Au Naturale and Old School

Come on a journey with me. (*Caution: Unusually heavily photographed Rebekah post.)

Let’s walk down the road together-celebrating the times before we were constantly connected, a time where we look at each other while at the dinner table instead of at our phones.

Pack a backpack, grab a film camera, a paper map and wear your favorite comfy pants-we’re about to get au naturale and go on an old school adventure together.

No makeup is required-even during extreme close-ups (thank you, Biceps) and you have permission to wear the same clothes for a month.

You can’t take your computer with you because laptops aren’t affordable yet and your camera never shows you what it is you’re taking a picture of. You just have to hope for the best and be surprised when you develop the prints and hold them in your hands.

You have to rely on either your paper maps or asking the natives for directions-who might invite you in for a cup of coffee, fresh bread and a conversation in broken English.

You might regret your hairdo and pant choice, but you can just always throw the prints away. And nothing has been posted on the internet or on instagram.

You can pretend it never happened.

And locked away in your brain are lovely conversations, incredibly unique meals, and experiences completely void of anything dinging, chiming or buzzing at you. Ah…what a great au naturale and old school adventure we just had together.

Now, slowly come back to your connected reality of computers, iPhones and digital cameras. We’ll do another old school adventure soon-but until then-we’ve got our memories.

My Hippie Parents Surprise Me Again

My upbringing was pretty unorthodox compared to today’s standards. I would have rather spent time at home, with my brothers and parents than anywhere else.

My parent’s had no health insurance, no credit cards, occasionally a t.v. set, one car (with a one car garage), and all our dinners were made from scratch-which we had together every night.

On top of that, my dad left a “stable” career being active duty military to pursue what God had asked him to pursue. My dad is not a fan of change-so this was not a flippant decision. Let’s just say the man duct-taped his flip flops when the broke, because the new ones probably were “too different”.

So, for several years, they left every weekend to preach and sing at tiny churches all over the midwest. They barely made anything, but they made enough.

Eventually, my little brother and I joined them-Daniel was on the juice harp and piano, while I sang duets with dad or the occasional solo when I could muster up the courage.

No matter what back road we were on, there was always time to pick sunflowers and explore barns.

While in college, my parents moved to El Paso for a few years to teach at a christian school just north of the border and then on to St. Louis to be with my Grandma (my dad’s dad).

And that’s where I thought they would land-forever. The had put down roots for almost 15 years, teaching at another christian school, opening a business and remodeling Grandma’s house.

But when you seek God as my parents do, you never know where He’s going to take you.

In two weeks, they are moving to Mississippi (which is awesome because I love to type all those “s’s”) to live and work here-The Baddour Center.

It’s a Non-Profit center that offers those with intellectual disabilities a safe place to live and work. It’s a cool program: they play intramural sports together, perform dramas, offer continuing education and music programs and even have a beautiful garden center.

(Photo Source: Baddour’s Website)
My dad has taken the job of Choral Director for the Center’s choir called, “The Miracles”. The group’s goal is “to glorify God, demonstrate the abilities of persons with intellectual disabilities, and tell the story of The Baddour Center.”

This job is going to fit my dad like a glove. He gets to put to good use his music and touring skills, taking the group to 90 different concerts throughout the year.

Just when I think I’ve got their future all figured out for them, God shakes things up and moves my hippie parents to another state.

Throughout all these changes in their lives, one thing has been certain. Their hearts seek after God-over comfort and familiarity. And they will go where He leads-no matter what.

What more could a girl ask for?

Touring is like childbirth

For those of you not familiar with my former lifestyle, I married a man-who at 19-had a band that was signed and touring.

He met me at the ripe old age of 22, threw me over his shoulder and we kept going.

For the first 5 or so years of our marriage, we criss-crossed the U.S., while he bounced around the stage playing bass guitar and singing, I watched from the side-so proud of my husband.

Touring with his band quickly morphed into driving our friend’s tour buses during our downtime, which then morphed into a career for the both of us.
We were able to spend every waking minute with each other and make decent money-only working 4 months out of the year.

And, we got to stay in really cool hotels-for free.

I mean, really cool hotels-like ones with complimentary white robes and house shoes, Starbucks in the lobby and manager’s receptions.

And hotels where Frank Sinatra, Audrey Hepburn and Carey Grant used to stay.

We saw more of the U.S. than I ever thought possible in one lifetime, let alone a couple of years.

Often, in just a few days’ time, we would go from laid back towns with southern sandy beaches…

…to fall weather and the craziness of New York.

We were invited to a real Louisiana crab boil, complete with Zydeco music.

And we ate at historic restaurants with tortillas the size of a spare tire. (Which subsequently, gives you a spare tire.)

We’ve been fortunate enough to experience things in a weekend-all paid for-that most people save up years to do.

And I got to do this all with my best friend at my side.

However, for all of the perks, a touring lifestyle can be unpredictable.

Would the bus break down today, and if so, how much money will we loose?
Can we make it through this traffic/construction/snowstorm and get to the show on time?
Will the other bands on tour like us?
Will we get to eat today, and if so, is it pizza again?
Am I going to get to sleep in a bed tonight/this afternoon?
Will I drive Biceps crazy singing, “Baby went to Amsterdam, She put a little money into travelin’, now it’s so slow, so slow…” too many times when traffic slows down?
Will we crash and die?
Am I going to encounter any other normal human besides Biceps today? (Probably not.)

But, now that we’re away from touring and into a normal routine of life-getting up at the same time, packing Bicep’s lunches, ironing his “Blues”, being at church every Sunday, cooking dinner every night-I miss the unpredictability of the touring lifestyle.

I miss the sunrises every morning, making breakfast sandwiches on the bus, and having someone else wash my towels and my sheets.

I miss the whirring sound of the bus generator, the early morning coffee time and seeing towns empty out after a huge show.

But, then I think about the slumber party stomach from lack of sleep, blinding snowstorms that scare the crap out of me as I’m driving through New York, and the loneliness of having a flipped schedule from other “day dwellers”.

It’s so easy to forget all the bad stuff, the painful stuff-only bringing to mind all the good stuff. I think touring is a bit like childbirth for me.

Happy New Year! Party hard-I guess?

We’ve never really celebrated New Year’s-at least, not like they do on tv. I have always romanticized what it would be like to be in Times Square watching the ball drop, bundled up in a very stylish white winter coat, with my one and only.

However, to spend that amount of money to get to some place I’ve been a zillion times before on tour, to be around that many people I don’t know (or trust), knowing it will be freezing cold…

…my pj’s, bed and fireplace sound pretty good. My New Year’s memories may not compare to a New York one, but they’re mine and they’re of course-weird.

One of my favorite New Year’s memory was the night the phone book burned. Why do phone book companies insist on not only forcing me to take their phone books-but also leave a total of 4 books on my two front porches? I had had enough of the phone company’s shenanigans.

So, a few years ago, my little brother, his wife, my dad, Biceps and I loaded up into their tiny white car and drove to a vacant lot. We sacrificed one phone book by lighting it on fire. We then drove in circles around the phone book as we watched it burn, screaming and hanging out the windows until the fire was out.

Beat that Times Square.

And many years ago, after spending hours putting on the tire chains, my sweet father loaded us kids up in the wagon-just so we could drive into town to attend a church friend’s party. It took us at least an hour to go a couple of miles, but we sang songs the whole way and still made it in time to eat way too much candy and be sick and miserable the next day.

I call this the year of the “Candy Hangover”.

And last but not least, Bicep’s band was hired to play a New Year’s show one year while we were out on tour. It was for a lock-in at a large church-complete with awkward teenage flirting, pizza and nerf guns. They paid us well, so we couldn’t turn it down.

But as the world wore sequined dresses, tuxedos and drank champagne-I was watching my hubby on stage, as he entertained screaming pubescent fans. I enjoyed my orange Fanta from a red plastic cup off to the side, knowing cold pizza awaited me for dinner.

And I loved it.

So, while the rest of the world is getting krunk and doing things tonight they’ll regret tomorrow…Biceps and I will attend a small party and then come home to our two kitties, our fireplace and our pj’s.

Call me lame, but this is how I party hard. And, I don’t wake up the next day with a hangover or regrets. Unless it’s a “candy hangover”…and then yes, I am guilty of such actions.