travel
The scratching noise roused me from my cherished slumber as I began to recall that my son’s ferrets were up and at the food in their dish. It is our last full day in Florida this winter and we reflect on how blessed we are to have seen and shared moments with so many friends and family members. A tighter waist band gives evidence to the delightful meals shared with others. Tomorrow brings a day of travel and reorientation to life back at the farm. A routine that reduces the expanded waistline and restores movement and flexibility to pre-vacation states is part of the intention. Gratitude is filling our cup today as we reflect on the blessing of family and friends both near and far. Thankfulness will be the fuel that supercharges our journey back to seeing winter’s close and spring’s new beginning!
A major travel path to many frequented destinations in the city closest to the farm holds a few nuances. One in particular requires maneuvering one’s vehicle to the left to avoid a slightly sunken manhole cover that when driven over results in a disturbing bounce of the vehicle. Swerving to the right is not the best choice as there are often cars in that lane to turn right. The road was not designed that way nor did the utilities department overseeing the sewer construction design the cover to sink a few inches below the surface of the pavement. Both were designed to coexist as a virtual seamless entity, providing a safe path to and from any number of destinations. To the novice and inattentive traveler over that street the “dip” is an almost certain intruder along the journey. To one experienced with that route, the “dip” is avoidable. The human design is masterfully crafted to carry out its physical functions seamlessly. Often a dip, a pit, a bump, a crack, or a rut may appear. Most of us are fortunate enough have access to those who can diagnose and potentially repair one’s “malfunctioning” impediments and restore us to uninhibited travel along our life journey. When repair or replacement is not possible, one then has the option to “accommodate” that which might otherwise be impairment. Knowing the route one travels gives an opportunity to anticipate what may lie ahead. Being prepared for the journey can help make the travel smoother. As I have discovered the “pits” along the way, I have also discovered that diet, rest, exercise, and gratitude are my best resources as I navigate life’s path.
I recall the shared wisdom from childhood that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It is so very reasonable, yet along life’s path I have rarely experienced a straight line. The drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the mountains of North Carolina takes one from point “A” to point “B” but rarely does it do so in a straight line. Aside from the virtual impossibility of a straight trek, the thrill of the journey might well be diminished if curved ascents and descents were eliminated. I have discovered that life is experienced in much the same way. Straight lines have seldom been undertaken, even when planned. There seems to have always been some unexpected hill or valley to negotiate, sometimes taking me seemingly far from the goal. Often, upon having the goal in sight, I discovered it did not even resemble what was originally envisioned. What I have learned these few years along the path of life is that the richness of the journey often renders the destination point far more illuminated than when the travel began. A few stumped toes along the path have given a new respect for the how important feet are on the road. Letting go of the fascination with the destination allows the joy of the journey to be fulfilled.
It had been a long flight from Kennedy Airport in New York. The Pan Am jumbo jet descended toward the runway in Cairo as I saw in the distance the majestic pyramids rising from the desert floor. We were delayed there for about an hour as authorities conducted a search for an unknown parcel. After nothing untoward was found, we ascended again toward the heavens to land some hours later at Bombay, India, in the wee hours of the morning. Safely through customs with bags in tow, I boarded a secure taxi for the short journey to the domestic airport for the first morning flight to Ahmadabad. Through the darkness an occasional street lamp would illuminate what appeared to be heaps of trash in plastic bags. I was trying to comprehend the disregard for proper trash removal when suddenly one of the bags moved. Then I observed more movement from other “bags” in different locations along the road. I was shaken to my core when I realized that the heaps of “trash” I had observed along the way were actually fellow human beings sleeping along the side of the road. Grief soon overtook my weary psyche and I wept almost uncontrollably at the plight of those along the road. Nothing had prepared me for the stark sight of the human condition I was witnessing. As I commented to the driver about my shocked revelation he responded “there are others not as fortunate as these folks for they have not found cover for the coming monsoon.” Suddenly, my terminally horrified thoughts made friends with the notion that there were others even less fortunate. In reflecting, I was gripped with the recollection of the parental admonition that “it could be worse”. That admonition never seemed to make sense until the plight of those along the way in Bombay came alive that day. The view of one’s condition is changed in light of the prism through which it is seen.
The rain pummeled the canvas top of the Jeep as we rose over hills and through the valleys from southern Virginia to the New Jersey shore. An evening stopover south of Baltimore, gave a respite to an otherwise grueling nine hour journey. We talked, we reminisced, and we expressed our gratitude for opportunities of experiences both easy and challenging that we have been provided through the years. A brief detour through the old neighborhood we used to call home in rural Delaware County, Pennsylvania stoked the fires of memories past in preparation for a weekend of renewal and reconnection with dear friends from years ago. Ocean Grove, New Jersey is like no other place. It is dotted with Victorian residences interspersed with summer camp meeting huts and their attached tents. A centerpiece of the town is the great tabernacle built in the late 1800’s. The tabernacle itself seats ten thousand people and has been a magnet for worship services and religious concerts for more than a century. Thornley Chapel on the square, attached to the modest police station, offered the perfect setting for our worship and learning sessions. Minds were challenged and hearts were touched as we listened and observed and enjoyed the fellowship with friends old and new during mealtime or in the rockers on the front porch of the guest house. The time was short, but the connections were deep and meaningful and gave more than ample inspiration that lifted our spirits all the way home. I’m reminded that even a momentary touch can be the spark that ignites healing. Though rain and wind littered our way, the Spirit of hope, trust, and thankfulness was our companion for the ride. With those divine ingredients we knead the dough of faith to watch it rise and sustain us for today’s journey.
It was a charter flight from JFK in New York to Taormina in Sicily, by way of Rome. We had found the cheap flight through a discount travel agency and quickly scooped it up. Our return flight was fifteen days later from Paris, and we had made no hotel arrangements or travel plans within Europe. Passports and backpacks tucked away, we settled into our seats with one carry on stowed securely in the bin above. When we landed in Rome we quickly grabbed our skimpy travel bags and exited to our intended destination, the Eternal City. Until that time I had never been outside of North America and as we stepped onto the street I was mesmerized at the meshing of ancient with the modern. After securing a room in a ragged pensione, we stashed our bags and headed to the Coliseum. The line to enter was short and we quickly made our way to the upper level to observe the vastness of what was once the Roman Empire’s recreational center. As I surveyed the grandeur of the ancient crafted stadium, I thought of my father and how much he would have enjoyed standing where I was, viewing the greatness of this now monument to an empire past. Tears of joy filled my eyes as I whispered; “this is for you, Dad.” The next fourteen days were filled with many more first adventures, each one embraced with a heart of thankfulness for the blessing of experiencing those places and things about which I had only read. There were challenges to getting there and there were challenges in navigating the way through, but perseverance and action toward the goal rendered a cornucopia of memories to last a lifetime. Aches and pains, stiffness and uncontrollable movements present their challenges, but I have learned that perseverance and action toward the goal of healthy living yields a harvest of opportunities far greater than the impediments. Today, thankfulness is the fuel that drives the engine of the vehicle called life!
The train was rumbling southeast from Berlin toward the Polish border. The one week course in Berlin had concluded and I and several of my fellow graduate students from Penn were on our way to a course on emerging economies. We would begin the next day with a lecture at Jagiellonian University in Krakow, where Copernicus had studied. I had found a non smoking compartment on the train and was pleasantly enjoying the company of myself and my novel. At the Polish border an older gentleman entered the compartment with brown bag and small carry on in tow. I said “hello” as he sat across from me wearing a friendly smile with a look of contentment. I introduced myself and asked if he spoke English. He shook my hand as he blurted out “Frederick”. It was obvious that the English language was not at his command nor was Polish among my verbal or written skills. As we traveled together those several hours, we engaged in the process of getting to understand the other’s language. I pulled a notebook from my case and began writing English words to identify on object we had passed on the train. He would respond by writing the word in Polish and then verbally repeating it. In a short while we were communicating, not in language as much as in understanding. Language became incidental to the communication. He looked at his watch, reached in his brown bag and presented me with an apple and a salami sandwich. I thankfully declined as he insisted I share with him as he brought forth another apple and sandwich from the bag. I asked him why he had two of each. He told me his wife had prepared his meal for the journey and had included a second one in case he had an opportunity to share with someone else. As we consumed the humble feast, he was content that the purpose his wife had intended had been fulfilled. As the train pulled to a stop in the small village just a few miles north of Krakow, Frederick stood and enthusiastically shook my hand saying “goodbye” and “nice to meet you” before departing the train. I learned that day that communicating with others requires first a desire for that communication followed by an active pursuit of understanding from the other’s perspective. Learning to live with chronic illness also requires that one “listen” to what is being communicated by the affected member(s) and gain understanding of what is being said from its perspective. It may be trying to tell us something to which we need to respond in a way differently than habit would dictate. Learn to understand your body’s language.