It's Random 5 Friday

Please, Mom, can't we go out again?

Sometimes life doesn’t come together into one well-organized thought.  I guess that’s why Random 5 Friday was born. According to the rules on Nancy Claey’s beautiful blog, A Rural Journal, each Friday I’m supposed to share 5 random things about me, my week, my dog, anything.  Friday is almost over, but I’m not letting another week slip by without jumping into the game.

1.  Today I talked to landscapers about bringing my seriously overrun and under-performing gardens back to life.  Everything got out of control because I haven’t been able to kneel, lift, or pull much this past year.  I wanted to cry because if someone else is doing all the work, then what right have I to call myself a gardener anymore?

2.  I was desperate enough to think of stopping for a fast food hamburger for lunch this week, until I saw the drive-thru line. Really?  Why would anyone wait 20 minutes or more in 100˚ weather for that? I decided I could wait until I got home.

3.  Skyler, my dog, ran away from me this week.  You don’t realize what this means unless you know that she 16 years old and is having laser therapy on her legs and back for arthritis and I’m doing physical therapy for my arthritic knee.  And she doesn’t hear very well if I try to yell out a command.  So she went loping at a fast clip down the sidewalk because she felt good enough for a second walk after therapy that day.  Two steps after I tried to chase her down, my own knee felt searing pain.  Thank heavens her legs gave out sooner than mine so I was able to limp up to her and corral her.  We both slowly made our way home.

4.  I’m reading Lia Purpura’s beautiful collection of essays, On Looking, for my MFA class. And kicking myself.  I’ve seen many of the things she’s seen, but I’ve never written about them. Shame on me.

5.  I had a weekend of Keith Urban concerts.  Good friends, good music, and good cheesecake by my friend, Edna.  I always feel rejuvenated after a Keith Urban road trip.  Days go by . . . .

He goes even lower, but this is when I grabbed the shot

Please tell me one random thing in your thoughts or your life recently.  Share it in the comments box then head over to A Rural Journal to see what others have shared.

Another NashVegas Night

I should never have left town without that big yellow metal chicken secured in the back of my SUV

(While I was out of town and the victim of a week of bad internet connection, one of my past blog posts was featured in the online magazine Better After 50 (it really is, I think).  After reading my piece, stick around and read some of the other sassy, funny, and thoughtful things the other writers have to say.)

Sometimes a gal just has to get out of town.  The endless rain and gray skies made me think “Go South.”  And so I headed to the bright lights of one of my favorite towns --  NashVegas.  I went to meet up with friends for the All 4 The Hall benefit concert Keith Urban and Vince Gill do for The Country Music Hall of Fame.  You might remember that I wrote about it at this time last year.

There is so much besides country music that draws me to the town.  I made my stop at Parnassus Books where I bought the wonderfully creative and well-balanced book by Theron Humphrey, Maddie On Things.  Check here to see if Theron and Maddie are coming to a bookstore near you.  If you're not a dog lover before you open the book, you soon will become one.

I also ate way too many carbs late at night. And in the morning.  I bemoaned the fact that the gritty, small-town Nashville that I first knew and loved is growing into a sleek, modern mini-Atlanta with apartment high rises, expensive hotels, and chain stores.  A lawyer sitting next to my breakfast companion and me one morning half agreed with me.  He pointed out the restaurant window and said, “They should keep that place and that place and that place.  But frankly, I’m glad to see that building come down and a nice mid-rise apartment go in.  My wife and I want to live where the action is, but we’d like a change from our house to an apartment.”

Isn’t that the story everywhere?  So many people want to live in the midst of the excitement that pretty soon they’ve torn down all the things that make a neighborhood worth its salt.  Then you’re just left with the apartment buildings full of people who wanted all those things that made the neighborhood interesting.

But some things in NashVegas don’t change much.  There is still plenty of music to be had.  What made this trip particularly good was I had a concert double-header.  Gary Allan was in town singing at the Ryman Auditorium the night after Keith and friends.  So let me leave you with a tour of Lower Broadway on a Wednesday night in April.

There’s always action in the alley between the Ryman Auditorium and the music clubs that line Lower Broad.

With all that neon, the city deserves the name NashVegas.

A Music City hopeful playing for tips while competing against the ubiquitous big screen TV.

The boots and jeans of country singers tell their own stories.

I love being at the stage.

A perk of being up front – you get your Hatch Show Print signed.

Gary Allan reminds us that “Every storm runs out of rain.”

I finally got a bit of a smile out of him (around :20).  Gary’s “An Alright Guy.”

The sights and sounds of Lower Broad around midnight.  Most clubs have two bands playing. Multiply that by a dozen clubs on the strip and you understand why the sound in this clip is chaotic.  On a warm night the front windows of the clubs are thrown open, and it’s non-stop music as you stroll. 

Head to the comments box and tell me where you like to go when you just need to get away.  Do you have a special room -- or chair?  Or does a certain kind of scenery or activity recharge your battery?  Share your special place in the comments.

Keith Urban - A Lot Of Nashville Nirvana, Pt. 2

Keith Urban takes time to talk to his fans after a show

Last week I made another pilgrimage to my Mecca – Nashville.  I’m a huge fan of country music and swooned over Conway Twitty’s “Hello, Darlin’” way back when.  But this particular visit was to worship at the feet of my guitar god, Keith Urban.

As I told you in my last post, I traveled there for the All For The Hall concert to benefit the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum.  Keith Urban and Vince Gill hosted the show and invited a whole passel of their music-making friends to raise money in support of programs the CMHOF takes to the community.  But let’s be honest, the #1 reason I traveled there was for this:

 While part of this trip allowed me to bow at the altar of books and filled my word-loving soul, going to a Keith Urban concert is like a spiritual cleanse, an emotional release.  He’s a man who was born to entertain; he was born to play guitar.  Three hours in the front row at one of his concerts watching him follow his passion can be as reinvigorating for his fans as a weekend on the beach.  He anoints you with his unmitigated joy in making music in communion with the crowd.

Despite his country music awards, Australian music awards, and Grammy Awards he continues to bring his personal warmth and enthusiasm to as many people in as many ways as he can.  After concerts he’s gone out to the parking lot of arenas to play a short set for the stragglers who haven’t made it to their cars.  He’s played free shows in shopping malls and train stations even though he could just spend his time filling arenas.  At every show he wades into the crowd to play in the most up close and personal way he can.  He invites audience members onstage for singing contests or just for a hug.

What comes through in every performance is his sense of immense gratitude that he is allowed to play his music for us every day.  The road to success was filled with hairpin turns.  After all, who would assume that when a young boy in Queensland, AU says he wants to become a country music star in Nashville that it’s a slam-dunk?  People on both sides of the ocean thought he was insane.  Without a plan B, though, he kept writing and playing until finally people heard what he wanted to say musically.  In this new American Idol culture, we forget the struggling artist still exists.  He kept chipping away at Music City for almost 15 years before he had a hit record.

He shows that gratitude in so many ways.  On the morning of the AFTH show his fan club hosted a free breakfast for the members who had bought tickets to the concert.  The 300 or so who managed to make it there in the early hours of the morning assumed Keith would show up to thanks us for supporting the CMHOF, perhaps sing one song before heading off to rehearsal.  However, after the first song, he sang another, and another, and another.  And he asked who had come the farthest to the show because his fans actually cross state lines and national borders to see his shows.  A woman called out that she had come from Finland.  Finland, Indiana we found out.  And he sang requests.  And he sang songs about being an Ed McMahon Sweepstakes winner he had written before he had won the music lottery himself.  His “thank you” lasted almost an hour.

Up close and personal at his fan club appreciation breakfast

The AFTH concert put me somewhere north of four dozen Keith shows since I started following him.  For his fans, “following him” is a literal act, not a metaphorical one.  My concert count is small potatoes compared to the woman next to me at the stage that night.  She was on her 98th show.  The farthest I’ve gone to see him perform is a small club in Birmingham, England.  I know fans who’ve traveled to his shows in his home country of Australia.  When people ask why I go so often, they inevitably follow it up with, “Isn’t it the same show every time?”  No one ever asks me “Why do you go to church every week?  Isn’t the service always the same?”  No one says, “If you’ve heard Beethoven’s 5th once, why listen again?” or “Van Gogh’s ’Starry Night’ hasn’t changed.  Why go to the museum again?”  Or “Why read To Kill a Mockingbird again?”

Most of us chug along through our days surrounded by people giving half-hearted efforts, perhaps doing jobs that make us just count the hours until 5 o’clock.  The atmosphere is filled with cynicism or competition.  We might feel stuck.  We’re not even sure what we want to do.  If I feel like that, a trip to a bookstore, or a writing conference, or a Keith show is exactly what I need.  They are living pictures of what persistence and a dream can achieve.  When I’ve lost ardor for my own path, I want to go someplace where I can soak up the intensity of someone who might be living this philosophy:

When I surround myself with excellence and passion, even if just for a couple of hours I want to dress myself in that feeling and wear it for a week.  I want to create.  I want to do something with a lasting impact, even if it were only as mundane as reorganizing cabinets so that life in my kitchen works so much more efficiently.  I want to pursue a goal and take it as far as I can.  Yes, the feeling may fade in a few days, but that just gives me an excuse to look for the next model for living my best life.  Or I can just crank up some Keith Urban music and dance around until everything that drags me down has been pushed to the back and I’m ready to move forward to something great.

What do you want to have passion about?  What do you do to pump it up when you feel it fading?  Get us excited about something in the comments box.  Let us know what drives you and brings out your creativity.  How do you get back in the game when life has just been dragging you down?

"Put You In A Song" at the All For The Hall breakfast concert

link

Jump In And Let It All Hang Out This Weekend

Country music singer/songwriter/guitar god Keith Urban in concert

Today I’m heading off to Nashville to see my man, guitar god Keith Urban, at the Grand Ole Opry and to meet up with some good friends.  There is laundry to do and packing and gathering of snacks for the drive.  While reviewing some blog ideas to work up for this post I ran through previous entries and discovered that fighting my midlife fears, as I talked about in the last post, seems to be a recurring theme for me.  So while I’m gone this weekend, read about other challenges I’ve set for myself in the past.  And I remind you – it’s not always about climbing Mt. Everest.
 

Everybody Pogo!  

As I finished walking Skyler around the lagoon and Grand Basin at Forest Park and was heading back to the car, my eye was caught by bright mango yellow shirts shooting into the air in a fit of randomness in the shade of tall oak trees.  Despite the July St. Louis heat, a group of grade school camp kids were all exhibiting their most energetic jumping jacks before hopping on their bikes for a spin around the park.



When did I stop jumping?  When was the last time that I flexed my knees and then propelled myself into the air like a rocket again and again?  Do I always have two feet planted firmly on the ground?  And why is that seen as a good thing?  I remember hot summer nights after dinner when all the kids in the neighborhood competed to see who could bounce the highest or the most times on our pogo stick.  Onetwothreefourfive . . . onehundredandfive . . .  We jumped without a moment’s thought to bad arches, or aching sacroiliac joints, or old knees.  We pogoed the length of our street and shot into the stratosphere with little concern for balance or control . . . (Read the full story and watch the video)

Let It All Hang Out

I’ve lived with a constant concern on laundry days that I would lose my underwear into the private courtyard two stories down and never be able to retrieve it.  If I did, I just hoped it was some of my new stuff that would show me in a good light.  At least the blue ones, something with color, and not the practical white Jockey ones.  French women are neither shy nor practical when it comes to what is underneath – just barely.



I’ve felt practically puritanical while in France because my foundation is both ecologically sound (made from quickly renewable bamboo fibers) and meant to cover and be covered.  Before leaving home I went shopping for a new bra with straps appropriate for wearing with the cut of tank top sleeves.  And the saleslady convinced me to choose the “nude” (ugly no-color) one because it would be invisible under light-colored tops. . .  (Read the full story)

What everyday challenges do you set for yourself?  Do you jump? Are you trying to be more daring with fashion?  Who's your favorite performer or what was your best concert?  Jump in and let it all hang out in the comments box and have a great weekend!

What Would You Do If You Didn't Work?

Maybe I'd start a collection like this resident of Natchez, MS

In response to Mama Kat’s weekly writing prompt I spent the weekend thinking about 10 things I’d do if I didn’t work.  Now, whoa, wait a minute, some might say.  How can you make a list of things you would do if you didn’t work if you don’t actually have to get in the car and drive to an office to make someone else fabulously wealthy while you yourself are ground under the millstone of department productivity charts?  Well, point taken.

No, I no longer have to worry about the 9-5 life, but there is more than enough hopping to make me wish I had another three hours in my day.  I mean, it takes Herculean efforts to stay glued to the All-Law-and-Order-All-the-Time channel just in case a stray episode I haven’t see might be aired.  But since much that occupies my time now is stuff I make up to avoid doing the stuff I have to do, it’s worth contemplating what I’d do if I weren’t trying to avoid anything.

So what would I do if every hour of every day were wide open for me to decide how I wished to spend it?  The summer in France gave me an inkling of this kind of freedom.

Without further ado, here’s what I’d do:

10)  Make my computer files more organized than the Library of Congress. 

9)  I’d become fabulously toned, tanned, and athletic again.  Face it -- stress, chronic fatigue, and meals on the run take a bit of toll on the ol’ bod.

8)  See at least a dozen Keith Urban concerts a year with my KU friends across the U.S. (and, no, they’re not all the same; that’s what makes him such a great entertainer)

7)  I’d become fabulously fluent in a multitude of languages so that

6)  I would be ready to travel across the continent and the globe three or four times a year.

5)  Read when I’m not tired so I actually read in coherent chunks instead of in the five minutes I can muster before my eyes slam shut and the book crashes to the floor beside the bed.

4)  Learn to draw and use the manual settings on my camera.  Why not?  Art seems an endeavor that could keep me occupied for a lifetime.

3)  I’d definitely use the time to stop being the insufferable witch I become when I’m weighted down by all the things not on this little list and kept from doing what I really want to do.

2)  I would focus my mind intently on my writing, with the leisure to let ideas incubate, find the exact phrase instead of the almost-right one.  I’d have no more excuses for not getting words on paper.  And I could do it at 1 p.m. instead of 1 a.m. Preferably while drinking hot chocolate loaded with whipped cream while eating a pain au chocolat at a French café.

1)  In Edith Wharton’s masterpiece The Age of Innocence, her protagonist Newland Archer sits surrounded by family and friends chattering about all their duties and obligations for the day.  At one point another character asks him (I don’t quote exactly), “Well, Newland, how are you going to spend your time?”  Newland answers, “Oh I think I’ll just save it instead.”  The #1 thing I’d do if I didn’t work is nothing.  I don’t mean “nothing” in the sense of wasting it surfing the internet or updating my status.  No, I’d do nothing by strolling, letting my mind wander and contemplate, take time to watch, to see, sit, be in the moment.  I wouldn’t try to spend my capital of time.

I'd have more up close and personal time with guitar god Keith Urban

Tell me, what would you do if you didn’t have to work?  Share it in the comments box.

Birthday Wisdom

I know I've posted this before, but it's one of my favorite photos.  Tonya never had a bigger grin in her life than on her first birthday in the United States when she found out about this wonderful tradition of showering birthday girls with love and attention and presents.

“Today is my birthday and all that I want
Is to dig through this big box of pictures
In my kitchen ‘til the daylight’s gone”
-- Kristian Bush/Jennifer Nettles “Very Last Country Song”

     Yes, today is my birthday.  But not just mine.  My daughter and I have shared this special day for the last fifteen years.  Being born on the same day made us so much alike (a blessing and a curse), but we absolutely stand at polar opposites when it comes to the menu for our birthday feast.  She wants steak and a plain cake with minimal or no icing; I want the dinner my mother always fed me – fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy – plus a gooey, sweet Black Forest Cake or something similar with enormous amounts of sugar.  As a good parent, however, I made the ultimate sacrifice for my child and usually gave up my favorite food for the sake of her birthday dinner.

    Now, with my daughter several hundred miles away at school, I’m going to have myself a carb-laden fried chicken blowout for my birthday (and yes – to answer my sister – there will be lots of gravy).  But I’ll also be thinking of T on our special day.  Since one thing we have in common is a love of music, I’m sending her some words from our favorite singers to live by in the coming year.  And you might find something that hits you just so as well.

Help me if you can/ I’m feeling down/ and I do appreciate you being round
-- John Lennon/ Paul McCartney “Help”
Just remember, T, it’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help.  The world is full of people with wonderful experiences and bucketfuls of knowledge that mean we never have to reinvent the wheel.  If someone gives advice, that doesn’t mean he or she is trying to run your life.  Let someone else carry part of the load sometimes.

Guess what, honey, clothes don’t just wash themselves!/ Neither do dishes, neither does the bathroom floor// So, now if anyone asks, not that they would/ I’ll be down in Mississippi and up to no good
-- Kristian Bush/Kristen Hall/Jennifer Nettles “Down In Mississippi”
Keep this one in reserve for when you have a child of your own.  For myself, I’d change it to “I’ll be at a Keith Urban concert and up to no good.”  But you already know that.

And speaking of KU –
Days go by/ I can feel ‘em flying/ Like a hand out the wind as the cars go by
-- Monty Powell and Keith Urban “Days Go By”
We sang this at so many concerts.  Don’t get so caught up in making all your plans for the future that you forget to roll down the window and stick that hand out.  Right now is just as important as tomorrow and next year.  Don’t be too impatient; you’ll get there soon enough.

I know you can hear me/ You don’t have to say a thing/ My love is stronger, lasts a lot longer/ Than your anger or your pain
-- Radney Foster “I Know You Can Hear Me”
During that first year after the adoption when we were learning to be a family, your dad was trying to make you sit on the stairs for a two-minute time out.  You fought every second of it – refusing to listen, testing our commitment to you, and daring us not to love you.  You later asked your dad in a jumbled mix of English and Russian if we were going to send you back because we were angry.  Well, like it or not we’re in this for the long haul.  But the road has gotten less bumpy, don’t you think?

Life is short/Even on its longest day
-- John Mellencamp “Longest Day”
This will mean a lot more thirty years down the line when you’re my age.  So hang onto it for the time when you’ll need it.

     After I make a phone call to my favorite birthday partner today, I’ll put on some music and heat up the oil for my decadent delight.  I’ll think about past years and perhaps pull out those pictures.  And I’ll start planning for many more.  Happy Birthday to me.

*******
Please don't retouch my wrinkles. It took me so long to earn them.


Italian actress Anna Magnani

They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body.


Anonymous


If you have any great birthday quotes or words of wisdom passed on to you or that you tried to share with your own children – or any great birthday story – share them in the comment box here.  Thanks for reading and sharing.
 

Everybody Pogo!

Country singer Keith Urban jumps for joy

As I finished walking Skyler around the lagoon and Grand Basin at Forest Park and was heading back to the car, my eye was caught by bright mango yellow shirts shooting into the air in a fit of randomness in the shade of tall oak trees.  Despite the July St. Louis heat, a group of grade school camp kids were all exhibiting their most energetic jumping jacks before hopping on their bikes for a spin around the park.

When did I stop jumping?  When was the last time that I flexed my knees and then propelled myself into the air like a rocket again and again?  Do I always have two feet planted firmly on the ground?  And why is that seen as a good thing?  I remember hot summer nights after dinner when all the kids in the neighborhood competed to see who could bounce the highest or the most times on our pogo stick.  Onetwothreefourfive . . . onehundredandfive . . .  We jumped without a moment’s thought to bad arches, or aching sacroiliac joints, or old knees.  We pogoed the length of our street and shot into the stratosphere with little concern for balance or control.

We just jumped again and again for the sensation of escaping gravity and flying into the air.  Even if just for an instant before we were yanked back to the reality of solid ground.  Jumping jacks.  Hurdles.  High jump bars in gym class.  Puddles. Tops of front stoops to the sidewalk. Ledges and fences.  Hardly a day passed that we didn’t launch our body into space and hang there for one . . . two beautiful seconds before we collided with the earth, but then brushed ourselves off and kept moving.

Did I stop jumping because I grew old and my joints began to ache?  Or did I stop long before that?  Did I just get too busy to think about jumping?

The other week at the gym I tried some tentative jumping jacks.  There was no mighty leap, legs and arms spread wide.  It was more a shuffle and a lifting of the heels, but not quite both feet off the ground simultaneously.  Before I even crouched for the attempt, the brain cringed and said, “You know this is going to hurt.  This is high impact aerobics.  Your feet will ache for a week.  Watch that your knee doesn’t give out when you touch down.  And what about your shoulder?  All that swinging up and down is definitely going to inflame that shoulder again.”

It’s no wonder with such anticipation of pain that I looked like an elephant attempting “Swan Lake” instead of someone jumping for joy.

My favorite performer, Keith Urban, has a moment in every concert – just when you think the show is over and he’s about to strike the last chord – that he regroups, ups the tempo, and starts leaping across the stage on an invisible pogo stick while shredding on his guitar.  Everyone in his band starts jumping like they’re twelve and it’s a warm summer evening.  Pretty soon 10,000 people in the audience are doing the best they can to keep up with him.  For those few seconds everyone is truly jumping for joy and with abandon.

How many other ways in an average day or week do I convince myself that I can’t “jump”?  In how many ways do I hold myself back from something that could be wonderful because that little voice keeps telling me that some pain will surely follow any leap into the air?  I let the landing mean more than the flying.

As you read this, I’ll be on my way to France.  I can predict any number of opportunities to leap.  For one, I have a car and a map and will navigate a solo trip to the Loire Valley.  And I can imagine the hurdles and cliffs I may trip over on the way, considering I speak very bad French.  But it seems as good a time as any to start focusing more on flying and less on landing with a painful thud.  “Just jump,” I’ll remind myself every time I encounter a fence or a puddle.  As my French friend Martine said to me, “C’est l’aventure!”

Keith Urban and Friends 

When was the last time both of your feet left the ground (literally or metaphorically)?  Share your best "jumps" in the comment box.

The Five Best Things Ever Said To Me

Brad enjoying his lunch along the Burgundy canal last year

The most memorable lines aren’t always uttered by honored politicians or literary giants.  Sometimes it’s the small moments that stick with us and make us feel the world is a good place.

#5 – “It doesn’t do you justice”

This spring I was flying out of the Atlanta airport.  As I went through the security line I handed the agent my driver’s license.  She looked at it a little longer than I thought was necessary, then she looked at me, then looked back at the license.  She returned it with that memorable line.  And she made the day of this often-frazzled 50+ female.

#4 – “You don’t know me, and you might think this is strange, but would you maybe like to go out for a drink with me sometime?”

This line is not so unusual, but when you’ve been married about 20 years and have two kids, and you’re out walking your dog in the neighborhood, and someone you’ve never seen before pulls his car up to the sidewalk next to you and rolls down his window to ask this question, well, it sorta sticks with you.  So right now I’m working furiously at my diet to get back down to the weight I was when these kinds of things last happened to me.

#3 – “Sure, sweetheart”

Omaha.  July 28, 2007.  Backstage with Keith Urban.  There is a very large sorority of Urbanites who know what a rare treasure it is to have those blue eyes look at you and to have him smile and direct a “sweetheart” toward you in that soft Australian lilt with just a hint of a lisp.  I got mine at the end of our meeting when I asked if I could give him a hug because his music means so much to me.  Of course, I’m forever jealous of my friends who’ve had longer conversations or more than one meeting so they’ve gotten multiples of his famous “sweethearts.”  One will have to do for me.  And yes, it’s true (as anyone who’s ever been within three feet of him can attest) – he smells sooooo good.

#2 – “I’ll do that, Mom”

This is for any time that one of my children has voluntarily stepped in to do something without me asking.  No need to elaborate further.

#1 – “I do”

Said by my husband of 25 years on May 18, 1985.  Happy Anniversary, Brad!!!  And here’s hoping for 25 more.  I love you.

As for you my readers, what memorable lines have you had directed toward you over the years?  Share them in the comment box.

Un Canard Out of Water

Before boarding a plane for France, I took an overnight road trip to the lovely river town of Moline, IL to meet friends and dance my back end off at a Keith Urban concert. I first spied this serene mama when walking from the parking lot into my hotel. With the “hunting lodge” theme of this hotel I at first thought she was as fake as the carved bear by the front door. Whatever possessed her to make her way up from the Mississippi River, around the end of the conference center, and across the busy parking lot to this planter at the main entrance to set herself up a nursery?

Once when walking past I found her gone, leaving unguarded her half dozen light teal eggs, packed down into the potting soil and surrounded by feather fluff. They looked so vulnerable, exposed as they were to the hustle and bustle of a busy hotel. I guess, though, even a duck mama has to get out of the house sometime and stretch herself a bit. When she picked this spot for her temporary home did she even imagine what it would be like shepherding her brood across the dangerous expanse of blacktop for their introduction to the water? Yet despite the constant activity of her neighborhood, she sat so serenely as car after car pulled up, luggage was transported, and small children threw breadcrumbs at her (which remained uneaten). Here stamina and focus were something quite unfamiliar to me. As I pulled out of the parking lot one last time to head down the highway to home and then board a plane to France, I wondered if she was oblivious to all the challenges of this position in which she had put herself and her family, or if she just had ultimate faith that it would all work out.

So after an interminable plane ride, a 30-minute bus ride into Paris that stretched into almost 2 hours because the driver didn’t seem to know where he was going, and a train delay on the way to Dijon, I hope I can remember this duck who made herself a home in a most foreign place. I want to remain as serene as she amid the challenges and display her calm resolve, having faith that it will all work out as intended.