Two Parents, a Dog and a lot of PDA

My parents are visiting for the week! I love having them around. There’s something amazing about being totally accepted for your weirdness and finding the source to blame simultaneously. This is what they usually look like to me.

Mom tends to wear smaller sleeves, though.

I watched these two and their disgusting PDA all growing up. It was gross, then. But, I’m so very thankful for it now. They are one of the reasons that I’ll continue to smack Biceps on the backside every chance I get until I’m put in the grave.

I had an idyllic childhood-not perfect by no means-but pretty awesome. I wasn’t allowed to do everything I wanted to do, my parents weren’t my best friends-they were my parents, and I had to work for any luxury I wanted to own.
I have been spanked, banned from tv, written several thousand inches out of the dictionary to counterbalance my “misuse of words” (thanks for expanding my vocabulary, guys!), told mom I hated her-once (this did not go well), came home late from curfew, dated boys with mohawks..

But, I always knew that I was protected and loved. Even when I tossed my hair at them and said very sassy things. They loved me, no matter what.

Now that we’re all supposedly adults (I revert from time to time), we get to do this when they come to visit. Yes, we all wear really cool vintage outfits and drink beer.

Our relationship has changed from them being my parents into them being my best friends. I think that’s a good sign of parenting.

Now, it’s just good times, tons of food, and lots of fun. And the occasional beer.

Touring-A Weird Life unto Itself

Dear Readers:
I haven’t talked about touring (as an entertainer coach driver for bands) in awhile. Sometimes, I like to forget that part of my life.

Biceps and I have the occasional rendezvous, but it’s nothing like packing up your life for two months, riding around the country seeing what most never get to see, stressing out over mountain passes and sudden snowstorms, babysitting lead singers that you used to idolize, and watching girls disrespect themselves so that they can have a story to tell later on.

It’s a weird and isolating life.

With a flipped schedule from most normal humans, you get to see cities when they are at their quietest. Often, the only people you talk to throughout the day are other bus drivers (which isn’t always a bonus), the checker at the Flying J and your hubby (if you are lucky and his bus hasn’t broken down somewhere).

Biceps sent me an article found in Spin magazine highlighting the life of a tour bus driver. The article said that they are only 12 female tour bus drivers in the U.S.. I don’t know if I was counted or not, but even if there are 13 of us-we are quite the minority.

Throw in the fact that I wear a dress when I drive, change the oil in the generator and do my pre-trip inspection, I am in the smallest of minorities.

I both love(d) the life and hate(d) the touring life. But with time, you tend to forget the worst and focus on the best.

I loved spending Thanksgiving in a Chinese restaurant in a deserted downtown with only Biceps and a styrofoam container of Mu Gu Gai Pan. Depressing at first, I soon realized we had never spent a Thanksgiving alone, just him and I. It became pretty romantic even if we were eating off of plastic forks.

I loved being invited to the home of one of our coastal living crew members and then promptly being stuffed full of fresh caught crab, corn, potatoes, beer and death-by-chocolate desserts.

I loved seeing the weird stuff in cities that make me laugh outloud. I’ve seen enough cathedrals, city halls and monuments to last a lifetime.

And I loved being so bored on long drives that Biceps and I began to name the bug splatter on the windshield, come up with personalities for each of them and write their obituaries.

And isolation isn’t always bad. Enjoying sunrises and hot cups of coffee on deserted city streets with your best friend is calming.

I can handle the drunk lead singers, dragging my luggage through gravel parking lots, a snow goose breaking my windshield on the last day of tour and waylaying me at a truck stop for two days in Canada, having my anniversary outside of a bait shop, all because I was on the adventure with my best friend.

Touring is a weird life unto itself, but at least I was with my weirdo husband and I (think) loved every minute of it.

I want to date him so hard.

Biceps and I have been rather busy for several weeks. It seems as though we are two ships passing in the night. Something’s gotta give.

I promised a “death till I part” and I meant it. Plus, there isn’t a single soul out there better suited for me, more willing to put up with my weirdness and more good looking than this specimen.

He even looks good eating pizza. Shoot, he looks good even when he doesn’t look good.

I think it’s time for me to take the bull by the horns, plan a date and quit waiting for him to have the time to do so. The man is working his buns off to provide a roof over my head.

When God blesses you with such amazing handsomeness, it’s no time to stand idly by. I’m thinking we need to Netflix a Rick Steve’s-the Amalfi Coast episode possibly, mix up some bruschetta and light some candles.

You know what I mean.

Why leave it up to him to plan all the romantic shin-digs? It’s time to get in the driver’s seat. Vroom.

God’s Great Country-Salzburg, Austria

Dear Readers:
I’ve felt as of late, that I’m barely making it up the mountain in my life, while being passed by others who don’t seem to mind the climb. While reading this scripture this morning, “I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint.” Jeremiah 31:25, I was reminded of this scenario.

Just outside of the city of Salzburg, Biceps and I found a hostel that perched atop a mountain, promising spectacular views. We had to take a train to get there, but trains meant croissants, hot coffee and jam. Stepping off the train and onto the desolate track, with our backpacks firmly in place, we began the long ascent on foot to Haus Lindner.

A couple of Billy Goat school-aged kids had hopped off the train with us. Dressed in their dark blue uniforms, they immediately passed us by. Their backpacks were only packed for the day-not the entire month. And the Billy Goat kids’ calves and lungs were used to climbing the mountain home.

Biceps and I were sucking wind within five minutes.

With my best attempts at speaking plain German, and hoping they’d understand, I asked how far it was to our hostel. They replied (I think), “Just up that hill.”
The hill was a mountain. And it wasn’t a small one. “Follow us,” they said, looking over their shoulders.
Determined that the whippersnappers would not get too far ahead, and wanting to make America proud, Biceps and I picked up our pace.

Finally, after reaching the top, the Billy Goat kids pointed out our hostel and trotted off for home. My legs ached and my backpack seemed to have gained an extra 10 pounds on the long climb up.

But, the scenery spread out before me-bright, spring-fed grass covered the mountain, the sun had begin peaking its head over the horizon, the terra cotta roofs dotted their way down the lane we had just climbed. It was breathtaking.

The Billy Goat kids had been conditioned for the climb-they were ready. And although I am a runner, my midwest legs only knew slight inclines-I wasn’t ready for the mountain.

But determination of not being the weak link and the promise of more croissants are rather motivating factors for this girl. I knew that I had to just get inside the hostel, set down my backpack and the breakfast would be waiting. The climb had been worth it.

I knew there would be rest eventually for me-“the weary”. If you are, like me, struggling on your mountain climb today, know that there will be rest for you. God in his faithfulness will give you rest and hopefully a croissant.