manrymission.com

My and Josiah’s transportation adventure to Atlanta provided us with much suspense. On Friday, the day we flew there were thunderstorms, tornado watches and equipment malfunctions in Atlanta. We checked in quite early for our flight and I noticed that all the flights ahead of us were delayed 2 hours. I asked the representative why our flight was not delayed and she replied, “Oh, they must have caught up.” “Sure they did”, I thought. “More likely it just hasn’t been posted yet”. As suspected, by the time we sat down at the gate, the flight was delayed. An hour after the flight’s scheduled departure, they started to load the plane. Josiah and I had seats toward the front, so we were waiting for our turn. With the plane 3/4 full, they stopped loading because Atlanta had completely shut down for a hail storm. 30 minutes later, we loaded the plane full of pessimistic travelers who were convinced we were not leaving Virginia that night. Once everyone was loaded, we waited another 30 minutes for permission from Atlanta to leave Virginia. The flight had a bit of turbulence, so the cabin crew decided not to offer the meager service that was due: a bag of peanuts, cookies, or crackers and a drink. At some point they must have felt a bit of remorse and walked through the plane handing out bags of peanuts and a cup of water. I thought fondly of flight service in Australia which is so far above any flight service in America. When we landed, Atlanta airport was a madhouse, full of travelers who had missed connections because of the delays and cancellations. Josiah and I made our way over to the MARTA (Atlanta train system). On the way, I bought 2 individual pizzas for dinner thinking we would eat on the train. Well, you are not allowed to eat on the train. The airport is in south Atlanta and our hotel was all the way north. The train ride took 40 minutes. My favorite comment from the train driver was when he said, “We are axing you to be careful when you exit the train because the platforms are slippery.” I know if people are axing me something, I am in the south. After we got off the train, we had to get a cab to the hotel. I do know that English is not the primary language of cab drivers. However, for some strange reason, I expect them to speak at least a little English and to know where they are going. We got into the cab and I told the driver the name and suburb of the hotel. I asked him if he knew where that was. He mumbled something that sounded in the affirmative. He called back to his dispatcher and only Spanish could be heard in the cab. After he had driven around for awhile he asked me if he should turn right or left. Having no idea where I was or where I was going, I was at a loss. I remembered that I had the hotel information with driving directions and pulled it out and tried to hand it to him. The directions were written in English, of course, and he couldn’t read them. I started reading off road numbers and names in the hopes of arriving at a common location. When I said, “La Vista Road,” He got all excited. “La Vista Road! La Vista Road!”, he repeated. Then he asked me, “Right or Left?” At one point in this mini recreation of planes, trains, and automobiles, Josiah looked at me and said, “All this for a spelling bee?” “Yes, son, all this for a spelling Bee.” We finally got to the hotel at 10 pm, ate our cold pizza and went to bed. The next day after the bee, we wanted to take the train into downtown Atlanta. So, this involved another cab driver. The hotel called the cab and the driver spoke English fairly well although his native tongue was from Africa. We did manage to find a train station although it wasn’t the one I had asked to go to. I helped him out by pointing out places to drop us off while he was making u turns apparently at a loss as to which way to go. On the train ride home, Josiah and I tried to guess what language our cab driver would speak this time. Josiah went for French and I guessed he would be from India. We entered the cab to Spanish singing island music. He didn’t speak English either, but he did know where he was going. Friends who also attended the bee spared us from another cab ride by giving us a ride to the airport. Thus ended my pursuit of an English speaking cab driver who knew where he was going. If ever I find one, I’ll ax him if he’s the only one.

Last Saturday, I got the best haircut I have had in years. I went to Pop’s and Omar’s at around 1030 in the morning. There were 3 barbers working and about 6 guys in line in front of me. I ended up waiting for almost an hour before my turn came. The barber really took his time with the clippers and scissors. I didn’t think I had enough hair to keep him busy for very long, but I guess I was wrong. After he was done cutting my hair, he used the straight razor to clean up around the ears and on the neck. That was really nice. After that, he then trimmed my eyebrows. I know that my bushy brows can scare children, so everyone in the office appreciated that touch. Finally, he picked up what appeared to be a surgical clamp with some gauze on the end. After lighting the gauze, he burned the fuzz off my ears! I was in shock.

I have had many encounters with fire. I remember one time when Jeff and Rayford (our cousin) burned down the barn while I was in it. Also, the highlight of every family Christmas celebration for my mother’s side of the family included a fun little game called fireball. Joey and I almost burned down someone’s dock setting off fireworks one time. I could go on and on, but you will notice that none of these encounters included a barber.

I guess about the only thing left is for the barber to start plucking my nose hairs.

(This post was not pre-approved by the Editor prior to posting!)

We attended the neighborhood Easter Egg hunt today. Spring is taking off with the forsythia, quince, pear trees, and magnolias in bloom. It felt like Easter should be arriving soon. In Australia, I had to constantly tell myself that the holidays were still in the same month. Because the seasons are opposite, the holidays never felt like they were at the correct time. When you live 39 years in the Northern hemisphere having Easter in Autumn, the 4th of July in winter, and Christmas in summer is difficult to get used to. Easter Egg hunts were a major part of Dale’s childhood memories. His Mama was a children’s pastor for years and they would hard boil and dye countless eggs for the church’s Easter Egg hunt. Dale will have to comment with the number of eggs they dyed each year. He told me the number once, but all I can remember thinking is…”how can you possibly boil that many eggs?” I love hard boiled eggs, but am hopeless at cooking them. I know it is supposed to be a simple cooking task, but for some reason I only occasionally do it correctly. The Manrys would have a massive egg hunt at the church and eat hard boiled eggs for a week. I, however, grew up with the tradition of hunting for my Easter Basket. My Mom would hide our baskets throughout the house and we would wake up Easter morning and search for them. We would attend sunrise service and then the church would host a pancake breakfast that the men would cook. When we returned home, we would continue searching for our baskets. One year, my Mom hid mine in an old cigar box that was piled up with a bunch of junk stacked next to the steps. That one took a long time to find. I know I am getting old because instead of always wanting to celebrate holidays differently, I am now quite nostalgic for traditions of my past. I want to wave palm branches on Palm Sunday, I want to attend Good Friday Service and contemplate Christ’s death on the cross, I want to wake up for Easter Sunrise Service and stand outside singing the praises of the resurrection. I want to hear the same passages read on those days year after year because they are the most significant reminders of why we follow Christ. I admit that Easter Egg and basket hunts are not as important as the other celebrations of Easter, but I find them fun none the less. In a combination of traditions, our kids usually attend both an Egg hunt and an Easter morning basket hunt. The egg hunt for years was provided courtesy of Army mandatory fun. Some units still hold Egg hunts and Christmas parties. In Australia, we attended the egg hunt on the grounds of the American Embassy. The challenge during that hunt was avoiding the magpies that would swoop down, crack the plastic egg, steal the lolly and fly away. Being Australian magpies, they thought of it as a lolly not a candy. Todays Easter Egg Hunt had separate areas for different age children, a large decorated white chair with an Easter Bunny sitting in it for pictures, and a table of cupcakes that someone cleverly made look like baskets using a piece of red licorice. I considered it fairly self explanatory, but it did not stop a kindly woman from attempting to inform the crowd about what to do. She of course could not be heard over the wind and the children, but she was not deterred. Zeke ran about jumping over various eggs and picking up others at random. Josiah was trying to determine why Zeke was jumping over the eggs. I told him that it was impossible to figure out the thought process of a 3 year old in the midst of an egg hunt.

We were blessed with a couple inches of snow today. Zeke and I went out to have a snowball fight and build a snowman. The snowman has broccoli eyes, a carrot nose, and a celery mouth. He’s wearing Dale’s hat and Gabe’s scarf. Zeke named him Goomba. The kids were released early from school, because the snow turned into freezing rain. When they got home, we all had a snowball fight. I was enjoying myself out in the snow, but I kept hearing my Dad’s voice in my head. “If you don’t shovel the driveway, the slush will freeze and you’ll have ice all winter.” My Dad’s far away in warm and sunny Arizona bothering my Aunt Cita, but I can still hear his voice in my head. Even though I know the temperature will go up tomorrow and melt all the snow, I can’t break with fundamental Meloch beliefs about furnace filters and shoveling. So, I grabbed the snow shovel and got to work. The kids then had plenty of practice trying to hit a moving target.

Today we took down all the Christmas decorations and hauled the tree to the curb. The tree still looked great. It was the nicest tree I’ve had in years. I love to go and cut down a tree for Christmas, but this year I decided that might not be the wisest idea. So, I bought one from the lot at the local nursery and was really happy with it. It had no spiders in it (An Australian decoration), and it had all it’s branches (Unheard of in Hawaii). We had a fun Christmas with my brother Mike, his wife Karin, and their children Jeremiah, Matthew and Madeline. Mike, thinking I ran my home like a military boot camp was surprised to experience game playing and candy eating at 2100. Life group habits are difficult to break. Christmas Eve is always my favorite part of Christmas. I was in for a challenge this year because Jeremiah doesn’t like chocolate cake. So, Jesus’ birthday cake had to be a new flavor. I ended up making a peppermint candy cake and everyone voted it a thumbs up. We attended the Christmas Eve candlelight service in which the Elder (Lars said he always wanted to be referred to as The Elder) instructed us to watch our children so that they didn’t tilt their candles and drip wax on the floor. The minute Zeke’s candle was lit, I watched as he tilted it and dripped wax on the floor. It is inevitable if you tell a child not to drip wax on the floor, spill that glass, run into that wall, touch that stove that they will. It’s just a part of life with kids. On Christmas Eve, the kids all played songs on the piano that they had been practicing for Christmas. We had Carol of the Bells, Rudolf, Deck the Halls, Zeke’s version of Go Tell It on the Mountain, and Hot Cross Buns (which technically is a Good Friday/Easter song. In Australia, we learned that Hot Cross Buns are essential fare on Good Friday). I thought that Dale was going to put the sound bites of the kids playing piano on the blog, but after no one complimented him on his convenient playback option, he got a little miffed. For revealing that, he’ll probably torment me with my version of Holly Jolly Christmas. I could be a reject of American Idol with that one. On Christmas Eve, we also had the Christmas story production from all the children. The production experienced a few technical difficulties and Josiah showed shades of his father when others began to tell him how best to print something out on the computer. A word to the wise: Don’t ever try to give computer advice to my husband or son. In the end, the Christmas play was a smashing success complete with multiple costume changes and sheep that looked like dogs. Josiah was the first to wake up on Christmas morning. He got up at 0230 and woke me up ripping open the wrapping paper of the present on his bed. I told him to go back to sleep, because he had 4 1/2 more hours to wait. On Christmas Day, I most enjoyed the first annual Manry vs Meloch kickball game. It was a beautiful 50 degree day and if our neighbors were hoping for a quiet Christmas, they were sorely disappointed. On Boxing Day, we went to the Smithsonian’s Air and Space museum. I heard all the languages of the world spoken there. With the dollar’s value dropping, I guess the World decided that it was a good time to visit DC. Whenever I go into a major US city, I always wonder why a Happy Meal costs 3 dollars more than it does anywhere else in America. Well, Christmas is done and we’ve put away all the ornaments that Zeke didn’t manage to break. In 2006, when I was putting away the ornaments, I was wondering where I would be unwrapping them in 2007. Hopefully, in 2008 I’ll be unwrapping the ornaments right here in Stafford with Dale at my side or at least in the room grumbling under his breath about Christmas lights that don’t work.