We're down to our second-to-last stop on our family's Great American Adventure: Texas (the Dallas - Fort Worth area, to be specific). In just six days, we will be flying back to Amsterdam... but for now, we're enjoying some time with my brother and his family in what I believe just may be the hottest place that I've ever experienced in my whole entire life.

For those of you who are not familiar with Texan geography, we are roughly in the middle part of the continent that is Texas. And in this landlocked region -- separated by miles and miles from ocean, sea, or lake -- which just so happens to be at the same latitude as the Sahara Desert, let me tell you: the summer sun knows how to do its work.

When our plane landed at the airport yesterday, in the middle of the night (around 1:00 AM), the temperature was 91 degrees Farenheit (33 degrees Celsius). When the sun was beating down on us as we hiked through an area nature preserve in the middle part of the day, God only knows how hot it was. Let's just say it was very, very hot. Even when the breeze picked up a bit, it did not feel cool and refreshing (as I would typically expect a breeze on a hot day to feel). It felt like someone had pointed a gigantic hair-dryer at me, blazing focused heat in my direction. It was very hot. Not entirely miserable (since we basically knew what we were getting ourselves into by traveling to north-central Texas in late July) -- just impressive.

With a bit of bottled water and an air-conditioned vehicle and a pass to the local swimming pool, the heat can be beat. But I must tell you: I have a new respect for the strength and resiliency of Texans.

I thought of an alternative title for this post -- Why America Is Still So Far from Being Independent from Foreign Oil and/or Why It's So Easy to Become Overweight and/or the Reasons Why the Credit Crisis Persists -- but I figured that might be a bit too wordy... even for me. :-)

Seriously, though, today I had an experience that helped me to understand some of the ways that the proverbial deck is stacked against Americans who want to change personal habits that lead to the much-discussed problems of an "oil-hungry society" and "spiraling circles of debt."  And of course, like any good American parable, it happened in (and around) the local shopping mall.

Our family went to Sears this morning to have some professional portraits taken of Cor (the "Cortraits" from yesterday were the product of our own adventures in portraiture photography -- but we also wanted to have some slick and shiny Sears shots of Cor close to his first birthday, like we've also had taken of the other two kids close to their first birthdays).  And after a good photo session, we checked in our wallets to find that we had no cash with which to pay for things.  Of course, they would have taken credit cards -- but since we have to pay off our credit cards in American dollars, even though our monthly income is in euros deposited to our Dutch bank account, it made more sense for us to withdraw some cash from an ATM (geldautomaat) using our European bank card.

So Elliot, Olivia, and I set off to find the mall's ATM.

We checked in the center atrium of the mall, where the three branches of the facility come together, but there was no ATM there.  We checked by three of the main entrances to the mall, but there were no ATMs there.  We checked by the food court, but there was no ATM there.  In the end, we went up to the mall's information center and asked the woman who was working behind the counter where we might be able to find the mall's ATM... Turns out there is no ATM in the mall.  Seriously?  A mall.  A center of commerce.  A love-fest of American capitalism.  And no cash to be found anywhere on-site?  Seems quite silly to me.  I'm guessing the mall must have signed some kind of exclusivity clause with a credit card company or a nearby bank -- but whatever the reason, I was going to have to go outside the mall, across the vast parking lots, across the busy traffic of Lexington-Springmill Avenue, to one of the "nearby" banks if I wanted to get any cash.

So I took Elliot and Olivia back to where Marci and Cor were waiting at the portrait studio, and I told Marci that I was going to get some cash from one of the banks across the road.  Except I couldn't bring the kids this time because I told Marci that I was determined not to use a car to drive 200 meters across the street to use a drive-up ATM and then drive 200 meters back across the street to park again in the mall's parking lot and walk back into the building.  There's just something about the principle of it all, you know?  I felt like walking to the ATM was something that I had to do...

So I marched out the door of the mall, across the parking lot, and up to the four-lane traffic of Lexington-Springmill Avenue.  And there I stopped and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  On the other side of the street, there was a bank beckoning to me, but I could not get there.  Because there is no stop-light at the main entrance to the mall (though let me say that as a motorist, I can understand why it is not desirable to think about installing another stoplight on Lexington-Springmill!).  And of course no crosswalk.  Eventually, I waited long enough for a break in the traffic that was significant enough for me to sprint across the road to the grassy bank of the far side of the street and scramble up the ornamental lawn to the parking lot of the bank.

Yet even once I got to the bank, I found that I remained at a disadvantage.  A quick survey of the bank's interior showed me that there was not a walk-up ATM at this particular establishment.  So instead, I had to walk around the outside of the bank and wait in the line of cars to use the drive-up ATM.

I'm not joking!  This really happened.

So eventually, after much time, energy, and stubbornness, I was able to return to the Sears Portrait Studio with enough cash to pay for the portraits of our darling baby boy.  But the whole experience definitely highlighted some of the ways that credit cards are given such an allure of simplicity and certainty... some of the ways that American civil engineering has simply rubbed the pedestrian out of the equation... consequently adding to the ways that Americans are discouraged from natural flow-of-life exercise... I'm not trying to be cynical or sentimental.  But I am saying that a brief situation like this just goes to show that there are quite a considerable number of independent variables that are stacked against the average consumer who wants to fight against the urges to drive more, spend more, eat more, and so on.

I don't have any great ideas for how we could go about reversing these trends.  But I hope that somebody, somewhere, someday might.

Since we had so much participation in the last mission of the Grammar Police, I thought it might be fun to post another challenge.  Probably a bit more difficult this time around...

The photograph above shows a recent edition of the front page to my hometown newspaper:  The Shelby Daily Globe.  Aside from the amusing title and subject matter of the featured headline and article (which has its own humorous grammatical nuances), there is one particular grammatical error which can be found not once but twice within the context of the article itself.  It's a classical mistake in the grammar of Shelbians -- so classic, apparently, that even the editor of the local newspaper seems to think it's OK.

But you know better than that, don't you?

So tell me:  which grammatical error can be found in the photograph above?  (You may want to check the larger version of the photograph here, to get a better look).  Again, bonus points will be rewarded if the first person to correctly identify the mistake is a non-American.  Triple bonus points if it's a native Shelbian. :-)

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to speak at Riverview Church.  It's a big church which meets in very modern, newly constructed facilities in the suburbs of central Michigan.  I was invited to visit by an old friend, Noel Heikkinen, who I've gotten to know over the last ten years or so through GCM video projects and a series of short-term missions trips that he's led from Lansing to Amsterdam, and I really enjoyed the chance to catch up with Noel as well as a number of others who have passed through Amsterdam at some point or another.  The Riverview folks are a fun group of people who enjoy fine music and artistically-crafted beer (their church even has its own microbrewery ministry!)... and I'm very glad that I had the opportunity to be with them.

At the same time, the weekend at Riverview really got me to thinking about the wide variance in songs, systems, and styles throughout the various expressions of the Christian Church around the world.

This weekend, it was a church of thousands meeting for worship in a black and gray concert hall and hanging around for fellowship over beer and brats in the backyard or at the venerable Leo's Lodge.  But the weekend before that, it was a church of several hundred meeting for worship in a well-lit, stained-glass-windowed, wood-paneled church sanctuary and enjoying fellowship over dinner in various people's homes throughout the Mansfield (Ohio) area.  And the weekend before that, our family joined in worship with a church of a few dozen people gathering in a beautiful old white-steepled country church amongst the corn fields around Bucyrus (Ohio)...

This summer, I've worshipped with Baptists, Presbyterians, CMAers, Pietists, and "non-denominationalists" (to name a few).  We've sung hymns accompanied by organ, we've clapped along with pre-recorded contemporary worship music played on a beefed-up home stereo system, and we've rocked out to a rock band belting out its own musical compositions.  Some of the pastors we've met have worn ecclesiastical robes; others have worn nose-rings.  To say that we've experienced a wide spectrum of ecclesiology would be an understatement.

And yet, all along the way, I've been impressed and impacted by the personal devotion and sincerity of the individual Christians and individual congregations I've encountered.  Wherever we've been -- be it Florida or Minnesota, Virginia or South Dakota -- we've met people who passionately love Jesus, and who are eager to share in and support the work that God is doing world-wide.  The degree of variance throughout the international Christian community is impressive -- and while I'm not one to stump for the ecumenical movement or some kind of unitarian universalist perspective, there is something to be said for appreciating the collage of tones and textures in the Church today.  I can't deny that it's bothersome sometimes to see the way that Christians can nit-pick and back-bite each other... But it's beautiful to see the ways that we share in a common calling and mission.

Truly, I'm amazed by the way that the international Body of Christ is knit together.

Welcome to Detroit:  a city with the reputation of being the Capital of the American Rust Belt (although Cleveland and Pittsburgh might also compete for this title).  The reputation is partly deserved, as there are a slew of old, abandoned industrial ruins scattered throughout the downtown area (which I actually found rather charming and beautiful)... but such a summary of Detroit, I've found, is actually quite incomplete.

My new friends Robb and Sarah took it upon themselves to serve as evangelists, preaching the Gospel of Detroit.

I was introduced to them through a mutual friend, and they were so kind as to open up their home for an itinerant missionary-preacher (that would be me) for a night as I was passing through the Detroit area.  But more than simply giving me a crash-pad, Robb and Sarah took me out on the town and showed me the beauties of their adpoted hometown (they themselves are transplants to the city from the western part of Michigan).  We drove all around the downtown area, and then we had dinner at a great barbecue restaurant called Slow's, in Corktown.

Following dinner, we drove through Mexicantown and Greektown, and we ended up in downtown Royal Oak, enjoying some pastries from a shop called Astoria.  I was, in fact, very pleasantly surprised by the vitality of Detroit, the edgy freshness of the city.  And of course, it was especially neat to see the town with hosts as gracious and as gregarious as Robb and Sarah.

Even so, my favorite parts of the city (which comprised the subject matter of my favorite photographs that I took throughout the city) were the the great urban ruins.  The old Tiger Stadium, mid-way through the demolition process... The old pawn-shop / "Loan Center" with its peeling paint obscuring block letter announcements of GOLD CASH GOLD... And especially the old train station which is partially visible in the background of the bottom-most photo.

Detroit is indeed an interesting and beautiful city.  You should visit sometime, if you ever get the chance.

I'm on the road again.  This time without my family (12 fund-raising appointments in 7 cities spread across 2 states over the course of 4 days made it impractical to bring along the whole gang).  But fortunately, I'm not traveling alone.

Stickman is traveling with me.

Stickman is a creation of my six-year-old boy, Elliot.  Stickman is not a big guy, and he certainly isn't much for conversation, but it's kind of fun to have him along for the ride.  Elliot made him for me on the morning of my departure (yesterday) -- wanting to give me a special present that I could take with me -- and indeed, he's been a fun little reminder of my family while I travel.

This time around, I'm traveling through Northwest Ohio and the southeastern quadrant of Michigan.  I'm getting to meet a lot of new people along the way (as well as a few existing supporters of our ministry in Amsterdam), and I'm hoping and praying that God will really use this trip to close the gap in our ministry funding.  We're getting closer and closer, and it's neat to see how much God has provided so far.  We started off the summer with needing to raise approximately $2000 in monthly support plus about $20,000 in special gifts.  And now, we're down to needing just $800 per month and $8000 in special gifts... Even though these amounts sound fairly significant (and do, in fact, represent quite a bit of money left to be raised), I somehow feel like we're very much within finishing distance.

Stickman and I are on a mission.

I must say, though:  It's also nice to be able to see some old friends along the way.  Last night, I got to stay with my old friends Matt and Gretchen in Bowling Green.  I got to know Matt in my first year of working in full-time campus ministry, when he was a freshman (first-year student) living in BGSU's Kohl Hall; and now, he's serving as one of the campus directors for the ministry -- helping to lead and stabilize h2o in Bowling Green following the commissioning of a team to plant a new church at Kent State University.  I'm so proud of our friends in Bowling Green...

Stickman and I also got to have breakfast this morning at Kermit's Family Diner -- an old-school local eatery in downtown Bowling Green.  I never ate there much as a student, but when I go back to places like Kermit's now, I have new eyes to appreciate the classic Americana of the old vinyl booths with artificial carnations in the vases, wood paneling on the walls, a whiteboard with the daily specials hanging over the window to the kitchen, and a room full of "townies" (Bowling Green residents who are not associated with the University).

It's seriously like something out of the movies...

So anyway, that's where we're at these days.  Me and Stickman.  Stickman and me.  Please pray for us, if you get the chance.

Can anyone point out the grammatical error in the photo below?

Bonus points will be awarded if the first person to correctly identify the problem is a native Dutch (or non-English) speaker.

This weekend, the city of Shelby (my hometown) held its annual Bicycle Days celebration.

For whatever reason, in the last decade or so, it's become popular for small towns in this part of the country (and quite possibly in other parts of the United States as well) to organize their own unique festival.  Some, of course, have been doing these events for years -- but there are a surprising number of towns which have developed something just within the last several years, as a way of drumming up local pride and enthusiasm.  Sure, it's a little bit campy.  But I think it's kind of fun and charming, too.  Bowling Green has its Black Swamp Arts Festival.  Bucyrus has its Bratwurst Festival (where Marci and I enjoyed our first date!).  Fredericktown has the annual Tomato Show (which I understand has very little to do with tomatoes).  Even tiny Tiro hosts the Tiro Tavern Testicle Festival (Motto:  "You'll have a ball!" -- and no, I'm not making this up).  And Shelby, of course, has its Bicycle Days.  It's come to be celebrated on the weekend following the 4th of July, and the community has chosen this theme for its local event because of the Shelby Bicycle Company -- which everyone in Shelby says how it used to be a "very famous" bicycle company, but which everyone who's not from Shelby notes with a mildly apathetic, "Hmm, OK..." obviously never having heard of the Shelby Bicycle Company (and unfortunately, apparently even Wikipedia has no knowledge of this "very famous" bicycle company!).

But all of this is beside the point.   The point is that it's a fun, unique little festival that takes place in my hometown.  And I love the way that these local festivals capture the values and vibe of a community in snapshot images.

Of course, the parade featured bicycles -- but also a procession of vintage John Deere tractors...

...And a float featuring our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ (I especially enjoy the clothing -- and particularly the footwear -- of Jesus's helpers!)...

Ah... Shelby.  My hometown.  We had a good time at the Shelby Bicycle Days.

I thought some people might be interested to hear the report from an old friend who just recently returned to America after his first visit to Amsterdam in four-and-a-half years.  Brian Newman and his family were a part of the original team that helped to start Zolder50 in Amsterdam, and they lived in the city for almost a year while Brian tried to get his graphic design company off the ground and spent the rest of his time volunteering with our ministry.  Unfortunately, they weren't able to stick around.  But we've stayed in touch through the years, and I was intrigued to hear about his observations and experiences from his recent visit to attend the wedding of a couple of our church members.

Keep in mind:  this entire e-mail came out of the my inquiring, "How's it going?  Did you have fun at the wedding?" on the front end of our most recent prayer letter:

Thanks for the update. I had a wonderful time back in the Netherlands. I was able to rekindle my love afair with the city of Amsterdam and the "low lands in general. I was not sure what to expect before arriving, I had no vision for the trip, there was no grand motive for being there, there was no calling from God to "go" and most of the people I know are not even there right now. This was simply a "holiday" to attend the wedding of my friend...

Even as we flew in to land I was strangely oblivious to the fact that I was returning to Amsterdam after 4.5 years away, when the pilot anounced 58 degrees and light rain, I actually wondered if this would be fun at all... I walked through Schipol with that ease of familiarity yet felt strangely out of place, watched people for a while as I got my land legs back, listened to the "beautiful" languages being spoken all around me, purchased my ticket to Amsterdam Central and got on the train.

I listened to 2 Americans flip through their travel books and wonder how and what to see in Amsterdam for their 2 day stay... As we arrived, I simply asked them if they were comfortable on bikes because that is the only way to see Amsterdam... funny.

On my walk to the Watkins house it all started to sink in, the constant construction, the street performers, the people, the tourists, the trams, bikes, cars, people, architecture, sounds, clouds, brick streets, water, smells, gulls, flowers, lights... the vibe of Amsterdam is unstopable and overwhelming. Then it all came back, why I love that place, why God called all of us there, why it seemed like I never left, It was all the same and yet different.

Many places in the world have changed me and there are many place I would love to visit again and even live. But nothing like Amsterdam, there things are so hard and so easy at the same time, so ugly and harsh and yet so beautiful, so spiritually dark and yet so bright, so much dispare and yet so much hope, so many culture clashes and yet so much unity...

For the first 2 days I simply rode Lindy's bike around the city, I never stopped any where, just rode for hours and let it all sink in. Then I felt normal again.

The wedding events were, as you would expect from Steef and Theo, the height of classy. The first time I started crying was watching Theo and Wilmy in the "court house" and wondering how God got them tangled up with a rag tag group like us, another mystery we will only know once we get to heaven. Then there was the church service to see many of the "A-team" originals and watch as the new couple was prayed over by 3 generations of christians in a "post Christian" country. The tears came again while singing Blessed be Your Name, the last time I remember singing that song in Amsterdam was the week Steve left and Chris was leading worship. To look over a church full of people and see 3 generations touched by what God is doing there was sureal and quite overwhelming. To look at all the Americans and their new families and children, to see all the unfamiliar faces, to see a new christian family started was something I will never forget.

Then it started all over on Sunday. I walked into the H88 in the afternoon while the band rehearsed because I needed to see it without having to interact with people. I wanted to experience it alone first. God has done amazing things and blessed you with another amazing location and setting. You all have done a great job transforming it. Sitting in on a Sunday service at Zolder50 was another experience I will never forget. Honestly I don't remember much of what Todd said, but that is normal for my church times. I was too busy watching all that God was doing in that room full of people. Of 100 people I knew only 3 outside of the Americans. God is flooding your doors with people who see something they want and need, He is changing lives daily, He is also sending people away from that place changed forever. He has truly brought together a place where lives are transformed and the gospel is being sent to all parts of the globe.

The final straw was durring the last worship song as the Watkins and Doubois children spontaneously started dancing front and center, Bret and Jayla were both crying and I watched a whole new generation of lives effected by God in that place.

I also got to spend time with some of my best friends in the entire world, eat lunch in a private garden in the city center, try again at my broken Dutch, linger in a couple of grand cafe's, eat chocolate, cheese and good bread, barbque in Theo's garden, get thoroughly soaked to the bone on the bike, visit Ikea, have lunch at "the office" with some of my old office mates, see the Krakeling in all it's "squatted" glory, watch all the diverse people on the Dam Square, see young college kids I knew all grown up with families of their own, have tea once again in our first apartment, enjoy standing in line for 45 minutes at the bank and still not get things worked out, buy flowers for ridiculously little money, use bathrooms so small that I can touch all 4 walls, the ceiling, and the sink all at the same time... while using the toilet, and so much more.

All in all it was a trip I will never forget. I had a wonderful time and it was great to see all my old friends and the growing families. God confirmed that I do not glamorize Amsterdam as this city that is perfect and all things are great there, and yet he also confirmed my love of the city with all it's good and bad. He confirmed that He is doing great things through His church in the city and that the Zolder50 is alive and well.

Not bad for 1 week,

Brian

P.S. This started as a quick note about my time, but has really turned into a brain dump review of my trip so go ahead and forward this to anyone you think may be interested in reading it.

As you can see from the post-script, he pretty much gave me the green light to share his thoughts with others... though I hope that the blog post was not taking things a step too far :-)

I just think it's interesting to hear his thoughts and perspectives and to be reminded of everything that God has done through the years.  Also, some of his incidental descriptions of the toilets and the city's smells really ring true and make me think of my adopted hometown.

I miss the Tour de France.

I know that if I was a true die-hard cycling fan, I would be finding a way to tune in no matter what the obstacles, no matter who the teams or the cyclists might be, no matter what time of day I'd have to wake up in order to follow the coverage.  But I'm going to level with you here:  I am not a true die-hard cycling fan.  I freely confess that I started to follow the sport during the Lance Armstrong bandwagon glory years, and I followed it with a fair degree of involvement only because the European media made it relatively easy for me to do so.  I don't watch any other cycling events during the rest of the year.  I don't know much about any of the teams or the riders this year.  And up to this point, I have not watched a single minute of this year's coverage, even though the Tour completed its fourth stage today.

And yet, I still miss the Tour de France.

I miss the Tour de France because it's become so much more than a sport to be followed for me.  It's become a way of life.  It's developed an association of happiness, relaxation, and a little bit of sport thrown in to keep things interesting.  For me, the Tour de France has become a sign of the summer.  Like picnics in the park.  Like beach balls.  Like corn on the cob.  Like a glass of rosé with friends.  Like evening fireflies.  It's restful and easy-going.  It's not entirely dissimilar to American audiences watching golf on a Sunday afternoon.  Or watching a game of baseball -- even better, listening to a radio broadcast of baseball on a cool evening, sipping lemonade while doing a crossword puzzle or just sitting back on a porch swing.  This is probably as close as I can get to capturing my Amsterdam experience of the Tour de France in parallel terms that an American could understand...

But it's still not exactly the same as the Tour de France.

There is simply nothing better than turning on the television to watch the middle hours of the Tour de France in the quiet and stillness of a summer afternoon (while the children are napping, of course).  The hum of our living room fan is matched by the gentle droning of helicopter-borne television crews soaring above the peloton, offering sweeping views of the French countryside.  The cuts -- from aerial shots to roadside coverage shot by a duet of Frenchmen riding on a scooter in the midst of the cyclists -- are not hurried, not designed to inject drama or adrenaline.  Almost all of the camera work is moving, on the go, at cycle-speed -- not shot from stationary roadside cameras trying to capture a sense of the speed and intensity of the Tour (as American television coverage would almost certainly try to do).  And the announcers speak in hushed, rested tones, all commas and periods and ellipses... Very few dashes or exclamation points.  They speak a relaxed sort of Dutch, which allows me to tune in and out at will (I've discovered that this is an especially helpful aspect of watching television in one's second language), sometimes offering my full attention to the television screen, but more often tending to household chores or sitting at my desk working.  You can almost see that the commentators are providing the coverage while sitting in a shady grove of trees and sipping glasses of wine (which is in fact, as you can see at the beginning and end of the broadcast, precisely what they are doing!).  Of course, at the end of the afternoon, just before dinnertime, things get a little more exciting as you watch to see who will win the day's stage.  But even then, the feeling one comes away with is less like, "Man!  That was awesome!" -- and more like, "Ah... That was nice..."

I'm not going to try and manufacture or mimic this atmosphere in the United States.  I've learned time and time again, in various situations, that this cannot be done (on either side of the ocean).  But I can look forward to enjoying the Tour de France from Amsterdam again next summer.  And I can think upon this year's Tour with a sigh and a happy sense of wistfulness and longing.

I had the chance to attend my 13-year high school reunion this evening.  Typically, these things are organized to occur in 5-year intervals (i.e. the 5-year reunion, the 10-year reunion, the 25-year reunion, etc.)... But whoever was supposed to organize the reunions (I honestly don't know who this was supposed to be -- which may be precisely why we ran into problems) missed the first couple of opportunities, so a couple of girls from the class just recently decided to take matters into their own hands and pull together a make-shift reunion this summer.

And it just so happens that I'm in Ohio this summer.  So it just so happens that I got to go to my 13-year high school reunion.

It was, of course, a bizarre experience.  There were some fun conversations, and it was neat to see the things that my old classmates have been up to.  "So what do you you for a living now?" ... "Where do you live?" ... "How did you end up there?" ... "Do you have a family?  How many kids?"  I'm sure you can imagine.  That kind of thing...

Marci and I stayed a decent length of time, but then we left when we sensed that the tide had shifted as others from the class had started drifting away and those who remained had a certain amount of alcohol in their systems.  Walking back to my parents' house, just a few blocks away from the restaurant where the reunion was hosted, I felt glad that I had gotten to be a part of my 13-year high school reunion.  But I also had a nagging sense of some sort of dissatisfaction.  Some kind of inexplicable malaise.  And it was only after a few minutes of reflecting on the evening's experience that I was able to figure it out.

I was disappointed to see that so little had changed.

This is probably the response of everyone who ever attends a high school reunion.  I can sense how much I personally have changed -- at least from within -- but I can't see how that process has worked out with other individuals.  And all other things being equal, putting ourselves in a situation with such heavy overtones of our old high school days -- the old high school patterns of social engagement return.  The guy who was a jerk in high school is still a jerk today -- though a weathered, jaded, alcoholic jerk.  The people who were socially awkward and difficult to talk with back then are still socially awkward and difficult to talk with today.  And the popular girls still play the part, seeming to be offended when I couldn't immediately recall their names.  A couple of people offered pleasant surprises and refreshing changes from their former selves.  But the majority did not.  What's saddest to realize, though, is that the other people who left the reunion this evening may very well have thought the same things about me.

I don't really know what to think about everything from this evening.  But I can say that I have now attended my 13-year high school reunion.  And I've survived.

We're back in Ohio after our Great American Roadtrip.  The trip covered 10 days, over 3000 miles (almost 5000 kilometers), and 8 states.

Truly it was a great experience.  I fell in love again with my native land.  Sure, Midwest America can be queer and quirky in its own ways (South Dakota's Wall Drug and the "Iowa-80" World's Largest Truckstop are two more cases in point) -- but golly, can it be beautiful.  With our own eyes, we saw America the Beautiful:  its spacious skies, its amber waves of grain, its fruited plains (I would have included the "purple mountain majesties," but I don't really know if the Dakota Badlands and Black Hills would really qualify as such)... They are images that I will likely remember forever.  But even more than the scenery, I was charmed by the American people that we got to meet along the way.  Friends, family, and strangers... whomever.  The rest of the world may say what it likes about America's materialism and habits toward excess -- but I'll tell you:  I don't know of any people more generous or hospitible than Midwestern Americans.  We had a wonderful time.

Still, we're glad to be back.  Dragging ourselves up onto the front porch yesterday evening, the sensation was much like the feeling at the end of a day at the amusement park:  tired, hot, sticky, mildly nauseous, and whooped... But also very satisfied, exhilerated, and glad for the experience.

*** As you can see from the picture above, we picked up some souvenirs along the way in the form of state magnets... though, unfortunately, we were not able to pick up an Iowa magnet (at least not to the same scale as the rest of the magnets).  We had the opportunity at other points along the way (earlier in the trip) to get an Iowa magnet, but we had a self-imposed rule that we could not purchase the magnet until we had actually been to the state.  It's the little things like that which keep the road trip interesting (particularly with the kids).