Home. With Souvenirs.

Where to even start? The thing with blogging is that I do it a lot when I have little to say and plenty of time to say it. Today, for example, I have a hundred things I could say and Christmas already breathing heavily down my neck. (I guess that puts Christmas on the "naughty" list.)

In an attempt to organize my thoughts, I will break up my experiences the post into two categories--Awesome. Not Awesome.

Awesome

1. San Fransisco. What a cool city. I would dearly love to go and visit with a few girlfriends next spring to see a show and more of the city. We decided to go the public transport route, which was a good choice, but it also meant that there were parts of the city we couldn't really get to. The weather was gorgeous and sunny. It wasn't the easiest place to take kids, but seeing their faces as they climbed in and out of the submarine was pretty great.

2. Exchanging presents with my sister that we have been collecting and/or making for months . With one sickish child and one baby, she had a very long and difficult week.

3. Meeting up with my family at Disneyland on November 15, which also happens to be my youngest brother's birthday. It was a blast to wait in line for the Peter Pan Ride with each other, swapping stories and joking with one another. We told my mom that for his birthday next year (he'll be 30) we are expecting a cruise! After all, we teased her, he IS the baby and still the favorite. We broke into a spontaneous birthday song while my forever mocking youngest sib turned red with embarrassment. Too bad we forgot to pick up one of these:


And don't forget these bad boys:
4. Everything about California Adventure. That place is really wonderful. I had more fun there than in Disneyland. I loved the way it was all lit up at night down by the water, like an old-fashioned amusement park. A couple of really fun "big-kid" rides are over on that side. We got to see the World of Color show, wherein Disney magic uses a wall of water instead of a screen on which to project images from their shows. (Now available on DVD!!) I thought they should have ended with "Paint With All the Colors of the Wind" however, instead of the cheesy written-for-the-show number called "World of Color" set to the princess-fest images.

5. Seeing the Jedi Knight really come out of his shell as one of the big kid cousins. He tried every "scary" ride except for one and for the most part really loved them, working out some complicated ranking system for the rides. The only one he didn't love was Space Mountain. "That was the worst experience of my life!" he said more than once when he came out. Still, it didn't scar him too bad. He told somebody the other day that the vacation, as a whole, was the "best experience of his life."

6. Mostly short lines and gorgeous, temperate weather. Don't tell anyone, but the week before Thanksgiving is the time to go.

7. Watching all four cousins who wanted to participate get picked for the Jedi show at the same time. One of the boys has tried four times. Jedi Knight stared down a very realistic Darth Maul, with no small amount of terror in his face, but his training kicked in and he didn't join the Dark Side, I'm happy to report. I have had some worry on that point.

8. Shamu. Duh. The Youngling had picked up a stuffed Shamu after the first show and carried her around all day. When we went to another Shamu show, he acted out all of Shamu's best "moves" with his stuffy. Youngling has hardly been able to part from her since we got home.

9. Spending the night with my lovely cousin in San Diego. She holds a very special place in my heart, and we relate to one another on a level that isn't always there with other members of my extended family. Her kids were hilarious and an instant bond was struck with five boys ages 3 to barely 9. I remembered just how much I liked her husband and how grateful I am to the Angel who sent him to her. I wish we could see them more often. Maybe they need to come north next time--a house on the coast would be just the thing when the 100 degree days rage across southern California again next summer.

10. Rides. Even the stupid ones. I love rides. I love getting scared out of my mind and leaving my stomach at the top of a ledge or slope or loop. I love the cheesy blacklight Disney paraphernalia and the ridiculously dated animatronics. I fell down at the end of each day just as exhausted as my children. It is remarkable what eight hours of sleep every night for a week can do to your outlook. Oh, and not having to cook a single meal.

11. Legoland. Everything about it. Everything. My kiddos were the perfect ages and we were able to see nearly all of the park in just a day. JK got the hard-to-find set of Legos that he's been saving months and months to buy. He was so happy.


12. Park food. Really. I don't think we had a bad meal inside any of the parks. We were pretty selective, and you do pay through the nose for it (what does that mean, anyway? If they would take what was coming through my nose then why didn't we just spend that?), but I felt like we at least didn't have to eat disgusting or greasy food. I especially loved my broccoli cheddar soup in a Boudin bread bowl on our last, cold night in California Adventures. Little did we know just what that chill in the air was going to mean!

13. The matching shirts that made my mom so happy and were a source of endless amusement.

Not Awesome

1. Getting lost in San Fransisco while trying to navigate our way to a hotel, and then a busy Saturday in the city with three kids.

2. Waiting 40 minutes for Peter Pan (almost the worst line of the week!) only to create an absolute terror of the dark in Padawan. The rest of the week, the question that preceded each ride was, "Is it dark?" Mostly I was truthful, but my memory from so many years back wasn't great and we made a few mistakes. For future reference, if you tell a youngish child that Splash Mountain will "not get them very wet, isn't dark, and isn't scary," then you are lying through your teeth.

3. Missing most of the Dolphin show because Plantboy took JK down to the "splash zone" while I sat with the little ones who got too hot and had too much sun in their eyes. We walked across the stadium and down to the shade, risking the splash zone wrath. We'd been seated for about 40 seconds when the Youngling had to pee. In fact, much of the whole trip seemed to involve either Plantboy or myself hunting desperately for a public toilet, and then convincing him that the gaping, noisy hole wouldn't suck his tiny butt right down. I quickly realized that all exits, except those at the TOP of the 50 stairs I'd just come down were closed. I ran him to the top, found my mom to sit next to Padawan and circled around the whole stadium to find a toilet that was 20 feet the opposite direction. "No accidents mom!" Back up the stairs to the top of the stadium and back down. I caught less than ten minutes of the Dolphin show. Raspberries.

4. Too many people EVERYWHERE. California is a nice place to visit very occasionally, but wouldn't want to live there. Twice this year (Redwoods, March) was ample.

5. The matching shirts that made my mom so happy and were a source of endless amusement.

Souvenirs

In this blog, I have tried to take the experiences I have on the journey and try to learn from them. Memories and lessons are, after all, the best souvenirs. After one particularly long letter from my mission, my mother wrote to say that I was the kind of person who "could glean a lot of living out of ordinary experiences." I think she meant it as a compliment, though sometimes I wonder if she was saying that I needed to just stop over thinking things!

To the purpose of gleaning some living, I'd like to share about our last day of vacation. The original plan had been to drive to Sacramento on Saturday and then the rest of the way home Sunday. This would break the trip into two 7-8 hour legs. Upon finding out the Primary Program was that Sunday, and consulting with the kids, we were in agreement--we had to be back on Sunday. It was better all around--we would avoid LA traffic completely by leaving at 3 in the morning, we would arrive home in time for everyone to have a good night's rest, and the kids would sleep at least a third of the ride in the car.

As of Redding, California, we were right on track, even with a long lunch. We were about 150 miles from the border and my calculations put us home at about 7 o'clock. Just time for grilled cheese sandwiches and bed. Then the snow started.

And didn't stop.

We got to the top of the pass in the Cascades in a near standstill. I was shaking like a leaf when we came to the road worker near an exit called Pollard Flats. (Don't bother finding it on the map; I don't think it is a real city. Just a gas station with a greasy spoon diner inside. And a bathroom. Thank heavens for that.

It was about four o'clock and here is the information we had: I-5 North was closed down for several miles while they tried to clear a wreck despite the ice and snow. Plows hadn't been down there yet. Nobody was going through without chains. "It might be open in an hour. It might be closed for three days. You just never know."

In short, we had very little information. We did, however, have chains. Why we had them defies all logic. Dressed in our southern California gear--I was in a light, matchy sweatsuit and Plantboy in shorts and a tee shirt--we figured out how to put the chains on using the waterproof (thank goodness for that) instructions.

While struggling to tighten the chains with numb fingers and soaked to the knees, I had a major epiphany. I knew that in just a couple of minutes I would be able to get inside the car and turn the heat all the way up if needed. We could go into the station and get some hot chocolate to warm the inside too. Even in the worst case scenario we'd be home safe and snug in bed in a few days. My kids were warm and dry. We had a full gas tank in the event that we'd need to run the car all night. We had food in the car and a few clean clothes.

I thought about my pioneer ancestors and bit back complaint. I thought about how pathetic and modern and useless I am.

After consulting with the kids, who were completely broken-hearted at the prospect of missing Sunday, we prayed at length and comforted one another. Prayer finished, we looked up to see five snowplows getting ready to head north. Miracles come in many forms.

But still we waited. I reminded Padawan about his talk for the next day: how Nephi was obedient even when it was hard. We decided we would do the same. An iPod with video capability, a charged laptop, the DVD player and a couple of good books didn't hurt our patience a bit. We ended up with two more bathroom stops. I reminded myself to be grateful even as I tried desperately not to touch anything in the filthy public restroom, even when the power went out while I was on the commode. There was a tub in there, which was odd enough, but somebody had hilariously added a really grotesque mannequin to it. Just weird. And don't get me started on the bumper stickers papering the walls; I really am grateful that the kind of folks of Pollard Flats decided to come to work that day.

Three hours later we gratefully left that little town, crawling along at 30 mph (speed limit 70) for the 70 miles it took to get to Weed, California. Yes, really. We de-chained two-hundred miles from home. It was 10:30 pm and we had to change drivers three more times to keep from falling asleep. Plantboy and I went to bed at 2 am.

But we were on time for church. Padawan's talk was wonderful and perfect. His little freckly face spoke straight from his heart and my own spirit was deeply touched.

Our six hour delay taught me so much.

* Before I knew what was happening, my stress was so palpable that I could, quite literally, feel my muscles stiffening as my heart beat faster and faster. Once we had something to DO, even something as miserable as trying to put chains on our van, I felt so much better. So stress will kill me, but when I'm busy I don't feel stressed. It has helped me to see that the fog I've felt for the last year or so is probably because of uncertainty. Having plenty to do is not the problem.

* Being exhausted and stressed makes me snarly and mean. Plantboy, patient man, is still kind to me. By the time we snuggled into our covers in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I couldn't believe how blessed I am to be married to him. And while this isn't a NEW revelation, certainly, it is always a good reminder.

* I need to get a lot better about letting go of things I cannot control. I tried a lot harder this last week to just take deep breaths when things get crazy and just be in the moment. I feel a lot better. More committed to what really matters. More conscious of the gifts I've been given.

Happy Christmas, all.

If I Blog About It, Then It Is Funny, Right?

Remember my post in December about my hyper-sensitive emotions that I was DEFINITELY going to get a handle on? And then the car wouldn't start. In the snow. Five miles from home. At four in the morning.

With me now? Good. Here is the latest installment in the cars-get-me-so-emotional saga.

After several more early morning rescues, we decided that enough was enough. Or at least I did. Plantboy, bless his heart, said he rather liked playing the role of knight in shining armor. It was a very cute thing to say, but as I don't really do damsel in distress too well, I finally called our friend the mechanic, and I stopped taking the car in the wee hours. (It seemed to only have a starting problem when a) the car got warmed up good or b) I started it.)

Our friend the mechanic. I have to admit to having a bit of a love/hate relationship here. Perhaps further reading will demonstrate.

A week and a half ago I called him. He did some work on our heater back in November, to great advantage on both sides. He had just been laid off and we were able to pay him much less than they charge for labor at a shop, while still paying him much more per hour than he actually earned when he was working. We arranged for him to come over last Friday at nine.

I waited until 10:30 and then called his house. "My daughter has been sick, and I haven't been feeling great. I think I've slept it off though. I'll be there in an hour."

11:30

12:30

1:30

At three I finally called. "Oh, yeah, I'm not going to make it today." He wanted to come Saturday, but I had committed to going to the temple with a friend and we were going to take my highly fuel efficient car--the starting problem was not an issue as we wouldn't be stopping and starting the car.

Famous last words.

Saturday morning I was over at my friend's house at about 7:10. We drove across town to the freeway; the heater seemed to be taking forever to work and our breath just kept fogging up the car. About ten miles up the road, there was a terrible knocking sound.

Moments later I smelled burned rubber. Asking my friend if she could smell it, she shook her head and said, "I do hear that knocking though."

I slowed slightly, wondering if the smell was coming from another car, but cars began passing very quickly and the smell stayed, "Oh, yeah, I smell it now!" She exclaimed. Before I could reply, the check engine light flashed, I slowed even more and then the panel lit up like the Fourth of July.

Pulling over, she offered to call her mechanic husband who is off working in the mountains somewhere. We explained the problem to him and he asked us to pop the hood. No can do. The gripper has come off the handle that pops it and all that is left is a sharpish piece of freezing cold, slippery metal sticking out of the dash down by my feet. We both gave it a good yank, nearly freezing our hands to it in the process. He started talking about belts and hoses and whatever and I felt the cold hand of despair creep in and grip my brain.

Did I mention that the heat had never properly come on? And we were in dresses, nylons, nice shoes, cute--not warm--coats. There was not a tool, a bottle of water or a blanket in the car. We called Plantboy who found the number of a towing company for us. My friend called her dad who came and sat with us for half and hour while we waited for the tow truck. We finally made it home at about 9 o'clock. Frozen and, me at least, very grouchy.

Towing bill: $138.

Mike the mechanic didn't return phone calls.

My friend and I decided to venture to the temple anyway. Plantboy is a saint. Saturday was only my friend's second trip to the temple and not going would have been, well, awful. She had been really cheerful and sweet about it all, but I could tell how disappointed she was. So we went.

And ran into Mike the Mechanic at the temple. "You must have missed Plantboy's message this morning?" I said with a bit of a forced smile. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled.

We also saw Mike at church on Sunday. Plantboy spoke with him. "Oh, I'll be over first thing tomorrow. How about eleven?" By what stretch of the imagination is eleven "first thing?" Still, a cheap mechanic is better than taking our chances at the typical rape-pillage-burn autoshop.

Monday comes. I wait until nearly one and then Plantboy calls. "Mike just got hold of me--he is sick." Ah . . .

Finally he comes on Tuesday at about noon. He runs an electrical check on the system. He also notes that a four-inch hose, hooked to the radiator, has come loose and the end of it is burned as if it touched a very hot part of the engine when it came loose. The starter was indeed bad.

New Starter: $140

Labor to Install Starter: $25

Plantboy and Mike jerry-rigged the hose with a bit of bailing twine. Mike's further assessment?

The radiator is old, the unit should probably be replaced.
The muffler is bad.
It's missing a headlight
And about ten other "little" things.

You know you are having a bad day when just repairing the car totals it.

Despite the muffler making it sound like I was trying to pimp out the Civic, I still drove it on the paper route Wednesday morning. About three stops into my route, the noise was so bad I was sure I would wake up all of my customers who love nothing more than to complain about how bad their service is. And then a cloud of smoke began billowing out from under the car.

Coughing and sputtering (me AND the car), I took it home at 4 o'clock and traded it for our more reliable piece of junk. At this point, I'm still thinking it is just a muffler problem.

I am just so stinking naive sometimes.

Plantboy took the car to work, stalling out through three different intersections. He called Midas and got an appointment for three. By four-thirty, I was looking anxiously out the window every few minutes, waiting for hubby's arrival. I had started to have a terrible sinking feeling that something was wrong.

The car arrived, parade style on a glorious yellow tow truck. Plant boy looked at me, shook his head and said, "I didn't have the heart to call you."

Towing bill: $48

Apparently when we drove it again, some water, from the exploded radiator went through the exhaust system and whosy whatsit yada yada there is a problem with the head gasket.

That doesn't sound so bad.

Well, the part itself is not, only the entire engine has to practically be pulled out to fix it. Midas told Plantboy it was 7 hours of labor just to get to the thing and that he was looking at least $1500. Oh, and another $300 for the radiator. Oh, and we won't TOUCH that muffler without the other repairs done first. The muffler is around $160.

Enter Mike again.

He recommended the second towing and then came over yesterday to get the car. I guess he drove it back to his house, though I'm thinking it might have been a better trip for him if he had just pushed the damn thing.

Anyway the car is at his house now, with the engine practically removed.

New head-gasket thingy: Lowballed at $160.

Labor: No idea yet.

Oh, and yeah, the radiator is really going to have to be done now. I'm halfway considering just putting it up on blocks in the front yard and going for the full redneck. Does anybody know how to get your car nice and rusty in a really short amount of time?

To add insult to injury, I don't think I've seen the sun more than a few minutes in the last three weeks. In one of the Harry Potter books they describe wet, foggy, cold, dreary weather as what happens when the Dementors are breeding. I think it is safe to say the Dementors are breeding.

You know, it doesn't feel very funny at all. In fact, I feel slightly nauseous. I think I'll go lie down.

I Get So Emotional

I was a very emotional teenager. Which statement, no doubt, is ridiculously redundant if you were ever a teenage girl yourself.

This extreme emotion lasted a long time. Even through my twenties as I served a mission, finished school, taught, married, moved, had children. . . . each change seemed to bring on such strong roller-coaster emotions that I often despaired of ever really feeling like I'd arrived in a place (or with a self) I was comfortable with.

Hitting thirty was a little overwhelming for me, but my mother kept telling me that her 30's were her best decade. I soon learned what she meant: my life didn't really stabilize, but my approach to it did. Maybe it is being enough years away from high school that only a few choice memories remain. Maybe it is nearly ten years in a marriage that finally gives me a sense of security. Maybe I have had enough of a taste of trials and resolution to trust the Lord better. Maybe my need to please others has finally taken a backseat to the need to please myself. I don't know. But the few years I have attained have given me perspective and understanding I never had a decade ago.

And then a day like yesterday comes along.

My emotional range yesterday made multiple personality disorder look tame: foolish, tired, edgy, diligent, responsible, impatient, triumphant, harried, frustrated, headachey, adored, pious, bored, forgetful, uplifted, covetous, judgemental, incredulous, shocked, angry, (the last three all from Relief Society, but that is a story best left untold!), loving, grateful, unctuous, apologetic, verbose, critical, indignant, guilty, passionate, repentant, generous, prideful, annoyed, grouchy, punctual, gregarious, intolerant, irate, punishing, conciliatory, resigned, committed, snarly . . . .

Maybe if I took the time to analyze each day for its emotions, I'd find similar results. Or maybe yesterday was especially extreme. It sure felt that way. I hit my knees with the sincerest prayer I've said in a long time last night.

This morning, I delivered papers in a snow storm. While I'm glad this is not a daily event, I was grateful for it this morning. The lonely, quiet, whiteness gave me a lot of space in which to reflect. During a frustrating moment with my 7 year-old last night, I told him that the best part of a new day is that we got to try again. We get to start over without mistakes. This thought seemed to cheer him, as it has me many times, enormously. I thought of this mistake-free day idea a lot as I looked at the lovely, blank, bright snow.

It occurred to me that I don't want to be UN-emotional, or even mellow. I like feeling things deeply. But where I seem to get into trouble, is that all of my emotions are strong. The snow made me think of the Savior and his purity. It made me think that my strongest emotions need to be much more like the Christ-like attributes we bring up in every Sunday School lesson--charity, loyalty, faith, commitment, integrity, purpose, goodness, and the like. On the other hand, my natural-man emotions need to be tempered. It is these emotions that lead to stupid actions, guilty feelings and self-loathing.

As I ran from house to house, I thought of two ways I want to work on making myself a person who listens more and judges less: The first is that I just need to shut my mouth. Not ALWAYS, but maybe 50% of the time when I think I should speak: instead should just nod my head and listen. I also need to focus on being more grateful. If I focus on what is good, maybe I won't have the time to get thinking about all that is wrong with everything. And everyone.

These thoughts came to me, making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside despite the cold and wet. Then my car wouldn't start. Five a.m. Six inches of snow. Running nearly 30 minutes late on my papers. Parked practically in the middle of the road. Twenty-five degrees. Five miles from home. AND MY CAR WOULDN'T START.

I called Plantboy and gave him directions to my stranded car and he agreed to be out the door and on his way. I sat for a moment in the rapidly cooling car and did the one thing I could do. I gathered the biggest armful of papers that I could and a clip of paper bags and kept delivering papers. I might have been a damsel in distress, but the last thing I was going to do was sit around and WAIT to be rescued.

Instead of thinking about how miserable I was in the steadily picking up snow and the wind, I tried to remember what I had just been thinking about. Having no opportunity to practice shutting my mouth around other people, I decided to be grateful. Here was the mantra:

Grateful that it is Monday and the papers are small.
Grateful that my parents are still in town so Plantboy can leave the house.
Grateful that my feet are dry.
Grateful that I am on the second half of my route so that the houses are closer together.
Grateful for the additional exercise the running in the snow offers.
Grateful that my cold is almost cleared up.
Grateful that I didn't get the nasty cough with my cold.
Grateful for snow that will make people more forgiving (or later to sleep) when their papers are late.
Grateful for the quiet.
Grateful for the beauty.
Grateful for imagination that keeps me company every morning at 3:30.
Grateful that Plantboy happened to see me just as I delivered the last paper I'd been able to carry and I could ride the six blocks back to the car instead of jog . . .

Plantboy started the car with no trouble.

I started to cry.

I'm grateful for a husband who doesn't berate, criticize or belittle when I do something dumb: he just gave me a hug and created a hokey explanation for my scientific mind about why the car would suddenly start for him. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful.

But I still cried and felt very sorry for myself and very stupid. Maybe I will have to start my exercise in building Christlike attributes/more tempered emotions TOMORROW.

These things come in threes

Major brake job last May. The muffler fiasco in mid August.

Did you know that when a radiator cracks and sprays fluid on your windshield it smells exactly like maple syrup?

Hug a Trucker Day

For reasons too complicated to be worth mentioning, I found myself driving from Denver to Utah by myself today. I left at five o'clock this morning and was making GREAT time. If you have ever driven across Wyoming, you know that there is the slightest sigh of relief as you approach each "city." There is a feeling of having once again safely encountered civilization. I was driving through the dead zone between Laramie and Rawlins (about 100 miles of nothing but windmills and sagebrush) when the unthinkable happened. There was a loud clunk and an chilling scrape coming from under my car.

(Aside--the clunk sounded exactly as if it came from the location where my husband said the muffler seemed it was going bad. PLEASE do not ask why I failed to get the car to a mechanic before the road trip. Suffice it to say that when you own two cars with over 100,000 miles each, you try to only make ONE trip to the mechanic a week. We'd already met our quota.)

I slowed quickly and pulled over to the shoulder, put on the hazards and got on all fours to look at the undercarriage. I would like to say that I didn't swear, but remember, I was alone. The kids are with daddy. The part of the muffler that actually connects to the engine in the center of the chassis was on the ground, smoking hot. Now remember, I am in the middle of the desert, twenty miles from the nearest city. Oh, yeah, and my husband had the cell phone.

My choices were bleak--try to flag somebody down (and end up murdered) or drive, on the shoulder, at about ten miles an hour, all the way to Rawlins so that the sparks from the muffler didn't cause the car to explode. Nice.

Just before utter panic could set in, a semi-truck pulls over to the side of the road and puts on its hazards. I'm thinking, "Okay, maybe I will be murdered before I even get a chance to flag someone down." Sure enough, the truckdriver gets out and begins walking toward me. At least, I think he is a truck driver--he was young, wearing flipflops and abercrombie shorts with a vintage rock tee-shirt. I think I said something really friendly like, "Hey dude, thanks for stopping." Dude?

Well, my car was full of stuff (I was actually moving from Colorado to Utah), some of which belonged to my sister-in-law who is moving to go to college. I guess he thought it was all my stuff because he started chatting me up like a 19-year old coed. Maybe it was just his personality, his friendly, flirtatious banter changed very little when I told him about my husband and two children. Anyway, his suggestion was to take the muffler off completely. Um . . . okay? Before I could really answer, he was under the car yanking at the part that was actually still attached.

Removing the muffler seemed like a better option than being the victim of a violent crime or going down in a fiery inferno, so I agreed by not saying anything. After several minutes, and the use of the leatherman I carry in my purse (I know, McGyver would be proud), there was one more rusty piece of scrap metal on the side of the road in Wyoming.

About mile marker 270 if you are looking for a used muffler . . . .

The drive home was very noisy as there wasn't a shop in Wyoming that could do the fix before FRIDAY. So I just turned up the radio. The result, seven hours in the car later, is a ringing in my ears and head that I hope subsides tomorrow.

Despite my setbacks, I have to say that this day to myself has been very refreshing and unique in the life of a mother. I could stop as often or as seldom as I wanted. And I drove VERY fast. But the best part was singing as loud as I wanted to MY music--Keith Urban, Trisha Yearwood (FOUR albums worth), Matchbox 20, Midnight Oil, Kim Ritchey, Martina McBride, Keith Urban. Oh, yeah, I mentioned him. Well, while we are at it, lets christen today as "Hug a cute Aussie Musician Day" also.

That is enough blogging for my first day; it is actually pretty frightening how easy this is. I have thought for a while about starting one, but I didn't think I had anything interesting to say, and maybe I still don't. Perhaps this message is my feeble attempt to send some kind of thankyou out to Luis the truckdriver from Miami who unwittingly answered a very sincere, foxhole prayer today.