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.

Wars and Rumors of Wars

I turned on NPR as I drove home this morning at 6am. The most recent attacks on Israel were being discussed and it brought to mind this scripture:

“You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come.” Matthew 24:6 NIV

It seems that each generation thinks they might be the last. I’m sure the writer of Matthew (whether it was Matthew or not) thought the end was near.

If I had to live through the atrocities of World War II and I had to see this wall being built, I would think the end is near.

I remember learning about the 171 people who tried to escape East Germany for the freedom of the west by traversing this wall.

It wasn’t all that long ago that the Berlin wall came down-a wall which had separated families, instituted communism and suffocated the spirits of so many German people.

I remember watching those same suffocated Germans dance on top of the wall, overcome with emotion that after 28 years, they were free.

If we are the last generation before Christ’s return, it’s hard for me to imagine the reality of a loud trumpet, Jesus on a white horse, angels in heaven singing and the dead in Christ rising first.

This does not compute with the same brain that raked leaves, did laundry and made bread this weekend. It’s two different worlds.

But this morning, hearing about the attack on Israel, the rockets that were destroyed mid-air, the death tolls in the hundreds and the insane animosity the Hamas terrorist have for the Israelis, it does make me wonder.

Could we be the last generation before He returns for his bride? And if so, am I living like He might return at any moment-waiting up with my lamp full of oil or am I messing around and not ready? (See scripture below)

Matthew 25:3-10
New International Version (NIV)
The foolish ones took their lamps but did not take any oil with them. The wise ones, however, took oil in jars along with their lamps. The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep. “At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’ “Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.’ “‘No,’ they replied, ‘there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.’ “But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut.

I don’t want the door to be shut on me, unless I’m inside with my bridegroom. What a horrible feeling to be shut out of eternity with the only One that ever loved me so much that He gave his life for me.

Don’t let these wars and rumors of wars worry you, “such things must happen”. But if you don’t know which side of the door you are on, email me (rebekahgreiman at gmail dot com) and let’s talk about it.

This morning, this is where I wanna be.

This post is going to be short and sweet. Normally, I have to censor myself from rambling and rambling and rambling and….you get the idea. But, writing a blog has forced me to say more with less.

So this morning, this is where I want to be. And here are a couple of reasons why:

1. I have cleaned up two rounds of cute puke before 7am.
2. I need to study for my real estate exam and truthfully don’t want to.
3. The leaves will not stop gathering on my front porch and I’m tired of sweeping them up.
4. I love hopping from hotel to hotel and not worrying about cat puke, leaves or studying.

Instead, I want to be walking the ancient streets of Europe-lit by the morning light-smelling the baking croissants and sipping an espresso. I want Biceps at my side sharing the memories with me as we bounce along to our next destination.

I want to go to a local European cafe, stumble through the language barrier, order slices of cheese, loaves of bread, yogurt and a beer at 10am. (Of course, the beer is for later…)

This is where I want to be this morning. But for right now, I’m off to clean up cat puke mess #2.

Where do you want to be?

Guess who’s back?!

Dear Readers:
Unbeknownst to most of you, Biceps has been out on tour for the past two weeks. I like to keep quiet about such adventures-knowing the internet can be a creepy place sometimes. But in less than thirty minutes, I will get to see this sweet face again.

I spent Saturday morning cleaning, grocery shopping and getting prepared for his arrival. I think it’s the anticipation of his return that thrills me to no end.

I have a roast in the crockpot for dinner (“supper” if you are from Iowa), fish set out for lunch (“dinner if you are from Iowa), snacks galore for in between (pretty sure the same nomenclature in Iowa) and of course-some IPA’s for him and some wine for me.

Soon enough, he and his suitcase will be home where they belong. Stinkin’ up the joint, but looking so cute doing it.

Welcome home, Biceps.