However is one of twenty-seven words called Conjunctive Adverbs that help make six different changes in the relation between clauses in a sentence. STOP! Do not run off. There is no test. I am mentioning this particular one because it brings hope to what is going on and offers a manageable outcome.This is how it works. The pot only offered heated water; however, I was able to start over and have coffee in just a few minutes. The puzzle had clues not in my life knowledge; however, the internet helped open up my remembering another word. Blueberries rolled over the floor; however, I gathered them in a sieve, washed them off, and all was well. The mantra for rescuing a world falling apart is to state the problem and then say,” Semi-colon ;however, comma” and look for a way to repair.

I did go back to bed and about 9:30 I was able to face my list and ended up with a productive day by my standards. That doesn’t mean the ups and downs won’t happen again, maybe on a Thursday. However, (see how easily it comes to mind) I did have an option. I could affirm a poor me mode or I could see if my bootstraps were strong enough to help me stand upright. They were! The apostle Paul looked at his collection of days and drew the same conclusion, just stated differently.  

I’ve learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I’m just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I’ve found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am. 

Philippians 4:11 – 12

That active verb sounds so simple. Ater the slow wobbly start of children, the motion becomes intuitive. We use the motion to transport ourselves without focusing : going several places, carrying objects to relocate, ignoring surroundings, and then reentering our world away from where we started.

Coming to confidence in walking arrived slowly for me. Gangly was the best adjective for my appearance with long legs and arms and a dubious sense of balance. Strategies like learning to cross the left arm over the body when the right foot goes forward still has to be consciously chosen. Running had/has no speed to note and I had to channel Snoopy the Beagle to keep it up. He would chant to himself,” Foot pick up. Foot go down.” Checking for cracks that even slightly offer the chance to stub a toe is part of the process.

Forget the standard of 10,000 steps to perfect heath. For my mid-life crisis, I mastered circling Rice campus across the street from the Rice Blvd. house in time to shower and make it to teach a first period class. That was an all time high of 6, 6667 plus or minus steps. Eventually that number has been enough to keep heart beating at an acceptable rate and blood flowing to nourish and restore cells. Two age related happenings slowed me down. Eighty-six years of streps stressed a vertebra and requires limiting daily effort. Eyes aren’t feet, yet stepping forth with clear vision does make a difference.

Comment on the last day of February. If I haven’t mentioned, I am going to Barcelona,yes, the city in Spain. This will be a March trip with members of the family. While I won’t eat late night meals, I will need to arise and be ready for adventure as a day demands. In mid-January, I started my own improve going forth regime. WSJ warm up exercises, a base distance that counts as minimum for a woman of my age, and some tack on steps just for strengthening. If you choose to sit in the bleachers and clap as I round the curve, I may not stop to acknowledge, yet I will appreciate the attention. This very morning I took a no turning back until you get there walk to have breakfast with a neighborhood friend. Thirty minutes was required; however, the distance was covered without my stretching out on the sidewalk.

I’m not sure this is the most faithful translation. I just loved rolling the words off my tongue as a daily encouragement.

¹² So then, brace up and reinvigorate and set right your slackened and weakened and drooping hands and strengthen your feeble and palsied and tottering knees,

Hebrews 12:12 Amplified Bible Classic Edition

Over the years I have amassed a folder of comic strips that I have used or even hoped to use to illustrate various points. When real life can be made fun of we being to realize change has happened. Sometimes the recognition or our applied intelligence response happens quickly denoted by a chuckle. Other moments a little explanation is needed to to elicit an, “Oh, I get it!,”

For some time I have read articles on Artificial Intelligence and how development will change our lives. I just ran a web check and turned up 15 sites on the first page from a definition to extensive explanation from Wikipedia. A few of the comments required my looking up other words in order to follow the sequence of importance. Back to the comic strips. Star watchers may shiver at the fake news commentator of F Minus: “Good news for whose who fear the dark. Experts estimate light pollution will soon reach a point where nighttime will finally be a thing of the past” Did a committee decided this would make our lives better? Another F Minus: “Based on the content the algorithm has been showing lately, I get the sense I’m going to be really into lentils soon.” If you know anything about Jacob and Esau, lentils may not be a step forward. This is my favorite from Rhymes with Orange. The image is two people at a desk behind the company name, ROBOTICS, INC. By the door next to the hall is the name of the department: HUMAN RESOURCES. A tin robot is putting an X through HUMAN while one person at the desk remarks, “To be honest the latest models scare me.”

I respect what can be accomplished. Sometimes I want a real explainer. These paragraphs are dedicated to Eric, flesh and blood, but unknown and unseen. I had a telephone problem last week. I went to the web site and using my intelligence clicked several buttons. No luck. I tried to the number to the robot who supposed identifies the need and makes a solution so much better. They never can translate South Louisiana, so finally the voice said, “Let me connect you to someone who can help.” Hence Eric. Yes, he could, yes he did. AI may outshine me on several fronts. May my intelligence always meet the needs for which it was created along with all who inhabit the earth: to be a listener, to be a helper, to be one who loves.

Then the Lord God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.

Genesis 2:7

Neighborhoods vary. I have always lived on a street where the row of houses appeared as a family bought a lot and built what they wanted. Through years to come the house retained the name of the original owner. In my lifetime in Hammond, before moving to Linden Ave at the foot of Charles Street down from the depot, we lived at the corner of Church Street, Then home was a rent house by the Episcopal church, and finally the last house for a few years was on the north corner of Pine Street before the college. A vacant lot next to us was where we raised chickens and Daddy had enough rows of corn to pick and eat. As a child I remember telling an adult my address and their answer would be, “Oh, the old (fill in the name) house.” Even now, I don’t live in a “cookie cutter” development neighborhood.

Yet somehow, the flow of these houses follow a pattern with necessary rooms easily found: a living room and dining room, bedrooms to the side along with baths, and then a kitchen with maybe a back porch. I know of only one house I’ve been in that didn’t have a kitchen window over a sink. Kitchen windows tie one to the whole world while time is spent tending to daily chores or maybe just stopping for a glass of tap water.

On Linden, I would view a large back yard. My mother’s bed of Shasta Daisies and pansies was one corner of the view. In the far back was a small pan to fill with water for Brownie, the thrush my daddy fed each morning and talked to as if they were best friends. As I write this, the son in Steamboat can only see a pile of snow after a month of unprecedented daily downfalls. At Rice I could look across a neighbor’s yard and watch traffic on the one-way south bound street as it slowed for a lighted intersection. That same view had par excellent sunsets that almost made dishwashing a pleasure. My present window is filled by a huge live oak tree that unlike other oaks loses its leaves in the fall. Its bareness reveals a skeleton shape and the blobs of leaves constructed to be squirrel nests in the spring. In full summer glory, the green is framed by the brightness of a blue sky. Once a team was called in to trim and shape and I watch enthralled as men swung from pulley ropes while carrying chain saws, the twenty-first century version of sailors hanging from the topgallant mast as they adjusted the sail.

If you stand at the front door with it open, you may be waiting for the mail person or you may be the noisy neighbor. If you look out the kitchen window you are just becoming one with the world, checking on children at play, or waiting for a car to come down the driveway, so you can wipe your hands and go to welcome someone home. Your day will be made complete.

Look around you and see what is happening: Your people are gathering to come home! Your sons will come from far away; Your daughters will be carried like children. You will see this and be filled with joy; You will tremble with excitement. 

Isaiah 60: 4 – 8

If I were going to write about hearts and love and Valentine’s Day, it needed to be this week. By next Thursday I’d have missed the moment. In my organized structured way, I was going to offer you some background. That turned out not to be as sweet and lovely as I had wished. The Catholic (the saintly group) website I settled on instead of Wikipedia led me a convoluted chase from decapitation to banishment by the Pope to finally a story one could tell at bedtime to young susceptible children. Just so you know, I’m in favor of the day, wholeheartedly, to make a pun. Who could not love hugs, bright colors, and chocolate except a Grinch and he has already been assigned to Christmas.

I love (the word of choice) Valentine’s Day because for most of my life it involved creativity, individuality, and an acceptable amount of messiness, maybe even some glitter. My mother would put layers of newspaper on the dining room table and give me scissors (oh, joy), red and white paper, colored markers, and glue. The glorious addition was several of the punched, almost lacey, doilies that went on dessert plates the rest of the year. I just needed to leave enough blank space to write the To and From names. More tender messages came later down the road. While the Valentines were drying – an important step, do not stack wet Valentines, I could then move on to the shoe box which every child brought to school. More decorating, and some help was required to punch a starting place to cut the deposit slit in the top. On February 14, cards were delivered to the correct boxes which sat on the corner of a desk until time for cupcakes and revealing the contents.

The day did have up and down moments. I yearned one year for a heart that said, “Love,” with a boy’s name and that did not happen. Situations like that even brought tears in some eighth grade classes. Younger groups I taught wanted to hand over each card with a kiss, and the affirmation, “I made it myself.” One of my favorites was store bought by one of my children and said, “If I promise to always put the scissors back where I found them, will you be my Valentine?” The answer was a definite YES!

I had a waffle iron that could be used on a stove top and turned out six crispy heart shapes. With strawberries and syrup, they started that special morning with a way for me to say, “I am doing this for you.” All through the day the word LOVE needs to echo. To like can create a favorite thing. To love expands, fills space, and moves any relationship to a new level on February 14 or 364 other days. Think of answering the door to receive a bouquet of colored balloons tied with streaming ribbons. Historically, you can look at a man named Valentine from various sides. Just don’t mess with what those floating balloons mean to me.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians13:13

Most of my stories start “When I was growing up” because that’s what went on until I got to where I am now. My first contact with research, a turn around the corner from just not really true narratives, was a bookcase made by my daddy that sat in the cubicle between the bathroom and the dining room. In it were a really old World Book Encyclopedia that must have been in my mother’s classroom before me, a whole shelf of musty National Geographic magazines, and a very thick and heavy Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary. Perusing these three in a haphazard manner, I gained information about the world from ancient history to about 1930. A issue of National Geographic sent me to the World Book with a side journey to the dictionary which not only provided definitions. It also had illustrations. The next two important steps were a card catalogue, a library’s version of a search engine, and open stacks where I could wander and discover all kinds of books.

That introduction aside, let’s get back to the point of today. For Christmas, my son gave me a hardback book of stickers. They are everything from animals to elaborate alphabets. As the title page defies it, the antiquarian contents are adhesive ephemera. Just looking at the options is a delight. I use them to mark a page in my journal or to highlight the envelope of a handwritten note. In addition to sweet quotes and the young girls dressed as if ready for a Jane Austin novel are also various characters with bird like heads spouting a long beak. These bothered me. I resorted to the technology research available on my computer. YES, that very technology I have complained about so many times.

The origin of the strange costume is a more exotic version of our Covid face coverings. By entering several variations of bird beak faces, I discovered that in the plagues of 1575 and 1630, these were supposedly the protection of physicians who tended the sick. The mask covered his face and the long beak had two small holes on the side to filter the air he breathed. A long robe and a stick to keep evil spirits at bay along with gloves made the final costume. Want to do your own research? Enter “the plague doctor mask” or go to Camacan.com and you can order one of your own.

This was my reminder not to throw out the baby with the bath water. Also this very day, I had trouble getting to my bank account to close out the end of the month. However, I was able to access a medical test and be assured that my bone loss was not in the danger zone. In the years between Linden Ave and Swift Blvd, I have made progress in new skills. I’m sorry for being an old griping fogey. For those who are still a step ahead of me, please keep me moving toward the future if for no other reason than to learn about the past.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. when I became a man (woman) I put away childish things.

1 Corinthians 13:11

Back in the years of deciding what I as a woman would be in the world should I not earn a Mrs. degree soon after a B.ED, the next choice would be a secretary, maybe a telephone operator. In high school I took typing and did fairly well on the old Remington hit the keys hard and throw the carriage with purpose to turn up the next line. In fact, typing, or keyboarding as called today, may have been one of my more useful subjects, much better than hunt and peck. The second part of a good secretary was shorthand, a loser for me. I had to work to have a legible handwriting and couldn’t really understand scribbling and translating being progress. So I took the next opening of teaching, found a good match and never looked back.

Anyway, the tv image of the perky young woman at the front desk who turned out letters to be signed by the end of the day mail soon faded. Titles differed according to what was demanded. This cold rainy part of January I really had the need for an IT Support Specialist. This paragon of necessity would know her (or his) computer more intimately than I know my grammar book and understand moves and lingo to create solutions. After having the same e-mail since the 1980’s when I still had to dial up a connection, it began to have weak spells. At some level it was so undependable that the Museum of Fine Arts would not even verify reservations using it. I could only ask to pick up tickets at their front desk. Yesterday the unspeakable came to pass. I was spoofed. or spammed, or hacked. In a word, totally messed up, People on my contact list came out ot the woodwork to tell me so. Thank goodness, my daughter -in -law didn’t hyperventilate at the problem. With aplomb (one spends one’s life waiting to use that word), she took over my computer using Teamviewer, asked me to put my hands in my lap, and began to kill off and bury the defunct contact with society. At times in the process it was messy and not always quick and easy; however, she took what I could never have done and did it.

According to our needs, each of us wants a special skill available in our family. Maybe your wish is for the great-nephew who knows exactly how to lift the hood of your car and tweak wires, or at least how to get it to a dealership and explain the problem. The longing may be for that one who can set a table worthy of being photographed or with seemingly easy effort create a meal out of three leftovers in the refrigerator. Right now I would settle for someone who could separate papers necessary to start saving for 2023 taxes from those that to be useful need to be sent to the accountant for 2022. At the end of a day, I want to be the child tugging at a skirt, searching for a place of comfort to end the day, and feeling assured that place will be waiting for me.

As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.

Isaiah 66:13

Another thought that divides the world into groups. Fifty years ago one of the uncles was the there had to be a picture person. He lined us up and re-aligned us and fiddled with settings and said, “Just one more.” I don’t know where the prints are. I do know I have memories of bending and trying to turn around some child whose face was hidden in my skirts. When we do find a stack of those pictures in a shoe box, the opening words are always, “Oh, I remember when we…” Then the details are filled in to flesh out the moment of the picture.

A friend and I took an absolutely perfect road trip last week-end and somehow snapped not a single picture, not even the one of two of us for the third friend that couldn’t go. You don’t need to reach out your hand to hold a shot, just open your mind to what I say. The afternoon was a pleasant drive directed by our phone’s GPS, The ultimate destination was Fulton/Rockport, designated as south. I kept having to shake my head over that direction because the Gulf that is normally directly south of us when in Houston had followed the curve of the coast and was now a few blocks to the east. A friend I had taught with welcomed us to a lot with landmark trees, the live oaks. Other lots were crowded with trailers to house those inhabitants designated as ‘winter Texans.”

For two small coastal towns, Fulton and Rockport abound in preserved history. My friend is a par excellent historical archaeologist and gave us a show and tell for adults. We wandered the Maritime Museum and I re-learned about LaSalle’s ship La Belle that sank off Matagorda Bay and is now in the Texas Historical Museum in Austin, offering the possibility of another field trip. Friday morning we went to one of the older houses that had been moved and will now be used for various exhibits. The quilting ladies of the town were training docents for a next day opening,

Friday afternoon was the jewel in the crown. We went on a boat tour to see mostly Whooping Cranes in their migration moments. We sat in a cabin with our small binoculars. Hard-core viewers braved wind and lined the deck with larger magnification and cameras mounted on tripods. I could spend several sentences on geography and controlled burns because that area is my minor in college. The gasping sights were seven families of cranes: two adults and a motley teen delicately stepping and swooping down for a succulent meal. We were delighted the javelina was on a far bank away from the boat. White and brown pelicans and settled gulls welcomed us back into the harbor. Around a supper table that night no phone was passed around with pictures. Instead, we who were visiting bubbled out what our day had been like while the listeners who lived in those midsts daily nodded in agreement. On the drive back home, the pondering of the trip provided our delight in the going.

Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them.

Psalm 111:2