BB

    While wandering the halls of the Amsterdam airport, I had a couple of hours to look worse than I already did! The flight home look, is always one of bag lady, homeless looking street walker. This trip was no different, I was ready to go home.
    So we went in several lines, that I have blocked out. I just tell them to point me in the right direction. I become a traveling zombie, and my Bill is chipper. Thank God, he is my Sherpa.
   So we were getting close, to showing our passport again, when this male child, looked at mine and said, " B.B., Bridget Bardot." ( remember how I look) I slowly looked him in the eye and said, " Did you just say I look like Bridget Bardot?" ( Bill is pulling my arm, at this point) He whispered, " We can not talk about the way a person looks, I was ....." When of course I stopped him, "Just answer yes or no, do I look like the YOUNG Bridget Bardot?" He smiled and mumbled "Yes" I then asked him what his name was, so that I could use it as my flight mantra.....and some other person told me to move, so she could frisk me.
   I felt so beautiful, until Bill said, " You know he was just mentioning your initials were the same as Bridget Bardot." I may have grabbed him by the throat, or just growled, when I calmly told him, " One, I don't want the truth! and let this be a lesson, I will not be using the name "Bill" as my in flight mantra!" AND..( you knew I would not let this go) always tell your wife and other women how beautiful they are. ( What did they teach you at Princeton !) Especially before a flight, a nine hour flight .
   Don't ever burst my bubble, that is just not nice. You are a lucky man, married to Bridget Bardot.
   Well, we settled into the cramped seats, and proceeded to not enjoy the flight from hell.
   We were in horrible tornado winds for three hours over the ocean. How do I know this? Because my husband, the scientist likes to read all the information about the flight. I had my eyes shut, made my peace with Jesus, was saying my mantra "Paul" ( my new friends name) with hopes of putting myself in a state of bliss, when Bill shook me, and told me we were in 140 miles per hour trade winds, or something like that, and that an F5 tornado is 200 miles per hour. BILL, we have survived being married a long time, on the fact that you understand that there is much that I do not want to know! and this would be one of them! I looked at him, and just smiled. The flight was horrific, and after three hours, I thought I could take a breath. In case it was my last one, I nudged Bill, who is now on this third movie!, " Who does your wife look like?"
" The young Bridget Bardot", good answer. Merci husband, another great trip.  

Cheese and Churches, and No International Incidents

  We are headed to the shore tomorrow, somewhere called Katwijk Aan Zee, because I need to see a beach, even if the high temp will be 57. I will be fully clothed and under an umbrella.  This is our last leg, before we catch our flight out of Amsterdam and head back to Atlanta. I miss my animals, my plants and my children. ( not in that order, but I like to keep them guessing!) People need to hear the sound of their own floors creaking. Something called home.
   The trip continues for a couple more days, to have been fun, for the hubs and I. There has been an abundance of Cheese and Churches. 
 Also, no real international incidents. ( Thank you, VB for being on stand-by for me, with bail money )
  I must confess to some close calls.
             1. Ann Franks House, that was on my bucket list, I may have caused a ruckus. We waited for hours, and then went inside, and the people taking your money looked at little like Hitler to me. Very Blond scary German looking, I asked Bill, " Could they not have some Jewish people working in this holy place of my friend Ann." I started to panic, a tad. I began to walk on bricks that she had walked on, into the house and out, I sort of fell on my knees and rubbed my hand over them, I could feel the pain. Then we turned a corner and four or five big pictures of this child, from school were hung in the dark room, with minimal light!
AND the ceiling was near my head, "Bill, I have to go." Husband, " Are you kidding?"
at this point the color of my skin is green, and I think I hear the Germans ( which I did) " No, I will wait for you in the lobby, this is just too much, I will visit with Ann in spirit, in the lobby." So I did, told her how sorry I was for things in this world, and I don't know why bad things happen, and I love her. Bill took his sweet time, and I asked him could I have done it, gone through, and he said "no." I felt better, I had waited so long to see it, and I didn't need to see it, I know the story in my soul.
           2. This one was close, because there were more people around, we were in the Rijks Museum.
I was enjoying the great art, in a grand place, when odors started to bother me. That's right I have a acute sense of smell! I looked and looked, and it started to get hot, and the smells got worse, with the increasing flocks of seagulls( people, I was started to go to la-la land) Bill was just in the middle of the thousands of people, I was on the outside trying to get a peek, when I yelled, not really YELLED, but.... " Bill I have to leave, this place smells like farts and body odor!"  He looked defeated, " but don't you want to see......" I was out the door, how can I enjoy art with all those smells, its impossible. So we sat in the gardens for a spell and looked things up on Google!
         Bill was just happy that, no police were involved. ( and Vicki held onto her bail money!) ( girls there are still two more days)
         It is not easy to travel, but what is easy? Nothing is easy, but look at the stories.
         Now let me go pack my suitcase, and be happy that I have someone willing to carry it for me.
         Thanks Dr. Bill, as always.

Observations From Across The Pond

These notes were scribbled a couple of days ago, so if I can make them make sense, great! If not, jet lag, and too much cheese could be the culprit.
  Bill and I are in Amsterdam, getting ready to go get a car and head to Brussels and god knows where?
  There is nothing on our bodies that do not ache, from walking.
  We have been living on a houseboat for several days. It is beautiful, wonderful to open the windows and visit with the ducks and sea gulls. ( Yes I have named them!) Boats skim by and wave, very interesting group of people, these boat people. We check out tomorrow. ( remind me, to tell you of the boat that hit our houseboat and there was no one in the boat! It was like Pirates, Bill was taking pictures, I was asking him if he saw a body!) ( Too much Criminal Minds TV) ( It continued on its way, this rogue sea vessel, only I would get hit by a boat!) ( we called the owner, he was not alarmed) ( guess I have told you everything, pictures to follow)
 One of my house boat stories, is freaking at the litter in the canals. Bill was getting nervous when I began to look for a rake, and asked him to hold my feet while I hung out a window! How can people litter?The canals do not smell bad, and in the morning are lovely. Then you begin to see the plastic bags, and bottles, people don't litter, anywhere on this planet.
  The city is charming, architecturally amazing. We took a canal cruise, and learned so much. The streets have too much litter, and that I just don't get. ( A young girl dropped her napkin at a cafe we were sitting at, and she did not even flinch to pick it up. I picked it up, my uncle was head of sanitation in Jacksonville for years, I don't litter. Another of my thoughts, random thoughts is......
 The smell of urine. I think that Europeans have adapted to this smell, but I have not. Amsterdam have, what I like to call, pee-round-abouts, for men. Which I will use if needed! that reek. If fact all the bathrooms smell. Lysol, do they not have these products? I have a spray can in my purse!! No urine smell adaptation for me. Even the smell of funky pot, does not mask this smell.
  Their pot smells like an old ladies bad perfume, like Tabu !! rotten Tabu! Where is the pot smell of the 60's and 70's, I think I may have  aged too much for this city of youngsters. Not really, but...the buildings make me high, and that makes me happy!
  Bill is looking at me, like I have been on his computer too long, its raining and we are waiting it out, which will not happen. Weather always wins! ( we have been very lucky, sunny and mild)
 I will not have time to blog, blog, blog, but I will take notes and try to get back to you readers whom I love.
 Stories to continue.

Everyday When I Open My Eyes, It's A Saturday

    David Gray, a singer and songwriter, sang the above words this morning, that are the title of this blog.
    Not only did I and do, feel like its a Saturday, but I felt so blessed to hear him this May 1st morning.
    All our days, should feel like that.( and that is not easy!)
       I go to let Lucy, the lab, out this morn and there was a chill in the air. The curse words were flying out of my mouth, when I took a breath and said, "It's Saturday Morning Bon, get it together!"
       I have much to do, and lets do it with a Saturday mentality!
       ( Don't all people talk to themselves? or just us special ?? ones???)
    I drove to Florida last weekend, ( Yes, Emma you drove more, blah blah) and this weekend we fly to Amsterdam and Brussels for a few weeks. We certainly have spring fever, travel bugs up our bottoms.
    I need to be packing but... I was thinking about you, the reader. I finished that book I was talking about, and you need to hear the rest.
    Under Magnolia: A Southern Memoir by Frances Mayes
        So it continues,
                     * pine scented disinfectant, worn out shoes ( my grandmother sprayed Becky and I with lysol because we had strep!)
                     * Decent, she said. You hear that word all the time in the South: a decent person, a decent meal, a decent amount of time, that's decent of you
                     *For years when I went back home to visit, I broke out in hives
                     *Ponderable, yes much to ponder
                     *flat out ornery, peculiar, unto themselves folks
                     *bone lonely
                     * Ah, the mythic South, the only swath of America not strangled by the deadly literal mind
                     * Their lay-my-burden-down branches touch the ground
                     *Teeninny, cussed out, pray tell, cut the light, mash that bug, done did, doodly-squat, take ahold ( wonderful slang)
                       * All southern writers have to be drawn to the eccentric language of the South, the rhythmic loops of the narrative, wild metaphors and hyperbole, larger-than-life figures in local legends
                  
            I could just keep going, but I will stop with this line, "How do learn to talk without saying anything?"
            "It's an art, " I replied.
             This Frances Mayes is speaking my language. Yes she touches on the ugly of the South, we all know it still hides around every corner. Its not all capezios and crinolines, (her line, wish it were mine) the racist have not evolved. And Jesus and the Lord are still hauled out to fix the kitchen sink and lower the confederate flag. The South, you can love it and hate it, in the same breath.
            I do both, and this book reminds me, of all the love I have for this canopy of humidity.
            Its my home, its my people, good and bad, fallible and fragile. It is a place where stories are told, and continue to be told, and I love them. We have to let go of our quest to appear normal, The South is anything but that, and there is the love.
           Everyday is Saturday in the South