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 will rise early and praise You.

My favorite time of the day is the early morning: the quietness of the world is calming to my own heart, the coffee is percolating-reinforcing that my home is my home, and the cats are a little frisky, but not overly frisky. They are just frisky enough to humor me.

My head is clear from yesterday’s worries. I may sit in bed for a few more minutes after Bicep’s has vacated the house, sip on my coffee and spend time with my God.

But, if the sunrise is too ridiculously awesome, I will hurriedly strap on my running shoes and a hoodie to begin my early morning run.

I take each mile to chat with God about someone in my family or in my circle of influence. It keeps my mind off of what I’m doing and helps me to focus on others, instead of myself.

He reminds me during our morning chats that He was around when the Romans built this. And, He was there to watch it crumble.

He was there when the Germans built this. And, He watched it fall.

He’s received millions into His kingdom, but hasn’t forgotten a single one of their names. Nor has He forgotten my name, or the names of those who don’t believe and He desperately wants to know.

He can be in my home, chatting it up with me while I cook dinner, or out on my runs, or when I hide in the closet because I’m frustrated. He never leaves me nor forsakes me.

And, He knows all my dirt and He’s forgiven me. And I have some dirt-just ask around.

He forgave me. Little old, tiny Tulsa girl, me.

He gave himself to be sacrificed in the most horrific way-beaten, flesh torn apart, humiliated, abandoned, and left for dead-so that I can be washed clean and be in His resurrected presence.
And he did this for you, too. And that person you don’t like very much. And that irritating slower-than-snot cashier at the grocery store.

That’s why I will rise early, with joy and praise Him. I can’t imagine living any other way.

Pretties for your Ocular Senses

The rain has been relentless these past few days and I love it. The rain reminds me of Europe, of comfort food, of cozy blankets and hot cups of tea.
Get your ocular’s ready. You are about to have an ocular freak-out session.

It also reminds me that right now my rain barrels are brimming with free water for my garden. Free. I love that word. (Learn how to make your own rain barrel here.)

But mostly, the rain just makes everything more beautiful. And I’d like to share with you three beauty shots that the rain had a part in creating.

Drizzly rain, hot coffee, a sandy beach and Biceps=the perfect San Diego morning.

 

I happened upon this plant in Scottsdale and have no idea what it’s named, or what it wants to be called-maybe Gerald, Harry or perhaps Monique-but whatever his/her name is, it’s unique leaf display caught my ocular’s.

 

This shot of the sun rising over California somewhere wasn’t enhanced, retouched, cropped or straightened. It’s Raw, baby.
And fantabulous.
Hope your ocular’s could handle this much beauty in one day. I’ll stop for now, just so you aren’t ocularly overloaded. I hope you enjoyed my “Pretties”.

Arizona Mornings

Touring has offered me the opportunity to see something I normally don’t when at home-the sun rise. (I know, I’m a lazy butt.) The sun rise brings a frenzy of activity on the bus-mainly by me-the band won’t be up for at least another 6 hours….

On this particular day, somewhere between Arizona and California, our stomachs begin to growl. The toaster comes out. The hot pot begins to boil.

 

It’s time to make breakfast (or really it’s lunch for us)-which is usually an egg sandwich using egg whites, toast, and cheese.

 

Arizona begins to give way to California as we travel a long stretch of I-8. We munch on our little sandwiches, drink some hot tea, and take in the landscape.

 

But in the light of day, we see the stark reality. We are both surrounded by a circle of toasty crumbs from our egg sandwiches. But it was worth it.

I suppose now, it’s time to clean the bus…
Hello, stinky toilet used by 10 men. Here I come.