Unto Us A Child Is Born

Christmas was a snowy and messy one this year. The snow totaled close to 15 inches, creating scary drives, cancelled plans, extra work, stress and cabin fever. Messy as it was, holiday drama was even messier. I think most, in my family, breathed a sigh of relief when it was over.

This isn't always the case. The Christmas holidays have always been a happy, rich time of family and tradition. Most years, we anticipate this gathering of loved ones all year long. Christmas changed for us a couple years ago, when we lost a young family member in early December. We are still floundering, trying to find a balance between grief and tradition.

Which brings me back to Christmas 2009. In the midst of the mess a baby boy was born. His name is Devin and he is the son of my sister's foster daughter. The labor and delivery of this beautiful 9 lb. baby boy went smoothly. Not so, the first days of his life.

A couple days after Devin's birth, he contracted pneumonia. Apparently this is not uncommon in newborns, but it is scary to the people who love him. Little Devin spent a few days in intensive care with a feeding tube and an IV in his head. His mom was distraught. His dad was exhausted with fatigue and worry. Fortunately, Devin recovered quickly and was able to go home after a short stay in ICU.

On his first night home, Devin's mom had a violent, terrifying seizure. An ambulance was called and the family rushed back to the hospital. After undergoing tests, no reason for the seizure was found, and again, this new mom was released. It was deja vu. That night around the same time, Katherine, again, suffered a violent seizure, followed by another harrowing trip to the hospital. Then two more seizures in the hospital. The strength of the last rendered her unconscious for several hours. It was clear she wouldn't be going anywhere soon- especially home to care for a newborn.

As of this date, Katherine is still hospitalized (though she has suffered no additional seizures)and her son is with my sister's family - a family that hasn't cared for a newborn in 21 years! Although Devin's family had all the supplies at hand in their home, not so my sister. Diapers and formula were purchased, as well as clothes and blankets. I offered the cradle made for my son by his grandfather 2o years ago.

While his mom aches to hold him, Little Devin is being well cared for. This little guy has worked his way into our hearts, with his head of dark hair, intensely focused eyes and dimpled cheeks. He rarely cries, only when hungry and that is easily solved. Devin sucks down a bottle with amazing speed. My niece usually takes the night shift, allowing my sister much needed rest and the ability to handle the daytime hours.

I don't think Becky could have known how her role would evolve, for Devin's parents consider Becky a grandmother and their most trusted caretaker. I think, by now, the realization must have occurred to her that once named, the role is yours. Blood doesn't define who we are, not to those who love us. For many blood can sometimes be tied to folks we don't even want to name. Family can be, and often is, who we choose and who chooses us.

Even messy Christmases bring never anticipated JOY.

For Unto Us A Child Is Born!!!

VSL

Employment Means Grooming!

Settling back into a work routine has been amazingly easy. It's like riding a bike. After ten months out of work you'd think it would take some adjustment but the work systems I had in place prior to my lay-off have returned seamlessly. I've only been back three weeks and already those months off seem like a long lost dream. The one thing I didn't take into consideration as I prepared to return to the workplace was the grooming- day in, day out- you gotta look good! Well, at least clean and appropriate.

Women have it so much harder then men. Not in all cases, but most. Definitely in mine. Craig doesn't even have hair. When we travel, he needs a razor, deodorant and toothpaste. I have an arsenal of product I can't seem to live without. It's ridiculous- this quest to look good. And... it gets harder the older you get.

So now I am back at work and I have to groom EVERY DAY. For some this might not be an issue, but I am truly a closet slob. When I come home at the end of the day (and this was even in office environments where jeans were acceptable), I change into my favorite, softest, oldest clothes. In the summer this attire includes stretched out, faded t-shirts and drawstring shorts and in the winter faded almost to gray, black sweats and layers of long sleeved t- shirts and fleece. All of which are so old I can't recall when they were purchased and many of which have some kind of permanent stain.

While they are clean, they are not meant for viewing by anyone but my closest family. It took me awhile to even feel comfortable being seen in my "home attire" by my son-in-law. Yeah, it's that bad. Sadly, I began to feel so comfortable in these clothes that when I was living in the alternate universe of the unemployed, I did sometimes run a quick errand in said apparel. I'd think, "I'll be in and out, why change?" The entire time I'd pray I wouldn't run into anyone I know. I never did. I guess they were all working. You can get away with a lot during traditional work hours.

Interestingly, I do like fashion. Always have. In my teen years, I always wanted to be the first to wear the latest thing. This continued into my adult life. I like to look stylish. So, you would think dressing up would be a treat. And, it is occasionally, but this every day stuff is already getting old.

I'm anal about work clothes prep. I lay my clothes out the night before. I do this at the end of the day as I am changing into my home clothes. Not only do I choose my outfit, but I lay out all the accessories. This includes: jewelry, foot wear, scarves, etc. Doing this really does save me making decisions in the morning. It also allows me to grab a few more minutes of sleep. Very, very rarely do I change my mind about my chosen attire. What I lay out is what I wear. I even think down the road about apparel. If I know there is a specific activity coming up that requires
dressing up or down, I plan ahead.

In addition to clothing, I have to think ahead about my hair. I wear it curly. Curly means you have to let it dry naturally or it's just a big frizz ball. I wash my hair every other day- thank God. So hair washing day means getting up earlier. I love days I don't wash my hair. That means a pony tail. On those days I can literally do my hair in about 10 seconds. Hallelujah! 15-20 more minutes of sleep!

I do wear make-up but I have that routine down to a science. Takes about 2 minutes (maybe). Again, I forego make-up when I don't leave the house. In my period of unemployment, there were a lot of days I didn't leave the house. Glorious days of no make-up, my old, familiar clothing and hair in a pony.

I mourn those days already and fantasize about the day I no longer have to groom daily. I seriously think that when I retire I will be one of those women whose daughters shake their heads and say, "Mom, you can't go out like that."

I can't wait...

VSL

Life Changes

We got the call in the wee hours Monday morning that my Uncle Jack had died. It wasn't a great surprise, we knew the end was near. In recent days every time the phone rang, my heart would skip a beat and I'd think... is this the call? When it did actually ring, the hour was early enough that I knew no respectful person would be calling, meaning it could only be bad news. I knew, of course, what this call meant before I even opened my eyes. Coincidentally, this call came on the first day of a new job. A job that came to me after 10 long, long months. Death is funny like that. It doesn't wait until it's convenient. Death arrives in its time, with no consideration for others.

Honestly, between new job nerves and the early hour call with the terrible news, I really thought I might vomit from anxiety. I hated that I couldn't realistically go to the far away funeral. I felt torn. One week earlier and I would have been there in a heartbeat but I couldn't quite imagine asking for time off from my first week in a new job- a job that took so long to come my way.

I must digress...

It's amazing to me that I haven't found the time to write about this exciting change in my life. After 9 months of daily searches for the right job, nine excruciating job interviews and a harrowing week waiting for a phone call that would put me back in the work force, the call finally came. It was the job I wanted. It came a week later then I was told to expect to hear from them. I was in quite the gloomy state of mind, certain someone else had received MY call. I tried to tell myself it went to someone more deserving, maybe a single mom with four kids unsure where the next meal was coming from. It didn't really help but, hey, I needed somehow to accept I'd failed again.

And then the call came. It was just the best news. Right up there with those kind of calls that let you know someone is getting married, or having a baby or just got a huge promotion. It was one of those kind of calls. I was just ecstatic.

My start date wasn't scheduled until after Thanksgiving, giving me a week and a half to fit in all those things I would no longer be able to do- stay up late, watch terrible Lifetime movies, read in the middle of the day, lunch with friends, celebrate with family and enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday. I soaked it all up, knowing I would soon be back to accruing time off.

All the while I was so grateful. Grateful that not only did I finally land a job but this was THE job- working for an organization I believe in, great hours, better pay then I expected, a short drive from my house. It was all I had hoped for. I can't tell you how many people, over these past months, told me, "The right job just hasn't come along." I scoffed. What did they know? They had jobs. They didn't know what it was like looking in this economy.

Know what? I think maybe they were right. I half expected I would end up in some job that I hated but was necessary for our financial survival. Yet, I kept holding out hope I'd end up somewhere I wanted to be, doing what I wanted to do. To tell the truth, I really didn't want a single other job I had applied for. I wanted this one. So... unlike past jobs I was more excited then nervous. I was looking forward to it. Ten months out of work is plenty of time off. Plenty of time to reach a frame of mind that allows you to really want to get back to work.

Which brings me back to the present...

Today ends my official first week of work. With all the happy anticipation, I'd forgotten how hard those first days and weeks are. It is just flat overwhelming. You have to learn the people, their names, their titles. You have to determine the hierarchy, the departments, your physical surroundings and how to navigate your computer, set up your phone. Then there is the most insidious aspect- figuring out the culture and the office politics. And, of course, you've got to learn the job. Where to start? It feels like too much. Your head spins. It makes your brain tired. It makes your body tired. You find yourself floundering and feeling terribly inadequate. I told Craig last night, "I think I way oversold myself." First days in a new job are lonely.

But... this I know. It will get better. All new jobs start out hard and eventually you figure it out and things improve and with that comes peace of mind. I remind myself that I have ALWAYS learned my job. I have ALWAYS been a devoted employee. I have ALWAYS made close friends in the workplace. For my personal comfort, it is vital to me that I find that one person (at least one), that person I trust, the one I can vent to, the one who shares workplace information (I hesitate to use the word gossip), the one I can turn to when I am feeling baffled, when I'm feeling down. The one who cares who Vicky is. I won't feel entirely comfortable until this person is found.

I remember so clearly the first friend I made in my last job. I was a few weeks into it, still struggling, when something very unusual happened at our staff meeting. I think my mouth was hanging open when I looked up and saw a co-worker wink at me. That was it. I was in her office with the door shut by that afternoon and we remain friends until this day. And, the job before that, I had my soda break friend. Those breaks were essential to our sanity. She, too, remains a dear friend.

I have faith this job will be all I want it to be. I have faith I will connect with my co-workers. But most of all I have faith this will be my last job, 'cause it damn well better be. I am NOT going through this again.

Each day I become more comfortable in my new work environment. Today brought a couple real conversations. I created a timeline that eased my unease. I focused on priorities and learned a little bit more.

And, all the while, as I was trying to focus on the job at hand, I imagined my family laying Uncle Jack to rest. Today was his memorial service and I heard it was magnificent. Jack's career as a professor at his local university, combined with 40 years spent in the same small, West Virginia town drew a crowd. Five loved ones spoke, including my father. The church was full and while I celebrated small workplace victories, my family celebrated the life of my dear Uncle Jack. Oh, how I wish I'd been there. Life can just be so complicated.

Through all of this, here is what I know:

Change is a constant. I will survive this job. And, while my new life change in no way compares to my Aunt Judy's, she will survive her loss and we will both be surrounded with love and support. LIFE will go on.

I can do this, I can do this.

VSL

Feeling A Child's Pain

The dream woke me with a start. I don't often dream and rarely are my dreams so symbolic of events occurring in my life. Usually they are odd and their meaning unclear. This dream was different. It was startling and didn't help to alleviate my already heavy heart.

I was cradling my newborn baby girl. Under a little tuft of reddish hair, the features below were the features of a child with Downs Syndrome. I touched her cheek and felt surprise at the heat. My baby needed to go to a doctor. As is often the case in dreams, there was a strangeness to my physical surroundings. The landscape I walked on my way to the doctor was desert-like, void of grass, trees or shrubs, mostly brown. The doctor's office was a table set in the middle of these strange, barren surroundings.

I sat on a chair awaiting the doctor's arrival and realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd fed my baby. In that moment, I felt such deep distress at my neglect and feared my milk may have dried up. I unbuttoned my shirt, closed my eyes and pulled my daughter close. She clasped on and greedily sucked. Milk surged and I felt intense relief to be nourishing her.

The doctor examined my baby and I headed home, back through the dreary landscape. On the walk I wiped a smudge of dirt from my daughter's forehead and realized, my baby was several weeks old, and I had never bathed her. When I arrived at our house, Craig opened the door and with tears flowing and feeling absolute anguish and guilt, I handed her to him and asked him, "Why haven't we bathed our baby?" Then I woke up.

My cheeks were damp with tears. The dream left me unsettled, yet I knew exactly why it had come to me. This dream had everything to do with my not being able to make things okay for a grown child. Everything to do with not being able to heal heartache, to heal a child's innermost demons. Everything to do with looking back and wondering whether past decisions may have harmed this child more than helped. Decisions that may have inhibited this child from being able to cope in a grown up world, to resolve grief in a healthy manner.

No one tells you that once you have a child you feel their pain as intensely as they do. I sometimes think you feel it more. When your child is hurt, you hurt. When your child is betrayed, you feel betrayed. When your child is afflicted with their own compulsions and torments, you feel tormented.

When I say I feel his pain, I mean I really physically and emotionally feel his pain. Just as I felt the pain of my other children when life threw them curve balls, when their hearts were broken, when friends betrayed and goals seemed unattainable. I feel the weight heavily on my chest. I feel it in the rolling of my stomach. I feel it in my waking hours and in my dream state.

Raising my children was a gift. One that seemed relatively simple in the early years. I conceived them easily. I bore them easily. I parented with an ease that came naturally. That is, until years later, when I realized what worked for two wasn't necessarily the best for my third. The same expectations, rules, guidelines and instruction weren't as easily accepted by this child of mine. This child who makes his own life more difficult by the choices he makes. So... for years now, alternating with happiness, there has been grief and pain and frustration and love- always love.

And, now this child has had his heart broken and I can't do anything to ease the pain. I can't do anything but listen, comfort, offer steps that will move him forward and help him see that this too shall pass. That in life there are simply walks we must make alone and he is on one of these walks.

In the end, all we really want is for our children to be happy. When they're happy, we're happy. I saw this in my mother and in all the wonderful moms I know who would take the pain from their child if they could. No one ever tells you it will be this hard. They tell you about the joy. The joy that makes all the pain worth it.

So while I carry this weight, I know it will pass. It will pass when my child forges ahead and is happy again.

VSL

What Else?

Life has thrown us some serious curve balls in the past couple of years. I'm now nine months out of work and looking daily. It takes a toll on you. Your life is up in the air, resulting in an underlying anxiety you can't quite shake. Headlines, unemployment rates and job loss stories intrude daily, reeking havoc on your attempts to keep yourself calm and focused. In today's world you're lucky to get an interview and even luckier if you land the job. Fact is... there just aren't enough to go around.

So, while you struggle to live on a diminished income and hope that next interview is your lucky break, you just don't want to even contemplate that it could get worse. But, of course it can. And, for Craig and I, it did. My husband's employer announced last week they will close the facility he works in- late summer. We are fortunate we have some months to prepare but seriously, this is scary. Both out of work? That's not good... scary, scary stuff.

Best case scenario: Craig wraps things up with his current employer, gets his severance pay and lands a job that starts soon after ( with no lapse in health insurance coverage). In the meantime, I find employment, get settled into the position and life goes on, slightly battered but hopeful for the future.

Worst case scenario: Neither of us find employment. This goes on too long and we lose everything.

Craig and I are now in the same boat as millions of Americans. According to today's paper there are 15,000,000 of us chasing 3,000,000 jobs. Making matters worse, Craig and I are too young to retire and reaching the age less inticing to potential employers. It's strange to think your age may make a difference in your employment status. Anyone in their 50's knows you don't feel old. I know I am wiser, savvier and way, way more awesome than in my younger days.
I'd like to say I really don't think the worse will happen but after having lived through the loss of a young family member, I now KNOW the worse can and does happen. You don't feel safe after such a life-altering tragedy. The worst is happening all around this nation of ours. And, while, I'm not exactly a glass half full kind of gal, I would also ascertain I'm not a doomsdayer either. I guess somewhere in between optimism and pessimism is this uneasy feeling that life as we know it really could change.

My sister reminds me that one thing we have going for us is family. No matter what happens, none of us will ever be without food and shelter. We're covered. Family would always be there. I know this, and it's comforting, but I don't really don't want to put family charity to the test.

Despite these troubling times, it is intriguing to find myself so increasingly grateful for what I do have. Like many Americans, I've always wanted more. But when life interferes and material things become tenuous, you just want to hold on to what you've got, making you realize their worth.

Not long ago, Craig and I were considering moving to a final home, one that we've dreamed about for a long time. Now, the house I live in seems so precious to me. This house and the things in this house. All the little worse for wear, not worth anything substantial. But it's my stuff. Stuff I value and don't want to lose. No more yearning for the house with character, the car, the big screen TV, the fabulous trip, furnishings, clothing, etc. I just want to keep what I have. I just want to stay afloat and happily adjust to the idea that what we have is enough... more than enough.

My parents never lived rich. A minister and a teacher don't have the means to do so but they saved and invested their money wisely and by all appearances are living a pretty fine retirement. I wonder if my generation will be able to do the same? Will my generation survive the losses in retirement accounts, crippling job loss, a failing social security system? Will our homes be paid off? Will our debt be paid off? Will we be able to live out our retirement years visiting grand kids, traveling, pursuing leisure activities we'd put off during our working life? Or, will we work until we die?

Pessimistic contemplation, I know. But those questions are there, lurking right under the surface, poking up their nasty little heads pretty much all the time. And, while I don't often lay voice to these demons, I know many Americans are wondering the same things.

As we move through these next few months, my goals are to stay optimistic, hang out with family A LOT, be prepared for the worst and remain grateful for all I have.

One day at time. That's my motto. Most days this works just fine.

VSL

City Girl Hires a Farmer

For as long as I can remember I've known my mother's family has farm land in South Central Kansas and Oklahoma. Wheat land in the heart of America. And, as long as I've known known that, I've also known that this land means a great deal to my mother and her sisters. This land, near the small town of Kiowa, Kansas was home to them. For four little girls who spent much of their childhoods living in northern India, that meant a lot.

The land has been in my family since the great Cherokee Run, when a relative many grands back, ran for free land. The run was held in 1893 and was the largest event of its kind in the history of the world. Over 100,000 land hungry white men (and a few women) ran to stake their claims. And for several generations, my relatives actually farmed it. This ended during my grandmother's generation. While her mother (my great grandmother) also spent time as a missionary's wife in India, she was a farm girl at heart and yearned for home. My grandfather also had the mission bug and a 2nd generation raised their daughters in India, a country as unlike the farmlands of Kansas as one could imagine.

There were long awaited furloughs home and, for a four year period, during the war, my mother's family lived in Kiowa. Those days were among the best of my mom's childhood. Despite those periods, mom didn't land permanently in Kansas until she left India to attend college. Except for a brief time early in her marriage, spent in Colorado, where I was born, my mom has lived the rest of her years in the state she loves. Even so, she has never lived anywhere near Kiowa, as have none of her sisters. They all married men who don't farm and who took them far from their family homestead.

During my childhood, my grandparents (retired from service in India) lived in California, another place nearly as exotic as India to a Kansas girl. Despite living so far away, my grandmother continued to take great pride and had much affection for the wheat land that served her ancestors so well.

Over 50 years ago, a young man was hired by my grandparents to manage our farms and unbelievably this same man, now in his mid-eighties, continues to do so. In recent years it's become apparent that this can not continue much longer and it's time to pass on the management of our family farms to another.

My mother and the man who farms our land

This brings us to my generation. My mother has three sisters who between them bore 11 children. Ownership of any type of land or property gets trickier when it's shared among 11. The reigns have not yet passed to our generation but the transition has started. One of the four sisters recently sold her shares, bringing us to 9 future heirs. In all reality, this needs to be further reduced to make it practical and truthfully, at all lucrative for the remaining shareholders.

And once again, not a one of my generation are farmers. My cousins live all over the country. I have cousins who have never stepped foot on the farms. I also have cousins who have and, like me, this land has meaning. We've been taught this land is to be valued and cherished.

While I've lived in Kansas my entire life and even lived in small towns as a child, I've never lived on a farm. My adult life has been spent in cities. I am a city girl. I'm not even an outdoorsy city girl. I like roofs over my head. I'm kind of a homebody that enjoys walking the dog now and then. I do limited gardening and while I enjoy digging in the dirt, it's a flower bed, for pete's sake. A flower bed located in a city yard, surrounded by a privacy fence.

As the eldest grandchild, I am beginning to take on a role in the future of our farms. In doing so, I've found it necessary to educate myself. This is vital because I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT FARMING. I am educating myself out of fear... fear and necessity. Because someday, possibly soon, I will be at the helm of the corporation that oversees management of this family land.

Until recently I had only been to Kiowa a handful of times, primarily for burials of elderly family members. I remember a hot summer day when I was maybe 11 or 12 standing in the Kiowa Cemetery as my great grandmother was laid to rest. I didn't know her well. Sadly, she spent her final years in a nursing home in Hollywood, CA, close to her two daughters who lived nearby and very far from the home she loved so much. What I remember about that day was the heat and the promise of ice cream if we were very, very good. As an adult I stood at that same cemetery twice for the burials of my beloved grandparents.

It was during that time that I started to look around and began to understand the history of my family and what this land meant to those who'd gone before me. A seed was planted and it grew to become a genuine desire to save this heritage. Because this land now has the potential to be passed on to many, it has been thrown out that the smartest thing to do is sell it. And, we could... sell it in a heartbeat. There are potential owners waiting in line to get their hands on this rich soil. I am of the opinion that we should not go this route. That selling our land would be like selling a part of our history. A history that has never had a direct connection to my life, but a treasured history nonetheless.

This brings me to why I am sitting here writing in the first place. The time has come for management of the farms to be passed along to another devoted farmer. As land owners it's our duty to see this transition through and that means- We need to hire a farmer... WWWhat? That onerous task fell to my mother and me.

When I told my sister I was heading to Kiowa to interview farmers, she laughed so hard she had to put the phone down. While barely controlling her mirth, she said, "What the hell are you going to ask them?" Barely able to speak at this point, she threw out standard interview questions.

"Tell me your strengths and weaknesses." followed by peals of laughter

"How do you handle conflict in the workplace?" chortle, chortle

More questions flew from her mouth, followed by uncontrollable laughter. She was unstoppable.

While I too could not contain my own laughter, I agree she had a point. How in the world does one interview potential farmers, when one knows nothing (and I mean nothing) about farming? I recalled visiting our farms with my mom this past April and the entire time we toured our land, I kept thinking, " Where does it start and where does it end?" How do people know this? If it was up to me, I'd put a huge purple fence around it just so I'd know. Just so I'd know where it starts and ends. Farmers know this, they know this just by looking at natural boundaries- like tree lines and creeks and dirt roads. I suppose I would come to know this too if I spent any amount of time there. But, the point is, I don't. It's all just very confusing, entirely out of my realm of comprehension.

With trepidation, Tuesday last, off my mom and I went for the 5 hour drive to meet the men our farm manager recommended to replace him. We met in a bunkhouse- paneled walls, 1970's carpet, a sofa, table, fridge and bathroom. This is where our farmer spends time on hot summer afternoons, taking shelter during harvest. Or, on cool fall days, following a morning of planting. It was a manly man's hangout. A place to shower, have a beer and talk farm talk. I'm not particularly finicky, but I couldn't have felt more out of place.

Soon, the interviewees arrived and the questioning began. I am happy to report these were really likable, intelligent, educated men. All eager to take over the responsibility of farming our land. They were never condescending and mom and I learned more in that afternoon about farming than either one of us had learned in a lifetime. It was enlightening and encouraging and made me even more determined to hold on to this land.

Now, decisions must be made. Who do we trust with this land that has passed from generation to generation? Who do we trust to honor this land and how will we ever find another like the man who has tended our land for over 50 years? A man who loves it the way you love land that you've tilled and planted and harvested for half your lifetime.

In the end, the interview process wasn't laughable at all. Our questioning was direct and reasonably intelligent and the men who sat before us took it very seriously. This land, this soil of our ancestors is ours and while we don't have farming knowledge, we do, in fact, treasure it. I think they understood this.

VSL- Landowner

Anyone who knows me knows I am a city girl. Despite growing up in several small Kansas towns,

Well... We Did It!

Yep, that's right we cruised. For all those friends who have been telling us for years you've got to go on a cruise, I have to say it was... enlightening. By enlightening I mean this. I always take pleasure in trying new things and seeing new places. And, don't think for a minute I didn't appreciate the opportunity to get away and do something new. But this wasn't exactly my idea of great travel. However, I really do get why a lot of people love this type of adventure, and... adventure it was.

We started our trip by getting up at 3:30 AM to get to the airport and hopefully catch the first flight to Dallas. You see, my husband works for the airline industry and we fly standby. This means that whenever we travel by air, we just cross our fingers and hope we can actually get to our destination. This trip we were able to get on all the flights we had hoped to (except for the final flight home and than we made it on the next flight). It's always a little nerve wracking, but hey, free is free.

We landed in Miami around noon and were at our hotel by 1:00. Our balcony room looked right out on Biscayne Bay. Beautiful! We didn't explore much of Miami but our night's stay was lovely. At noon, the following day, we headed to our ship. Boarding was very well organized and we zipped right through the process. Now this is where my head started spinning. Stepping on the ship was like entering another world- a loud, crowded, partying world. It took the better part of two days for me to even find my way around this huge monstrosity.

(Our ship was the larger of the two!)

Day 2 we docked in Key West. Love that town. I've been there once years ago and remembered it fondly. Now I remember why. It's quaint, unique and has a particularly interesting history. Craig and I toured the town via the "Conch Train". I would strongly suggest doing this for anyone heading there for the first time. You get a great overview of the history, the gorgeous homes and an opportunity to view the lay of the land.

(Southern most point in US - Key West, Florida)

Day 3 was spent swimming in the warm waters off Cozumel, Mexico. I'd forgotten how relaxing it is to bob in warm sea water. It has been a few years since I'd spent any time in a warm ocean. Maybe the best thing I did.

(Lily white Vicky resting between jaunts in the ocean- Cozumel, Mexico.)

Day 4 was at sea. On this day, Craig and I separated for some time. That was cool. Six days of constant companionship makes one start to get a little testy. Craig watched the Chiefs game at the sports bar and then tried his hand at Black Jack. He won enough money to cover our tips and travel home!!! Yeah! Making this even more of a "budget trip".

(Sunset from the ship)

Here are the things I didn't like about this particular cruise:

- Noise: Imagine 3,000 partying people.

-Inside cabin: I actually had a bit of a panic attack the first night. Something about the pitch dark and the image of a bizzillion tons of ship on top of you and an ocean just right outside that could come flooding in at any moment. This only happened once. In daylight I was not worried about any ship disasters.

- Quiet Time: No where to quietly read a book, contemplate, relax and just be. Now... you could do that in your cabin but inside cabins are NOT conducive to hanging out.

-Partying: I wasn't that interested in getting inebriated, which seemed to be the number 1 occupation.

-Cheesiness Factor: Bingo, anyone?

-Cozumel: I've been to a couple Mexican resort towns and to Mexican border towns, as well as the interior of Mexico. I always felt like I stepped into another world, but the Carnival port isn't the real thing. It didn't feel like Mexico, it felt like a stage set. I was disappointed.

Things I loved about the cruise:

-The Ocean: Warm, balmy, ocean breezes and the smell... yum, love that fishy, salty smell of the ocean.

-Convenience: Who wouldn't like taking their hotel with them? No flights, trains or car rides between destinations. No moving luggage around. No navigating new and strange lands without a clue. You are moved from place to place and guided every step of the way. For those who have some fear of new places and strange lands, this is the way to go.

-Gluttony: It's seriously fun to eat about every two hours, simply because you can. The food output is outrageous. Some of it was a bit sub par but much of it was great.

-Chocolate Melting Cake: Apparently anyone who has been aboard a Carnival cruise is familiar with this delectable dessert. I ate one every day!

-People Watching: I was amazed at the diversity aboard ship. Europeans, every ethnicity, families, hard bodies, beautiful swim suit modelish girls, very large bikini clad women, lots of seniors, drunky mcdrunkersons (we actually saw a young women puke all over herself and on those seated near her at one of the comedy shows), all ages, sizes and shapes. While I sometimes felt overwhelmed by all the bodies and the talking and the music, it was truly people watching heaven.

-People Meeting: We met some lovely folks on this trip. We also met some not-so-lovely folks, but they sometimes make the best stories.

-Entertainment: We saw 2 great comedians, a high cost variety show, heard lots of good music and enjoyed Karaoke. We even danced in a conga line (now how cruisey is that?). Craig sang twice and even had two women dance on stage with him and slip him dollar bills. Funny, funny, funny.

-Positive Body Awareness: Now hear this... you do not EVER need to be overly concerned about your swim suit body on a cruise. Seriously, no one cares and there are ALL types (big, really big, small, young, old, really old, etc.)

-Spouse Time: Spending time with the husband... always a good thing.

In the end I am so glad we did it. It was a new experience, something that is as important as breathing to me. Would I do it again? Maybe. I think location would be the enticement- I'm thinking Alaskan or Mediterranean Cruise. Somewhere I've never been before. It also would be fun to travel with others. Craig and I sometimes felt kind of left out with all the families and groups in abundance. And a balcony room would be a must.

I'm just grateful for the get-a-way. Now... where to next?

VSL