THE PEOPLE WE MEET: Kristen & Krissy

It’s technically time for a “People We Meet” post, which I plan to do each week to highlight the best part of travelling: the connections we make with others.  But this week, with everything else going on, I want to talk about some people I already know, and who have known me, and supported me, through every step of life’s journey, not just this one: family.

Every Friday at 1400, the reminder on my phone goes off to Check-In with Kristen.  Kristen is my younger sister (only by 16 months and undoubtedly the more mature one regardless).  Over a year ago, Kristen learned from my mom the extent of some of the betrayals in my marriage.  She called me, furious on my behalf, but also frustrated that we didn’t keep in touch better and that she had had no idea things were so bad for me.  There was a lot of crying.  I’m not known for my keeping in touch skills, and though Kristen and I got on well enough in our adult years, we’d never been super close.  All that was to change, as she demanded that we have weekly check-ins to stay more involved with each other’s lives.  And so, every week since for over a year, Kristen calls me on her drive in to work on Friday mornings and we talk for 30 minute or so about what’s going on in our respective lives.  Occasionally we miss a call, always on my side due to inconsistent phone service or bad wifi; Kristen has never once failed to call.

On Thursdays I have another reminder set, this one for around noon my time.  This weekly call is with Krissy (ironically also a Kristin), my best friend of nearly 20 years.  Krissy drives to Harrisburg, a multi hour drive for her, on Thursdays for work, so we either talk on her ride in or her ride home for about two hours.  We miss our weekly phones call more often with me travelling because that time of day is a little harder for me to ensure I’m around wifi for (and the farther away I get into Europe, the later in the evening her ride home gets for me!), but we haven’t missed a single month in almost two years.  These calls started when my husband asked for a divorce… for nearly six months, she was the only family member I told or talked to about it.  It was a big deal when we started the regular check-ins, because there had been times where we had gone months, even close to a year without speaking, so this was completely unheard of.

For the past year and a half to two years, my life has revolved around these two phone calls.  I doubt either one of them realises how much they have come to matter to me.  No matter how bad the week has been, every Thursday, and every Friday, I can count on my phone going off and reminding me to touch base with two family members back home.  Often, I am busy, or distracted, or honestly just not in the mood to talk, but if I’m available, regardless of how I’m feeling, I either call myself or answer the call.  And I’m always glad I did afterwards.  Sometimes we talk about the crappy stuff, like my call with my sister today about what a mess I’ve gotten myself in to financially.  Sometimes all I want is to hear about their lives, especially because these two particular people are living what I pretty much consider to be the dream life (happy marriages, own their own homes, stable finances… you know, everything I’ve managed to screw up).  Ironically, my sister would probably argue that I’m the one living the dream, she wants to quit her job and travel Europe like me… the grass is always greener as they say!

Regardless of what we talk about, it soothes something in me to be able to count on the phone calls.  I left home at age 18 for college in Arizona (I grew up near Philadelphia, PA), and the closest I have ever lived to my family since was two brief months in 2010 in New Jersey with my aunt while I waited to go to boot camp… it was still a two hour drive from my parents and best friend.  Keeping in touch has never been my strong suit.  Homesickness didn’t plague me much, and I was generally content with just catching up when I was home.  I’ve always made new friends fairly easily so loneliness wasn’t often an issue.  But the last couple years have made me realise how much I missed out on by never making the effort.

I thought that these calls might die out while I was travelling, but though they are sometimes harder to make and often require calling each other back a million times per call, they’ve even more important to me then ever.  Connecting with or nourishing existing connections with the people we already know and love is just as important as making new connections, I’ve realised.  They offer a stability and sense of home that is very needed when travelling as I am, under the conditions my life is currently in.  They also serve as a reminder that there are people thinking of me, every Thursday and Friday if nothing else, which counts for a whole hell of a lot when your mental state is as fragile as mine often is these days (Yes, Mom, I know you are thinking of me every second of every day too!).  And they give a new perspective to my experiences as I share them, making my travel journey that much richer and more complete.  I think often in my life, I have spent so much time seeking out the new, the different, the adventure, that I’ve failed to value the familiar, the stable, the constant.  Kristen and Krissy remind me every week that I should never again neglect the connections that have stayed with me through every trial and every triumph.

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Financial Woes

Today has been horrible.  Not even travel horrible but just life horrible made worse by the fact that I am travelling and a bajillion miles away from my mother when I would like nothing more then a hug.  It’s also compounded by the fact that I’m pretty much wholly responsible for all the horribleness because I have a not so endearing habit of making poor life choices, particularly of the financial variety.  My life is basically a complete and utter mess.  Which I knew when this trip started but feels so much heavier of a burden when you’re in a foreign country and don’t have a way home.

For those that are wondering, this trip is “funded” (if you can call scrapping by eating mainly peanut butter and jelly, feeding my dogs Pedigree and my cats Whiskas *gag* and having to camp at truck stops because you’re too broke for campsites “funded”) by my VA disability compensation payment.  I am rated 100% disabled due to complex PTSD (and a whole bunch of related crap but that’s the main one).  Generally speaking, 100% disability compensation is a fairly decent pay check, even for someone like me who pretty much can’t hold down a steady job to supplement it.  It becomes less decent when you’re like me, and half of it basically goes straight away towards trying to keep the monster debt from swallowing you whole.

I’ll say it outright so no one thinks I’m fishing for sympathy.  I got myself here, the debt is my fault.  Not only am I not a particularly good money manager, but I have the really bad habit of marrying men who are as good at spending money as I am, and just as good at getting divorces where I’m left holding the bag.  Lots of people seem to start their post-divorce lives with nice clean slates; in both of mine, I’ve started tens of thousands of dollars in debt, with the other half having taken on not a cent.  I’m either too nice or too stupid.  Whichever it is, I don’t value money like I clearly should.  Its not that I like a lot of things (although if its for the horses, I wanted all the things), its that I like experiences, with people.  And I often pay for those experiences so that I can have people to enjoy them with even when I can’t afford it.  I have a lot of faults, and bad money handling is one of them, but I’m generous with it…  whether I’m paying for an unrideable pony so he never gets abused again, paying to replace one of my dog’s hips so she can live pain free, or buying my best friend show clothes so she can show one of my horses, I’m not spending it on stuff, I just want to make lives better.

In any case, despite the supposedly decent check I’m cut every month, I live on the edge of the edge.  After subtracting the enormous monthly debt payments (of which I can only afford the minimum, so you can imagine how much progress I am not making), the car payment (somehow the ex got our almost entirely paid off new truck, and I’m still paying for the car I owned before we got married), car insurance, the phone bill (which I actually am not paying cause I can’t get free data overseas anymore anyways), and the livery for the two horses I still pay for (of my seven horses, I only kept two, my rescue pony who can’t be rehomed because he’s not actually really able to be handled, and my four year old who needed more time to grow and who I actually did try to lease out, but couldn’t find a lessor that would agree not to jump him – and he was not physically ready to be jumping yet)… I basically am left with $500 a month on which to feed myself, Travis, and the dogs and cats, gas the car, keep the car and caravan running, cover emergency vet bills and/or human doctor visits, and whatever other odds and ends that show up in the course of every day life, on or off the road.

I feed my dogs and cats food I would never have imagined six months ago I’d ever let them near because its all I can afford anymore.  Travis and I survive off of the food our family brought us when they visited, which he will again be bringing back with him in a resupply.  When we’re lucky enough to be in a place like the ranch, we usually get one free meal a day from our hosts, which helps keep the Mac and cheese and pb&j edible a little longer.  We don’t buy souvenirs from the places we visit, and we don’t go to any tourist places that require paying for tickets.  Sometimes, we end up stuck at rest stops because we’re out of gas and have to wait for the next pay check to come through to get on the road again.  Whenever we can, we try and find a host situation so that we can park up and save transport costs.  We are travelling, yes, and most days its amazing, yes, but lets just say that we’re “budget travellers” to the extreme.  Travis literally sleeps in the drivers seat of the car…

Today I learned that I missed my annual VA appointment to confirm that I am indeed, still disabled.  I have no notification, via eBenefits, email, or mail of said appointment, nor was I notified that my benefits were going to be cut off, but there you have it.  The VA, in all its medical glory, has decided that the best way to help treat a 100% disabled veteran whose main disabling issue is complex PTSD, with a history of suicidal struggles, is to cut their benefits in half (maybe more, I haven’t actually done the math) so that life can become that much more stressful then it already is!  And, because I am in BiH, the chances of me getting a makeup appointment quickly and efficiently so the matter can be resolved before I jump off the deep end is slim to none… after all the VA can barely handle paying out BAH for GI Bill recipients on home soil, how will they manage to make an appointment for a veteran currently stuck in a non-EU country?

To say that I am feeling rather panicked is an understatement.  I’m not on a work Visa, I can’t legally work in Europe, and going to a Bosnian jail just really doesn’t sound worth the risk of trying.  Getting a work visa isn’t an option, trust me on this, if it was, I would have one, but even without my mental health being questionable, those are hard to come by for Americans, and impossible for work with horses.  The halfed benefits payment means I can still cover the horses, thankfully, since they’re alive and sort of need to eat.  I’m working with the livery owner to see if Doodle (my youngster) can find a loaner that will respect his need to develop (I won’t risk his long term health no matter how broke I may be – by the way, for those thinking I should just sell him, he’s literally not worth a dime so even if my heart could take another loss… just no).  I can defer the car payments for up to two months.  But those debt payments?  I spent all day on the phone with my banks begging for help, but did you know, you can’t get debt help unless your account aren’t current, and my stubborn butt has never missed a single payment in my life.  So unless I want to tank my credit and miss payments, I have those still to pay.  My parents are trying their best to buy me some time, literally, but does anyone know how completely degrading and embarrassing it is to have to ask their parents for financial help at 31 years old? I feel like I got myself in to this mess, I should get myself out.  But I also feel out of options.

I left England, in part because I was homeless after the yard I was living on was put up for sale because the owners had their own dreams to pursue.  Finding housing with six dogs and five cats and for seven horses is next to impossible anywhere, but on my very fixed income, would have taken a complete miracle.  So I sold my standing caravan, sold a horse, loaned the others to long term loaners, sold as much of my crap as I could and stored the rest in a friend’s garage and hit the road.  I was prevented from selling by biggest asset, my motorcycle, by a financial gag order from my lovely ex, punishment because I made him file divorce papers on his own instead of jointly (seeing as how the divorce was in no way shape or form a joint decision, this didn’t seem unreasonable).  My hope was that by selling off so much, getting out from under the horse costs, and living super minimal, I could start to make some headway on the stifling debt.  But that hasn’t happened.  And now I’m homeless, jobless, Va compensation halved so completely broke, stuck outside the Schengen Area, and with a minimum two month wait until theres even a chance of anything being sorted (and that is assuming the VA considers my case urgent, manages to find a doctor I can see pronto, AND doesn’t decide that I’ve been magically cured in the last two years since my initial rating – considering I was married, working intermittently, and had a home back then, I’d like to think it seems pretty obvious that things have not exactly improved but the VA isn’t known for its common sense).

I’m at loss at what to do at this point.  I feel rather like I’m drowning in all the lovely Bosnian snow we’ve had lately.  I’m trying to remember that things could be much worse… I could be having to camp out in the caravan right now for example, with no electricity in -12 degrees Celsius, but instead I’m safe on the ranch, in a cabin that sometimes is even cozy when I make the fire work right.  I’m not starving, I have enough dog food to get through another week (though the cats will be out tomorrow, lord help us), my parents are helping me try and make sense of the mess I’ve made and haven’t even made a single judging comment (from the bottom of my heart, thank you for that), and Travis will be back in less then a week so at least then there’s someone to share the mental burden with.  Plus, there’s a lesson in here somewhere, a bigger one then stop spending money you don’t have when you’re depressed, since that one has actually finally sunk in, even if it was much too late.  I really wish we could just get to the lesson learned part though, and skip this disaster looming over my head just now.  Just one break would be an awfully nice change of pace, just this once.

Sunrise In Her Eye

Today was a simple day of errands: picked up the Suby (who now has had an oil change and a brand new battery), went to the pharmacy and was shocked to learn I could get refills on all my prescriptions without having to see a doctor, including my happy pills which I haven’t had for nearly two months, much to Travis’s dismay (except birth control, the pharmacists English wasn’t great, but I think she was telling me that they don’t do that in BiH… huh, who knew), and drove by the store for Snickers (my staple candy since there are no Reese’s to be had) and fire starter (because I’m still completely useless at starting one and use at least one box a day).  Really I only wrote this blog post at all because I wanted to share this stunning photo that I caught purely by chance of Nibble this morning… hope you enjoy the sunrise in her eye!

Harry Potter

You know when you have one of those days where you just can’t seem to find the energy to do anything at all?  Today has been one of those days for me.  Part of the problem is that my Suby is in the shop getting an much needed oil change, so I’ve not been able to keep up with my promise to myself to take a mini adventure every other day.  The result is that I’m feeling trapped, which inevitably leads to feeling anxious, which saps the energy I would normally have to get up and do something.  The second part of the problem is the weather, which has turned to a foul mix of rain and snow and negative temperatures…  I am deeply susceptible to seasonal affective disorder, which means my depressions tend to worsen noticeably with bad weather.  Thus, between feeling trapped and feeling low because of the gloomy skies, today was almost one of those useless wastes of a day.

Fortunately, all was not entirely lost, as Harry Potter came to the rescue, as he often does these days.  I recently read an article on one of my psychology sites about how good for one’s mental health it is to reread their favourites books or rewatch their favourites movies.  Knowing what’s coming and how things will end is apparently a valid way of self-soothing.  It makes sense then I suppose, that I seem to naturally navigate towards some of my favourites on days like today.  Of the literally thousands of books that I own, the Harry Potter series is the only ones that we brought with us; everything else we read is on Kindle (not my favourite way to read, I still prefer to turn pages whenever possible).

So far on this trip, I’ve reread the Harry Potter books through nearly twice (I’m on the sixth book again), and am working my way through the movies steadily (when wifi is strong enough to stream them in full).  Travis is actually on his fourth round through the books, so he’s got me beat there, though he had never read them through himself before this trip so he finds it easier to read them back to back, whereas I have reread the Harry Potter series a minimum of twice a year every year since they were published.  It doesn’t seem to matter that I know the stories by heart and can find all my favourite quotes without even having to mark the pages, every time I read them is as fresh and new and wonderful as it was the very first time.  I know I’m not the only one that wishes they could thank J.K. Rowling personally for being such an extraordinary writer (Side note: If you haven’t read her other books, including her mystery series written under Robert Galbraith, you are missing out)!

Escaping in to the wizard world keeps me sane a lot, perhaps more then I realised.  Instead of roaming around inside my own head, I can read a story that serves as a very real reminder of good overcoming evil, love triumphing over hatred, and in its simplest form, that life does go on, regardless of the challenges we face.  Those are pretty important reminders these days.

LOOKING BACK: The Shetland and Orkney Islands

Warning: Longer Post

I realised a few days after Travis left that I hadn’t been entirely truthful when I said this is the first time that I’ve been alone in who knows how many years.  Actually, I was surprised at myself for having forgotten the most recent time that I was completely and totally on my own, considering that those two weeks last year were actually the catalyst of this very trip.  So I think it might be a good time to remind myself that I actually have survived on my own before, while traveling, and having faced quite a few unexpected obstacles.

In August 2017, I was very much in denial about the pending end of my marriage.  For nearly six months, I had been steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that I was on the verge of losing the man I loved and a life I desperately wanted.  I’d been doing everything in my power to turn the tide towards reconciliation, including throwing myself whole heartedly in to a marriage renewal program I found online (Side note: While this program would ultimately fail to save my own marriage, I actually found it to be incredibly helpful and enlightening… it changed the entire way I think about marriage and long term relationships, and I would recommend it to any couple whether their relationship is in trouble or not.  In many ways, Marriage Fiteess by Mort Fertel taught me how to love, and I consider that one of the silver linings of having to get divorced, even if it came too late: https://marriagemax.com).

During this time, my husband had made a trip back to the States for family reasons, and as his return neared, I began to realise that I literally couldn’t face him.  I needed some time and some space from the situation to come to terms with what was happening, so I packed my bags one day, loaded Nefsi, Moomkin and Nibble in to my Subaru and hit the road.  I had absolutely no game place other than to drive “north” which I did aimlessly over the next couple days.  Eventually I found myself in Aberdeen, on the coast of Scotland.  I happened to drive by the ferry dock, and out of curiosity, stopped to see just where the ferries were headed.  Fifteen minutes later I walked out with a ticket to the Shetland Islands, which I had heard of only with reference to the Shetland pony and whose actual geographic location was a mystery to me.

You can probably imagine my shock when I boarded the ferry and learned that it was an eight hour, overnight trip to the Shetland Islands.  I hadn’t actually paid the least bit of attention when booking, and I assumed we were headed on a short trip to an island off the coast.  So ending up in a subarctic archipelago of over 100 islands was a surprise to say the least.  It turned out to be one of the most pleasant surprises of my life.

The Shetland Islands are not a hot spot tourist destination, which means that while people are definitely missing out, the islands remain a wonderfully pristine, almost untouched landscape.  There are pieces of Neolithic and Viking history dotting all of the islands, rarely preserved and almost never identified on any map or by sign.  The dogs and I spent a week wandering from island to island, stumbling over ruins that seemed to spring up out of the blue as we walked.  I walked through Viking places of worship, sat on beaches holding tools once used by ancient civilisations, and took in views that I could only have imagined in my dreams.  We slept in the car, sometimes at campsites, sometimes just where ever I could find.  The people were wonderful, the history fascinating, and the quiet and solitude, and absolute complete lack of phone service or wifi brought some much needed peace to my fried emotions.

At the end of my week in Shetland, I was taking a final drive up to the lighthouse on the south of the main island when I had a tyre blow out.  It was a Sunday, and thankfully, I was close enough to a major town to be able to reach an emergency car service… on the Scottish mainland.  It took a few hours and a great deal of begging, but eventually a local tow company agreed to bring me back in to Limerick, the main settlement and let me sleep at the garage until morning. First thing Monday, they gave me the bad news that they didn’t have the size tyres my Subaru Forester needed, and that it could take weeks to have the correct one shipped to them.  My best bet was to head for the Orkney Islands, which was more settled and should have a better selection.

So I booked another ferry ticket, this time for only a four hour journey south.  Unfortunately, the seas were not so calm for this trip, and the stress headache I had been nursing because of worry over the flat tyre turned in to a full blown, vicious migraine.  I hadn’t booked a cabin, and instead was sitting in the regular seating area where, about 30 minutes in to the roller coaster ride, I passed out.  I came around when Nefsi, who was traveling above deck with me (the mastiffs stayed in the car in the cargo hold), woke me with frantic licking.  At his insistence, I was able to gain my feet, bracing myself on him.  Of his own accord, he dragged me to mid ship, where he sought the first person he saw and whined adamantly to bring their attention to me slumped against the wall, blinded from the migraine.  A few hours later, when the ship captain came personally to wake me up and check that I had survived the rest of the journey, he told me that watching Nefsi work had been one of the most incredible things he and his crew had ever seen.  He was even more amazed when I informed him that Nefsi was not trained to brace, respond to migraines, or seek help from strangers…  but he wasn’t any more shocked then I was, who despite years with Nefsi at my side, couldn’t believe that he had known how to handle my sudden collapse and following blindness.  Once again, my dog had become what I needed without any training or guidance… my very own miracle.

When we arrived on the main Orkney Island, I was directed to the best mechanic in town, who was pleased to inform me that the had the size tyres I needed in stock.  A few moments later, we were both staring in dismay as not one, but two bolts snapped as we tried to remove them to change out the donut tyre.  Even worse, they did not have the right bolts available, and we would need to order them from the mainland; it would take a week for them to arrive.  I was still feeling sick from the ferry, and now I was frustrated and near desperation.  I was sleeping out of my car, unable to get home, alone with my dogs, and now I was facing the prospect of spending an entire week parked at a garage because the roads on the islands were no place to be driving on a donut.

Before I could even decide what I was going to spend the next week doing, the mechanic shocked me by motioning me over to a van parked just behind my own car.  It was his, and he didn’t need it for the week.  Would I like to take it while we waited on my bolts so that I could explore the islands and wouldn’t have to sleep at the garage?  The back seats were already out, so it would house the dogs nicely and I would easily be able to sleep in the back as I had been doing in the Suby.  I was shocked.  He was offering a perfect stranger his van so my trip wouldn’t be interrupted by my car troubles.  I gratefully accepted, marvelling at the kindness of people.

The van had no power steering, and anyone that knows me and my driving knows that made for a very funny breaking in period.  Reversing was especially challenging to start, and I spent most of the first day being passed on one lane roads by local drivers probably wondering why their friend’s van was struggling to make turns or go faster then 30 miles an hour.  But I did get the hang of it eventually, and the week that followed was truly spectacular.

The Orkney Islands are like a much more inhabited Shetland Islands, with the most notable difference being in how well preserved their historical sites are.  While it was possible to chance upon some old ruins here or there, more often then not, signs, visitor centres, and guide books were available to guide you around.  I stayed on the main island so that I would be close if my own car was unexpectedly finished, but there was plenty to see.  I bought a book that had a map in the back with each of the main sites marked and numbered.  I spent the week driving around the “Heart of Neolithic Orkney,” a UNESCO World Heritage Site, exploring Skara Brae, walking around the Standing Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar.  One of my favourite experiences was laying on a skateboard and pulleying myself in to the chambered tomb of Maes Howe.  I didn’t neglect some of the more “recent” history (and how amazing is it that 15th/16th/17th century ruins are recent there), taking time to see St. Magnus’ Cathedal, the Bishop’s Palace, the Earl’s Palace, and Skaill House.  In all, I managed to visit over half of the 40 sites on my map over the course of the week.

To this day, the Shetland and Orkney Islands are my favourite places that I’ve travelled to.  Spending two weeks exploring the civilisations and ruins that are older then the pyramids was mind boggling and truly humbling.  It was impossible not to reflect on my own situation in life and see it “in the big scheme of things.”  When I returned to England, and the man who no longer wanted me, I finally had begun to accept that the life I had dreamed of wasn’t coming true.  And the idea of travelling with my dogs as a path towards healing had taken root in my brain.  When my life finally finished imploding all the way a little over a year later, that idea seemed to bloom and grow until it couldn’t be ignored any longer.  And so, here I am, having last year visited the northernmost church in Britain, and now having taken in a service in BiH.  How far I have come, in more ways then one!

Back to Church

I went to Church today.  I’ve stepped foot inside many churches and religious buildings over the years, but today is the first time I’ve went to an actual church service in who knows how long.  I’m not religious at all: I don’t believe in a higher being and often think religion is more trouble then its worth; sometimes I even think I’m a little anti-organizised religion, though I always think faith itself, regardless of in what or who, is a beautiful thing.  So I can’t really be sure what drove me to go other then the vague idea that church often means community, and that I am rather lonely these days.

Ironically, its a Roman Catholic Church here in Kupres, and since I was raised Catholic and attended private Catholic schools for my entire childhood, in some ways, I felt right at home.  Mind you, the service was in Croatian and I couldn’t understand a single word of it.  Plus there was the fact that its been so long since I’ve heard a service that I also couldn’t remember what the standard responses should have been in English either.  Nevertheless, it felt the same, if you know what I mean; a bit like muscle memory but of the brain.

Travis and I did attended a church wedding back in Denmark, and we were both really excited when we recognised the Our Father being said even though it was in Danish.  I spent this entire service waiting eagerly for the same thing to happen so I could pretend to participate, but either even the cadence of the prayer is too different for me to recognise in Croatian, or they didn’t say it so I was a bit disappointed.  I also didn’t recognise any of the songs, of which there were way more then I recall from childhood masses.  Nonetheless, I have forgotten how beautiful it is to hear the voices of the young and old alike raised in song together, and there were moments when I was nearly brought to tears by the sheer beauty of that.  I’ll probably return next Sunday just for the singing alone; thats the great thing about music, isn’t it?  You don’t have to speak the language or understand the words for it to touch your heart.

As much as I genuinely enjoyed the service, I was glad when it was over because that church was COLD.  I’m talking all coats on, hands in your pockets with the gloves still on them, breath in front of your face, glasses fogged up, cold.  On the way out, I spotted Petra and her family and went over to say hello.  They invited me to join them for coffee at one of the local spots, so it seems that Sunday brunch after mass is a universal thing.  I gratefully accepted their invite, as the thought of returning to the empty cabin and spending another day with my own thoughts wasn’t very appealing.

Petra’s family was warm and welcoming, even if most of them were too shy to attempt to use their English with me.  I don’t judge anyone for this as even when I was fluent in other languages I was always reluctant to speak with natives.  But I do wonder at it a bit, because honestly, their English is wonderful.  And even when it fails them a little bit, one of my favourite parts of talking with foreigners is seeing the truly amazing ways we manage to communicate both within and outside the language itself.  One of my favourite examples from this trip is from the Finnish girls who befriended us in Austria and often spoke of needing “hands clothes.”  Is that not the most perfect and creative way of describing gloves you’ve ever heard?

Eventually I knew I needed to get going because I was sure Wasi would be getting restless in the car.  I had brought him along with me as backup in case I lost my nerve, but am proud to say that I made it through both the Mass and the coffee on my own.  Little steps!