Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Riding the Brown Line...
Friday, August 26, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
My first welcome back to the states was in Amsterdam, with the strange coincidence that I was flying through Schipol Airport at the same time as Doug & Phyllis Benson, my mom’s cousins and close family. They were returning to Jamestown, ND via Minneapolis from Olso, and me from Berlin to Chicago. I had a scant sixty minutes between flights, and they had about ninety. We thought perhaps we’d run into each other. On arrival in Amsterdam, I checked the monitors for my departure gate, and our flights were only three gates apart. So it was possible.
After speedwalking the airport halls, zipping through passport control (no questions, even though it would show that I’ve been in Europe for almost two years straight, minus seven days or so), I hurried to my gate, haggard a bit but hopeful that I might see them, watching in case they were walking too.
I neared their gate- passengers were lined up to enter the closed-off secured area. I scoured the line, and just before the gate, spotted Doug and Phyllis! We had less than five minutes, but it was still amazing to see them and take a picture- hard to believe that we managed to meet up. Somehow that made me feel like I really was going home, and I’m glad. Family is important.
Doug and Phyllis first came to visit us in Alexandria, Minnesota after my dad died. They came in a camper with their kids, and brought me along to Doug’s barbershop singing event. I still remember hearing Doug's group sing “Bridge over Troubled Water”… perhaps significant forever. And so, I go home.
(Doug and Phyllis and Sara's Amsterdam Airport Reunion)
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
This morning I awoke in mass confusion to my cell phone alarm at 7.30AM. "Time to wake up!" It speaks. Not quite springing out of bed but moving, I got myself dressed in my travel outfit and headed downstairs for coffee and breakfast.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Old cranberry colored theatre seats lining the wall match my dry red, which is making me dizzy at two in the afternoon. I finish a pen off. Satisfaction. The swinging door again. Paying at the counter, an old man in a vest, greenish khakis, and a plaid shirt, all hanging loosely off him, slides his wallet in his back pocket and shuffles to the bathroom.
No English. I’m alone in my thoughts, alone at my table, alone in my worry for the moth who is resting on the window sill barricaded by glass. I want to move her, but I am scared to touch her. She rests, waiting to garner the energy to bang the glass again.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The central train station is one of the most beautiful in Europe.