Dog Syndrome

A dog will sit and listen attentively to every word you speak. It will understand very few words, but will cock its head when it recognizes one. My dogs' vocabulary consist of: sit, stay, down, up, out, inside, off, breakfast, dinner, treat, walk, ride, mail, crawl to me, only on Friday, dance, pretty, come, and on the rug. And maybe a few others which I've forgotten.

Not very extensive.

Neither is my vocabulary outside the English language.

As we strolled the streets of Paris, we found that we heard a lot of languages: French, Dutch, German, and Italian mostly. But once in a while, our ears would catch English.

"Did you hear that?! English!"

We were thrilled to find a bookstore in Paris called Shakespeare and Company. A lovely young English woman runs the place. I believe her mother ran it before she did. It was so refreshing to hear my native tongue again and to chat with her about restaurant recommendations.



We began to refer to this phenomenon as Dog Syndrome and this would be our joke in every country in which we traveled. Communication with those who didn't speak English was the biggest challenge of our time in Europe. Read my other posts for some amusing stories of our experiences!

Sometimes in my relationship with the Lord, I find myself struggling to understand what He is saying to me. I have to listen intently to hear His voice speaking to me. Sometimes I find myself hearing what I want to hear and other times something I don't want to hear.

My prayer is that God would give me dog ears - to hang on every word of my Master.

Tracks

The funnest stories to tell seem to be the various mishaps of life. My current theme is our trip to Europe.

We settled into our Paris apartment which we had rented from the company that wasn't crooked and found various foods at neighboring bakeries, markets, and crepe stands. We purchased our Paris Museum Pass, which would give us free access to dozens of museums and unlimited use of the Metro. That takes a lot of stress out of travel! That is, if you know how to use the Metro.

Our first full day we had decided to go to Chateau de Versailles, the palatial home of Louis XIV-XVI, on the outskirts of Paris. We headed out in the early afternoon and found the train to our destination: the Versailles line. How easy is that?

The Paris Metro system runs under and over ground at various points. The city center portions are mostly underground. We watched as the train stopped at each station, comparing our pronunciation of the names with that of the automated announcements. We listened to the Parisians around us, drinking in the beautiful French language. Not that we could understand a lot, but we generally got the gist of the conversations.

The train gradually emptied out and stops got farther apart. It wasn't really too surprising that we didn't recognize stop names because the route map posted on the wall of the train didn't always list all of them.

The train stopped way out in the middle of a residential area and sat. We waited, watching the wasted minutes tick by and wondering how much time we'd end up having at Versailles.

We were seated upstairs to have a better view, but there was no route map upstairs. Kevin headed down to check and moments later popped his head in and announced, "We're on the wrong train!"

Groan.

We hurried off, lest the train take us farther from our intended destination. To head back in the other direction, one must disembark, take stairs underground, go under the tracks, and reemerge on the other platform. This we did. The only other person was an interesting heavyset black woman with a large shopping bag full of flowers. She spoke French and was on her cell phone, so we did not speak.

Another wasted ten minutes ticked by. The train sat. We sat.

Suddenly a uniformed French security officer approached us. Hey! Guess what! He spoke French! By this time I wished I had reviewed more, but at least I could say, "Parlez-vous Anglais?", which means, "Do you speak English?" Usually someone answered, "A little bit."

Not this time.

Pointing goes a long way when it comes to communication. We incorporated much into our mixed conversation of French and English.

The train continued to sit on the tracks. We determined that we needed to get back on the train ("cette train?") and change ("changement") at a station in the city center.

Hoo boy. We'd never get there in time.

But we did it. We went back downstairs, under the tracks, and to the other platform. And we got on the same train, which was about to reverse direction and go from whence it came. We never did understand why it didn't finish the route.

Oh, the French. And, as an Englishman in a hot tub would tell us later, "No one understands the French."

By the way, the two routes are both called Versailles, but one is "Versailles Rive Gauche". If you are ever in Paris, just take the train that says, "Vick" on the front. Then you will end up here:

"Have we been ripped off?"

After parting ways with French Woman with a Dog, we found a crepe stand open. We tried the crepe avec jambon et fromage (with ham and cheese). This became a frequent stop for us during our stay. They are delicious and really filling!


The day was starting out really chilly, but we braved it and sat as long as we could, watching the Parisians parade by us. We wandered around the George Pompidou Centre area, but found that lugging six suitcases was not fun, especially since my guys had to handle them all. (Neurosurgeon's orders!)

The time finally got close enough to noon to park ourselves in front of the outer apartment door. There we stood, surrounded by our bags and looking rather homeless. We'd been up for about 36 hours by this time!

A woman emerged from the apartment building and asked, "Are you waiting for someone?" In English!

"Yes, we are renting an apartment short-term."

"Oooooooh. There was a company renting short-term and it turned out they were crooks. I hope it wasn't my apartment they rented to you!"

Groan.

And with that, she strolled on down the street. And panic struck.

Had we been ripped off? What would we do? We have six bags, two sets of tired arms, and three pretty exhausted people. How could we find a hotel at this point? We were not in a touristy area, so no hotels were in sight. We'd have to get back on the Metro, go to a hotelish area, and start asking. And hotels are so much more expensive! Our deposit was lining somebody's pockets and we were out a few hundred dollars.

We stood there, dejected and worried. Our trip was off to a very bad start indeed.

About fifteen minutes passed and a young man emerged from the building.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

What? Is this the question of the day or something?

I repeated my answer, "Yes, we are renting an apartment short-term."

"Oh. Let me check for you."

Well, that sounded more positive.

He returned a few minutes later and asked, "Is your name ...?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. Come on in."

We were relieved, to say the least. I could not wait to get inside and set some sleep!

Two Italian Men

Traveling to a foreign country is a true adventure. Experiencing the culture up close and personally is only done by spending time with the people. Not the tourists who have cameras dangling from their necks, although they can be an adventure also, but the locals.

On our recent trip to Europe, we endeavored to stay in short-term rental apartments and B&B's when we could. This led to experiences we never would have had otherwise.

Let's start with Italy.


We rented an apartment (pictured above) in the Trestavere (tress TAH vare eh) neighborhood, far from the madding crowds who frequent the more touristy areas of Rome. It was on a side street, part of a maze that got us lost trying to find it on our first day. There were numerous small restaurants nearby, along with bakeries and small grocers.

Our first night required that we do some laundry, having already been travelling for 16 days. I was thrilled that there was a washing machine. A small one, but a washing machine nonetheless. The rental agency representative showed me how to use it upon our check in, while Kevin had chatted with another rep.That was the first mistake! I was fatigued and knew I probably wouldn't remember all the buttons and their purposes.

I proceeded to load it with a small load. Well, a small load for me, anyway. When I went to unload it, I discovered that the machine was still half filled with water. We fiddled with the buttons, all to no avail. The rental agency office opened at noon, so I emailed them to explain our problem, knowing that they would see it as soon as they opened....or maybe sooner.

In the morning, Kevin and Daniel went to the local grocer to buy bread, milk, etc for breakfast. Upon their return, there was a man waiting at the apartment door. Assuming he was there to repair the washing machine, we let him in.

The thing about traveling to a foreign country is that they often don't speak your language!

This was definitely true in our case.

I led him out to the balcony, where the offending machine resided in a closet. The man shook his head.

Oh.

The man started explaining - in Italian - what he wanted. He found the electric box on the kitchen wall and made motions of snipping wires. What?!

He wanted to turn off the electricity! He showed Kevin a bill with an outstanding balance.

We tried to explain that we did not own the apartment and were just renting it for a few days. This did not sink in.

The man motioned as if he were writing and said "Escrive?" At least, that's what I thought he said. Ah! Write it down! Maybe he can read English or we can read Italian better than we hear it!

I'd like to give credit to whom credit is due, but I don't remember who came up with the idea of using the Internet to translate. Brilliant! We went to the babelfish web site and merrily typed back and forth, both shaking our heads as we tried to understand each other. It became quite comical, but frustrating at the same time. I imagine he was truly baffled when the computer screen said we were renting from under the roman sun, not knowing it was the rental agency name!

The man was determined. The electricity must be turned off. We finally called the rental agency and explained our problem. The person who answered the phone told us something to the effect of calling back.

Were we supposed to call them back? Were they going to call us back?

As we were about to call them again, a knock came upon the door. We let yet another Italian man into our apartment. He began conversing with Italian Electric Man. After a few minutes, Italian Electric Man departed. I turned to Italian Man II and asked "Parla inglese?"

"Yes, I speak English."

Oh, hooray!

Apparently, the apartment owner had been away from Rome for several months and had not settled his bill. Italian Man II had convinced him to wait.

Italians are wonderful people. They help one another out whenever they can. You see, Italian Man II didn't even work for the rental agency. He was just a friend who lived in the area. The agency had asked him to come over and intervene, which he did willingly and happily.

I just love the Italian people.

Box checking

My life has been very different so far this year. I have discovered some things about myself. This came about through my inability to do much of anything. I have a herniated disc that sends pain down my legs. All.the.time.

I can't (without a lot of pain):

• Stand much longer than ten minutes
• Cook dinner
• Clean house
• Take care of my horses
• Go for my usual hour walk with a friend at the mall or park
• Stand around after church and fellowship

There are a lot of other things that I could probably list, but that's not the point of this post.

I have learned:

• Jesus endured pain much more severe than I ever have
• My husband and son can cook. While they are not very skilled at it and it takes twice as long as it would take me, the food is still quite tasty! They also know how to pick up a pizza or Chinese!
• The house doesn't mind being dirty
• My horses are faring pretty well. Kevin is able to do what needs to be done. Daniel has learned how to pick their feet. (For you non-equestrians, that means cleaning the mud, grass, and manure from the bottoms of their hooves.)
• I miss walking and chatting with my friends. There's simply no substitute.
• I have to schedule sit-down fellowship, which means more lunches at Panera. I don't mind. Really. Sitting is not a problem. Not usually, anyway.
  

That's all the physical aspects. What have I learned spiritually?My identity is not in any of these things! It is not that I am a wife and mother. It is not that I am a decent cook and make interesting meals. It is not whether or not I have a clean house or dirty one. It is not that I am a horse owner.

It is in Christ. That's it. Nothing else. My true identity is in Him.

So it doesn't really matter what I can accomplish in a day or how many things I can check off a list. And believe me, I'm a serious box checker! This has been a huge adjustment in my thinking. My feelings of self-esteem have always been tied to what I can do.

Now I know that Jesus loves me deeply, no matter how many boxes I've checked today. If there's only one box I've checked, it's okay. As long as it's the one that says,"Spend time with God."

Where's the bathroom? Or "City Goes Country"

An all-important question, huh?

Some of my favorite memories involve equines. With the exception of a year's stint in Kansas City, MO, I haven't lived in the city since 1995. Even when we lived in Tallahassee, FL, I would frequently escape to my friend's farm in Georgia. Holly ran a stable, complete with trail rides. I would often take my pre-teen daughter, Valerie, with me to go for a horseback ride in the country.

At one point, Valerie and I led a 4H club called "The Horseless Horse". It was intended for kids who did not own a horse themselves. These kids were all from Tallahassee, which is basically a small university and state government city of around 100,000. I called them my city slickers.

One summer ride, we took the group off my friend's property, down red clay roads lined with old farm houses and crops. We'd cut through the property of a prominent orthopedic surgeon, past his "B" shaped pond, and down more red clay roads.

Along one of these roads was a cotton field, edged with live oak trees. This isn't the actual field, but you get the idea...in case you're a city folk and have never seen one.

Now, we've been bouncing along the trail for over an hour by now. You know what that means!

I called the group to a halt, dismounted, and announced a bathroom break. Ashley, one of the city slickers, innocently asked, "Where's the bathroom? I don't see a bathroom!!" I pointed to two live oaks, one for girls and the other for boys. Imagine the dismay!

I ran a nice trail ride, don't you think? We even had toilet "paper".


A little tricky to use, but fairly effective!

The Tipi Hike

I'm going to tell you the story of what our family has always called "The Tipi Hike".

It was the summer of 1998 and we were vacationing in one of our favorite states, Colorado. Kevin's parents used to RV full time and would get jobs as camp hosts. This was one of those times. Someone at the campground had told Ruth, Kevin's Mom, of a short little hike that led to a beautiful stream. There were some short legs and some older legs among us, so that sounded like a splendid idea!

We set out in the direction given, expecting to see a refreshing stream any moment now. Dana the Dalmatian with us, complete with freshly broken leg. But this post is not about my guilt....

We went on merrily for quite a while. After about an hour, we began to wonder what that person's definition of "short" meant. Our dogs were tired - not the canines, but our feet!
The views were beautiful along the way, I'll give it that. Even a cool old building.

The trail was easy in most places, a little rocky in others. After all, these were the Rockies!

See the storm clouds gathering? There's a saying in the mountains of Colorado: "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes."

But on we trudged. We were going to find that stream!! After another half hour, we finally did.
And what a delight it was. Here we are, cooling off all "the dogs".
Hannah is the retriever mix (aka The Chewer). Bonnie is the Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier (aka The Thief). And you know Dana the Dalmatian. (Hannah and Bonnie have since left us.)

So, the feet were cooled. The dogs were refreshed. Time to head back. Remember the storm clouds?

Yeah. Thunder started to rumble. My mother-in-law uttered words I hadn't heard from her mouth before. You see, she knew the dangers of being in the mountains in a thunderstorm.

So we hurried along, going as fast as we could, dodging raindrops by now.

At this point, my daughter Valerie states,"You know... I saw a tipi on the way out. I think it's over that ridge."

A tipi?! Wait! Isn't this 1998?!

Okaaaay.

Kevin left us in the lowest spot we could find and scaled a steep incline to scout it out. Meanwhile, it was raining harder and we were getting cold. We were glad to hear the announcement that Valerie was right! Off we go....all of us scaling the steep incline now.

What a glorious sight! Shelter! We huddled inside the tipi and wondered what in the world it was doing out in the middle of the woods. It was so cold even the dogs were shivering. Hail started dropping into the tipi smoke hole.

"We're gonna die out here," I thought as I struggled to get warm.

Meanwhile, you know the effect running water has on your body, right? Exactly. We all had to go. So there we were, shivering and cold with very full bladders.

What a relief it was when the rain stopped! We peered outside and suddenly noticed something we hadn't seen before....a second tipi, though a log smaller! One of us went to investigate and was thrilled to find that it was a Peepee Tipi. Yes! I am not kidding! A chemical toilet, toilet paper, everything! Who knew?

After taking care of personal business, we headed back to "civilization" and discovered that we were on the property of a dude ranch! They used the tipi for wagon rides. They were glad that we had found shelter in the storm.

But, you know....sometimes I wonder if it was real. Or if God put it there just for us.