Resolution

It started early on the last day of the year, this boom boom boom in my chest.

Standing on the rooftop of Kasteel Biljoun, gazing at the frozen moat surrounded by acres of Dutch countryside, and feeling the fireworks cracking in the distance.
Boom boom boom.

Later in the afternoon, tromping across a frozen field, watching soccer balls rocket from homemade cannons, and bracing for each blast as my insides shook.
Boom boom boom.

At midnight, celebrating in the cold by the Amstel River, turning in every direction to see fireworks explode over canals and bridges and buildings, and trembling as tears streamed down my cheeks at the overwhelming sight.
Boom boom boom.

Were the day's visible and audible explosions causing my feelings to surge, or were my feelings the cause of these explosions to so amplify in my chest?

Now after midnight, a new day - the first of the new year - the boom boom boom had at last swelled to the surface in the form of a resolution I could put into words. Questions I wonder but never ask, emotions I feel but never express, thoughts I have but never speak - no longer will I hold them silent but let them burst forth...like my very own fireworks display (I am a red head, you know!)

The sound of fireworks from Biljoun...

...the jolt of cannons in the fields...

...the thrill of fireworks surrounding the Amstel.

A Royal Twirl

My baton twirling performances have taken place in many different settings for many different audiences - fans in college football stadiums from California to Florida, students in high school gymnasiums, spectators on miles-long parade routes, old folks in nursing home cafeterias, my parents in our driveway, even coworkers in my office lobby. All rather expected places for someone who lived as a majorette for over nine years of her life. But never did I think I would entertain an audience deep in the heart of the Netherlands - in a castle, no less!

Engelenburg Castle, Holland

The evening began quite elegantly - me in my lacy dress, sipping champagne and enjoying casual conversation over fancy hors d'oeuvres with the glow from the hand-carved fireplace dancing on the walls. A gourmet dinner in the stately dining room with high decorative ceilings and antique furniture, the laughter and voices of the entire Heersink clan clinking with the fine china. Savoring the last taste of my dessert and politely dabbing the corners of my mouth, I regarded it as an evening of graceful elegance at its best.

So, it's a bit of a mystery to me how such refineness evolved (or de-volved?) into a dance party the likes of which Engelenburg Castle has never seen. Was it the refrain of Sweet Home Alabama or the conga line over chairs and tables that transformed not only the pristine castle bar but our well-mannered moods? I can't be sure. But what I do know is that when a long, straight umbrella was put in my hand as It's Raining Men pumped over the stereo, the only option for a girl who was trained in the fields of Tuscaloosa was to twirl!

Flips and spins turned into a full-fledged routine, and the surprised smiles and cheers of my audience prompted me to toss higher and shimmy more. Spinning around a final time, the umbrella twirling on beat, I hit a final pose and took a bow as hurrahs and applause coursed through the castle walls.

Damion and me - the umbrella provider and the umbrella performer.

Breathe Easy. Rest Well.

Sometimes the New York City air becomes stagnant; bus fumes and cab exhaust intermingle with the already over-recycled breathing air of millions of tourists, all trapped in the grid of concrete and maze of skyscrapers. If the city air doesn't suffocate you, then the exhausting pace of the always ticking New York minute will.

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Stepping off the train in Dieren, the surroundings are so refreshing I can't help but fill my lungs with a deep breath of air, but I'm quickly reminded the countryside of Holland has its own pollutants - the air punctuated by the smell of nearby pastures. The walk from the train station will cure the shock of nature for this city girl, the smells disappearing into the cold wind as we tread the uneven brick sidewalks toward the house.

The air, the sky, the time - here in Holland it all bears a unique awareness; distinctively different from any environment I've encountered in New York City or even Alabama. The local color being relaxed living, it's not uncommon to see close laid neighbors chatting in the street or enjoying a bike ride through the village-like town. Shops and restaurants in one direction, acres of pasture in the other - the worlds connected by an age-old ferry that, oddly enough for me, never suffers the impatience of a car's horn at its slow progress.

A week of rising with the Holland sun at 9:30 or 10 AM - my only alarm clock the bells of the town church chiming outside my window. The hazy morning sun glowing over the frosted fields shifts unnoticed during midday to burn low on the other side of the sky - a sunset hanging on the horizon that lasts all afternoon. Chirping geese pierce the crisp night air, the sky pitch black to reveal the same stars I can't see in the city.



The sun rising over the frozen fields of neighboring Olburgen and the still waters of the River IJssel - about 9:30 AM.

 

The view of the church clock - and the chilled rooftops - out my window. You'll have to imagine for yourself the sound of the bells chiming through the calm air.

A lake naturally frozen by the sub-zero Celsius temperatures, made even more enchanting with the Dutch skaters and lingering sunset.

Encore: "Do you remember coming this way?"

The plane landed in Atlanta. I exited silently and walked slowly through the terminal toward the passenger pick up area. Lighted trees decorated the concourse, and I remember thinking, quite stunned really, "Oh yeah, it's Christmas." Mama and Daddy were still at least 45 minutes away from the airport. I bided my time in the food court, devouring a sandwich and chips while calling my sisters to say guess what happened to me.

Soon enough Mama and Daddy arrived, and I waved dramatically as the big Suburban pulled to a stop beside me. With a flourish of hugs and kisses and luggage, we pulled out of Atlanta Hartsfield a little after midnight and headed toward Birmingham, and I felt the suspense subside in this drawn-out drama of getting home.

But as I reenacted the events of the day, my weariness changed to theatrics. I mimicked the gruff Delta employee who tried to make me get off the plane and the "there, there" of the employee who tried to make me stop crying. I flipped my hair and shook my fist the way I did when I refused to give up my seat. I recounted the absurdity of the packed airport in New York. My final performance of the day was delivered to this captured audience who interjected questions rather than sympathetic stares.

But it was when - after at least 45 minutes of driving - Daddy looked over to Mama and said, "Do you remember coming this way?", that I knew this show really wasn't over. No, these two supporting actors came from the wings - from Alabama, precisely - to put on this final encore with me. We were lost in podunk Georgia at 1 AM, and the only person who could point us in the direction of home was one-tooth Bubba at the A&P.

When the Suburban pulled into the garage at 2:30 AM, I crawled upstairs in the comforts of home and tumbled into bed...and the glowing lights of the Christmas tree in my room faded to black as my eyelids closed like heavy stage curtains.

Act II: "Don't cry, it's going to be okay"

Sure enough, we landed in Charlotte exactly one hour after my scheduled flight to Birmingham had departed. And there were no more flights to Birmingham that night. I stood at the ticket gate with a brand new audience staring silently at me - the slightly disheveled New Yorker - and the Delta agent - the slightly agitated worker.

Take 1: I'm irate. Everything concerning Delta is unacceptable. "Someone HAS to do something. I HAVE to get on a flight tonight. Or give me a hotel room. Or give me a voucher. Delta owes me!" I slap my hand on the counter for emphasis.

The slightly agitated worker just looks at me. Says nothing. Turns to the Delta agent next to her - the slightly caring worker. "Can you deal with her?" she demands more so than asks.

I fume. I open my mouth to explain my situation to the slightly caring worker, and I start with a forceful, "This is unacceptable!" but I pause.

Take 2: I'm pitiful. I open my mouth to demand a seat on any plane headed anywhere near Birmingham, but all that comes out is tears. I choke out enough information so the slightly caring worker is able to understand where I'm trying to go, and then I rest my head on the counter and cry - okay, sob - while he searches flights for me. With head down, tears pouring and shoulders shaking, I remember about the silent, packed audience sitting just to my left. I do not dare look to see their reaction to my performance; these tears are not acting, they are real.

The slightly caring worker confirms he has a seat for me on a U.S. Airways flight to Atlanta, but it's leaving in 10 minutes, I need to be at the gate right now. I half expected him to slap me a few times to shake me out of my tears, but instead he spoke to me like I was a little girl, writing out the gate number, giving me explicit directions on how to get there, advising me to not dawdle but run to the gate, and saying, "Don't cry, it's going to be okay. Now, did you get all that?" I nodded and sniffled, and sheepishly thanked him and my audience with a quick bow of my head as I turned and ran down the terminal with luggage in one hand and cell phone in the other - "Mama, Daddy - can you come pick me up in Atlanta in about an hour and a half?"

Act I: "We have a situation here"

"Oh no I'm not getting off this plane! I absolutely refuse!" I boldly screeched with uncharacteristic defiance to the Delta controller, my fists planted firmly on my hips. She didn't respond, she just closed her eyes once, blinking back a very bored, disgusted glare. She raised the walkie-talkie to her surly lips, "I need a Delta manager. We have a situation here. I have a passenger who is refusing to get off the plane."

"Dang straight, I'm not getting off this plane!" I huffed as I stepped over my row mate to reclaim my 3-C window seat. Several passengers seated around me joined my plight, "Yeah, don't make her get off!"

As much as I enjoyed putting on a show for the entire plane's amusement, I sat back in my seat shaking - a little because I was afraid they would make me get off, and a little because I was afraid of how I would react if I got the boot.

My emotions were frazzled from the weekend's hour-long phone calls with Delta - now numbering four or five. The calls began friendly and thankful enough; I remember telling the first operator how much I appreciated her help, and the second operator I'm sorry for sounding so irritated - that I know the cancellation mess is not his fault. But it was around the third or fourth cancellation-prompting call when I lost it. My talking turned to ranting turned to tears in practically the same breath, and I hung up the phone for the last time with the Delta operator consoling me, "I'm sorry, honey. We'll get you home the best we can."

So as I now sat on the plane, awaiting my fate and planning my next act in the drama that was unfolding, I felt shaky with the same nerves I suppose any actress who is about to deliver the climatic scene would feel - I did have a plane full of people watching me!

I nervously turned my ticket over and over in my hand as I replayed the events of the day - waking to another cancelled flight, spending $60 on cab fare to JFK airport although my rescheduled flight was already listed as delayed, waiting four hours in an airport full of stranded travelers, stepping on a guy napping on the floor, skipping through the gate like I had the golden ticket when my flight was finally called. And now this - the plane wouldn't take off until the weight issues were resolved...until I got off the plane!

I was this close to finding any passenger whose weight exceeded my measly 134 pounds and insisting they get off, when three Delta crew members walked up the aisle and exited the plane, giving up their seats because they had boarded as passengers for a free ride to Charlotte.

Admittedly, I was a little disappointed that I didn't have to perform the "desperately clutching to my seat as the Delta authorities try to drag me away" showstopper I had planned, but as the doors closed and the plane prepared for take off, a quick check of the time revealed there was sure to be an Act II in this getting home drama...there was no way this plane would land in Charlotte in time for my connection to Birmingham.

Snow day

I awoke Saturday morning to a very quiet, very relaxed, very snowed-in New York - and I was surprised to realize I was feeling much like the city.  Peering out my bedroom window at the thick blanket of snow, no longer did my missed hair appointment seem so frustrating, no longer did my skipped Christmas party seem so disappointing, and no longer did my insistence to get an earlier flight seem so strong.  Lord knows I had tried my best to get on any Saturday flight out of any airport in the New York area, and into any airport in the general vicinity of Alabama, but alas - there were no seats to be had.  So Delta rescheduled me for a three-leg flight beginning at 6:30 Sunday morning, a far cry from my original Friday evening direct flight home.   

But accepting the hassles of winter travel in the north, I realized the only thing I could do was embrace this day.  With two weeks of travels ahead of me, and weeks of nonstop busyness behind me, maybe this buffer day was part of a greater travel plan than I had scheduled for myself.  I enjoyed a leisurely long brunch with other stranded friends, I strolled the winter wonderland streets around my apartment, and I even braved the crowds of midtown to gaze at the Christmas decorations I had yet to see.

As the heavy white skies of day faded to the black of night, so too did my peaceful feeling slip away.  A check of my flight status showed today had been the calm before tomorrow's storm...my heart quickened and my stomach lurched: my computer screen burned with another red "Cancelled" alerting my 6:30 AM flight was no more.    

Snowy benches along a quiet 5th Avenue.

A lone Christmas tree in Madison Square Park.

Snowy Christmas at the fire station next door.  

"It's the most wonderful time of the year"

The thick, fluffy snow cascaded from the sky, simultaneously erasing color from the streets and any hope I had of flying out of New York later that night.  Watching the snow accumulate on trees and fire escapes, I still prayed for a miracle and raced home from work (as fast as you can race on icy sidewalks without breaking your neck) to grab my suitcase and head to the airport. 

One last check of the flight status stopped me short - the formerly green “On Time” square was now a big block of red. “Cancelled”!!

Disappointment, sadness, rage and anxiousness swirled as I frantically dialed Delta.  Immediately put on hold, I stared glumly down at my feet bundled in snow boots, ready for the trip to the airport.  The hold music began, and the first line of the first song pumped into my ear.  “It’s the MOST wonderful time of the year!”  Irritation boiled over to irony, and I laughed in spite of myself and settled back on the couch for a long evening of waiting on hold, pleading for more options and praying for a seat on a plane – any plane – heading to the sunny South.

District of Cuteness

Saturday morning I boarded a bus in midtown Manhattan that promised a "luxury" ride straight to Washington D.C.  Four hours, three rain storms, two naps leaning into my neighbor's seat and one detour off the Baltimore-Washington Expressway later, the bus arrived in our nation's capital. A weekend filled with college friends, a tour of Alexandria, Georgetown and McLean, and an Alabama football game with the D.C. alumni was wonderful fun.  But the star of the weekend was Vivi, the vivacious and very cute daughter of my dear high school friends Leanna and Kyle.  Seeing her smiles, giggles and bouncy curls in person for the first time in a year, she recaptured my heart...as she will capture the world one day!

Street views home

Rolling my suitcase along the still quiet New York City sidewalk, my thoughts of home multiplied with each step I took. As I crossed over Lexington Avenue, I looked up the street toward the Chrysler Building.  The streetlights glowed as the early morning sky lightened, making the closed buildings even darker and more desolate.  No people crowded the sidewalks; the only activity coming from the sound and lights of a few cabs slowly approaching.  The beautiful Chrysler Building shown like a beacon in the distance, and I stopped, mesmerized.  It was a beautiful scene, yes, but even more intriguing was the comparison I conjured of what my scenery would be in a few short hours: grassy lawns and bushy shrubs and thick trees framing the setting sun.  

Both views are beautiful, both views are comforting, both views are home...in vastly different ways.  

Buenvenidos a Miami

The last time I was in Miami was eight years ago, when the Million Dollar Band traveled to cheer on the Alabama Crimson Tide in the Orange Bowl. We traveled by buses. All night. Thanks to the trombone players the Crimsonettes shared a bus with, a horrific war movie played on the bus TVs in the wee hours of the morning, the bazooka gunshots and screams keeping me awake for most of the night. As the rest of the bus came to life a few hours later, one of the "blonder" Crimsonettes repeatedly sang the then-popular Will Smith song "Benvenidos a Miami". She had no idea of the Spanish words she sang, so the song sounded more like "Benbeneedose yameyame". Over and over she sang - even after I corrected her.

In the years since the trip, I've not been able to shake from my memory the annoying sound of her singing that song when I hear "Miami". But when plans were made to make an end of summer trip to Miami, I found myself happily sing-songing "Benbeneedose yameyame" in excited anticipation of the sun and fun that awaited.

Relieved to not have an excruciating overnight bus ride or grueling band practice in the South Beach heat on the itinerary, I packed my flip flops and bikini and headed south for a weekend of relaxing.

My view from under the umbrella...when I wasn't snoozing!

The back of the beautiful Delano Hotel.

Pina Colada time!

Even the palm trees have an artistic flair in the Art Deco district.

A cute front porch by The Front Porch restaurant on Ocean Drive.

NYC blows Chicago away

I always thought I should visit Chicago just to check it out before I made the plunge and moved to New York. More than a few people had told me they like Chicago more than New York, so I did have a nagging thought of what if I, too, would like Chicago more? Maybe a whole new world awaited discovery in Chicago, and I just didn't know it because I had never visited.

Thus, a trip to Chicago was planned for June 2007 with Katherine, Ansley and Jackie, and I could finally see for myself what the fuss was about Chicago and be able to make a clear decision of which city girl I was. No sooner were the plane tickets bought than I got the opportunity to move to New York, and my research trip blew out the window.

As luck - or fate - would have it, my first friend upon moving to New York was Lauren, a girl from Chicago. Both new to the city, and both being the same age, having the same education and work background, sharing the same goofy personality and insatiable hollow legs, we became fast friends. Identifying so much with a girl born and raised in Chicago made me really think, "hmm, I just might be a Chicago girl after all!"

So it was Lauren's April wedding that finally presented the perfect opportunity for me to visit the Windy City. Ansley was the only taker on my offer to the original travel group for a re-do of our trip that never happened last summer. The two of us met up in Chicago, and we spent the Friday before the wedding really doing Chicago right: we had deep dish pizza, we walked Magnificent Mile, we visited Navy Pier and Millennium Park, we ate Chicago-style hot dogs, we visited Wrigley Field and did a drive-by of Soldier "da Bears" Field - heck, we even took a double decker bus tour of the city!

I agreed with the Chicagoans, "Yes, this city sure is clean" and "uh-huh, it is pretty", but all I could think was, "where are all the people?" and "where is the energy, the one-of-a-kind feeling of 'I'm somewhere special'?" Needless to say, while I appreciated Chicago, I felt no connection to it, no "love at first visit" like I had during my first visit to New York.

So, I'm sorry Windy City, but New York blows you away.

Navy Pier - just come to New York and visit South Street Seaport instead.

And who can deal with the wind?! It about knocked us over, and don't even get me started on what it did to my hair!

Oprah Schmoprah - unless you're in the audience for the Favorite Things show, what's the biggie?

I don't like baseball anyway.

A highlight of Chicago - the Redhead Piano Bar!

Surprisingly, I'm a fan of Chicago-style hotdogs, but if you're comparing, I could just as happily get fat eating New York-style pizza.

The best part about Chicago? It's where Lauren and Jake are from...but New York even has them now, too!

"I Am"sterdam

While the main star of this trip to Amsterdam was the tulips, I did again enjoy the uniqueness of the centuries old city and the beauty of the quaint countryside. I can't help but be enchanted by the slanted buildings, the curved bridges over still canals, the ring of bicycles whizzing by...something about the foreign air feels more authentic, and it's nice to breathe it in.

House boats and trees line most every canal.

I think the "I am"sterdam campaign is so clever! In Museumplien behind the Riksmuseum.

And even more clever..."r" for Rebecca and "d" for Damion!

The towers of the Westerkerk - or the West Church - so beautiful on a spring day. Even more beautiful are the sounds of the church bells ringing into the sky.

What a wonderful place to eat outside! Restaurant In de Waag, the old weigh station turned fantastic restaurant.

Castle-seeing in Dieren: in front of Kasteel Biljoen, complete with a moat and "princess" turrets!


Relaxing canal-side in Amsterdam.

Enjoying a dutch house party - they have 'em just like we Americans do!

Het mooiste lentepark ter wereld!

My love of tulips didn't necessarily begin while I was a student at the University of Alabama, but it definitely blossomed. Every April I was convinced Heaven must be right there in Tuscaloosa with all the cheerful, vibrant color smiling at me from the tulip beds popping up all around campus - the Quad, the lawn of the President's Mansion, the beds in front of Rose Administration, the planters around the dorms and classroom buildings.

But I think my tulip love began a bit earlier than college years, with my fascination for a song I learned in elementary school. I can't recite all the words now, (Elizabeth - help me remember!) but I do remember the hand motions and the tune:

"Look, there, in the gar-den bed,
Some-thing beau-ti-ful is grow-ing,
la-la-la-la-la-la-la,
TULIPS open to the sun!"

Sometime along the way I decided someday I just had to see fields of tulips blooming in their native Holland - windmills twirling in the distance optional. So you can imagine my thrill when my plane landed in Holland today, and I stepped into a whole world of tulips! Even the airport restrooms were in the spirit - larger than life 3-D tulips hung from the walls!

Damion met me the airport, and we headed directly to the Keukenhof Festival, the national tulip festival, known as het mooiste lentepark ter wereld or the most beautiful spring garden in the world!

The colors, variety and quality of the tulips and flower beds at the festival were more beautiful than I could have dreamed, and I often ran my finger along a silky blossom to feel its beauty and make sure it was real.


My dream came true with tulips and a windmill!

From the deck of the windmill - the grounds of Keukenhof extend far beyond what's visible in the picture!

Couldn't resist the clog!

One of the hundreds of pictures I took of the tulips! And not one picture looks alike! I love them all, but I especially love this one - "Three Sisters" as I call it.

These tulips are called "Manhattan" - how appropriate! It became a game of looking at the names and finding ones with special meaning to us.

Another favorite picture - these tulips are called "Inspiration".

The white of the tree was so pretty against the blue of the sky, and the green of the grass was so pretty against the white of the tree...and this picture is one of the funnier memories from our day at Keukenhof.

I love love love the long rows!

Hahaha! It's harder than it looks to walk over the top!

Oh my goodness! Doesn't it just take your breath away?! I wish I'd gotten more of the white tree blossoms in the picture, but you can see the "powdered sugar" on the ground as evidence of what's above!

Amazing that God can make so much beauty for us to enjoy!

You've got a friend in Pennsylvania

My grandparents moved from Pennsylvania to Alabama around 1955, leaving behind a whole slew of Mummerts and Wileys in the north. My parents drove us from Muscle Shoals to Pennsylvania one time - one time - when my sisters and I were really little. It felt like we were in the van forever, although I think it was just one full day. The main things I remember about the drive were the little pallet we had in the back to take naps on, the workbooks and games Mama had gotten to entertain us, and stopping alongside the road to use the bathroom - and I mean using the side of the road as a bathroom. As far as memories from the trip - everything is a little hazy, but I do remember going to Gettysburg, touring the Hershey Chocolate Factory, "shopping" in Aunt Jean's basement, walking all over Washington D.C, driving around Dillsburg where Daddy grew up, and taking a very bubbly bubble bath with my sisters!!

The last of the four Wiley sisters, my Grandma Mummert's sister Marzella, celebrated her 65th wedding anniversary this month. Her sons planned a surprise celebration to honor Marzella and her husband Harold, so my parents, my Granddaddy Mummert and Jean and my aunt Sheree all flew up to Pennsylvania from Alabama to celebrate. I took the train over and had a wonderful time seeing my family, and also seeing the places that bored me so as a child, now seeing them as a window into where I came from.


Doesn't Daddy look cute in this picture?!


Weekend shoulder friends - Mama befriended Barb's "Tiki", and I found a friend for Daddy at Hershey Chocolate Factory.


Daddy, Sheree and Granddaddy standing in front of the house they lived in on Welty Avenue.

The old hotel on South Baltimore in Dillsburg where they worked and lived for a little while - now apartments.

Wish I'd gotten more of the red door in the picture - so pretty.

I'm named for my great-grandmother Abba Rebecca Wiley.

Daddy standing in front of what used to be the barn on the old Wiley Farm (my grandmother's family farm). He's pointing out an area in the field that he and friends once set on fire with fireworks!

I hope it's not another 22 years before we all go back!