(Too many kilometers to count)

Lamentations 1
v.7a …Jerusalem remembers all the treasures that were hers in days of old….

And I did too. We were away from home for almost two months, something we’d never done before. It was hard leaving Chris and Krystle and screamy little Calvin in Spain. It was uncertain how we would get home and how much trouble that would be. It’s always a little hard getting back into the routine of regular life, but that is where we have treasures in the midst of the mundane that we might forget to appreciate. We missed our family, our friends, our church, our garden and home, our projects and regular responsibilities. And our sweet little cat–would he even remember us? Then there were the treasures of the Camino. It wasn’t a “fun” trip but it was valuable. The Camino was interesting, it was challenging, it was invigorating, it was instructive, parts of it were quite satisfying, but it wasn’t “fun” in the “let’s-take-a-vacation” manner. It was full of treasures. I see them when we talk about our adventure, when I look at our pictures, when I think of the people we met and the beauty we saw. I think treasures will become clearer as we process the whole pilgrimage. Thank you, Lord, for all the treasures you give us in this life. Help us to value them and use them well, for your glory.

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We packed up one more time, hiked to the bus station, rode to the airport and got our flight to the south of Spain. We had a relaxing week hanging out with Chris, Krystle and baby Calvin, although Cal did his best to keep things hopping and does a fine job of it. He certainly can scream–and his parents say he’s calming down. But Calvin is adorable and gives hints of smiles. At six weeks he was over thirteen pounds and at the 99th+ percentile for height; now at two months he is almost sixteen pounds and 25.5 inches. Chris and Krystle delight in their little son even though they are seriously sleep deprived. Krystle cares attentively for Calvin and made sure we did likewise. Chris shares child care when he’s home and writes papers in stolen minutes for his two graduate courses. They’ll figure things out and get into a routine soon. Calvin will stop screaming. Chris will finish his degree. Krystle will realize Calvin is sturdier than she thinks. They’re probably both better parents already than I ever was.

While we were there I cooked dinners and Maurice did some home maintenance. Peach the cat, who manages to fit her fat self on Chris’ lap even when he’s holding Calvin, went out of her way to avoid us. One day Maurice and I walked into town to shop at the Osborne sherry bodega. It was about four miles each way. Piece of cake. Did I mention we walked five hundred miles across Spain?

El Puerto de Santa Maria

After Chris’ Space-A advice (a flight right in front of you with seats is better than two with a preferable destination that might be released later) we showed up for the flight to Pope Field in North Carolina and made it onto the plane. There were about 40 airborne soldiers and a dozen-plus retirees on the pull-down seats along the sides of a C-17.

The center was full of black plastic bins stacked on pallets plus some dune buggy-like vehicles, all (according to the fine print I read on some tags) from Niger.

Once we were at cruising altitude, soldiers hung hammocks, spread sleeping mats on the floor or climbed to the top of the cargo pallets, settling themselves to fly in comfort. After about three hours a military “flight attendant” told everyone to get back to their seats and put their seatbelts on. I assumed we were going to hit turbulence, but we didn’t. After a while the staff sergeant announced there was a possible problem of the rear cargo bay door not being completely closed; it could just be a switch malfunction, which is what the crew thought, but protocol required them to land at the nearest facility and they were awaiting further instructions–Bangor, McGuire or back to Rota. We had a lengthy wait in which no one was allowed to get up even to go to the bathroom (could have been a real problem). Finally we heard an announcement that…garbledy garbledy…we were flying to Pope but as a precaution we had to stay belted in except to use the facility. Hallelujah! The seats on the C-17 weren’t as bad as I had expected. We had plenty of snacks and ate our Subway sub for supper. The temperature fluctuated between too warm and too cool but it was bearable. The real irritant was air blowing on me from large vents that could not be redirected. At the beginning of the flight it was so strong I had to leave my hat on to keep the hair out of my face, but later, with my socks pulled up and snuggled into my buff and purple fleece a la Camino mornings, it was an ambience I could live with.

We dropped in on Rose in Fayetteville–really dropped in, as in, “Hi, Rose, we’re here, it’s dark and we don’t have a plan”–but her surprise and trouble navigating to the passenger terminal did not diminish her gracious welcome. We crashed on her living room sofa bed. In the morning Rose fixed us a hot breakfast then, at 7:15, telling us to drop in again any time, she let us off at the Enterprise car rental on her way to work. We were home by three but went right out again to get the mail; Sheila had left a note saying she had run into the mailman and, with our mail unclaimed for well over a month, they were ready to start an investigation.