INDY MISHMASH

This Thursday-through-Sunday excursion I just took to Indianapolis was delightful and interesting in so many ways. Happiness was very much my constant companion during the four days. Having missed out on the trip to Seven Springs right after Christmas, I was definitely looking forward to this one.

The men's tournament games were good ones. The stamina these young men have to have to play day after day (if their teams win) is impressive, to say the least. It kept hitting home to me that these really ARE young men. They carry a large load on their shoulders when they play. An arena full of fans cheering or booing their every move has to be tough to take at times. Down one point, scant seconds left in the game, and a player shoots. Misses. Game over. Who usually gets the blame? The one who missed the shot. Sure, others eventually have to share in the blame or that team would not have needed to have that shot go in to win. You cannot help but feel sorry for the kid who took the errant shot, though. He will replay it in his mind over and over again. And he is what...18, 19, 20, or 21 years old? Yet, he feels he not only let down his teammates and coach, but he also let down his school. Heavy burden. One thing that infuriates me and has grown increasingly worse during the past decade is the outrageous booing of players and teams. Not classy, in my opinion. It sets a very poor example for children attending the games, and it is plain ol' rude.

To spice up the games a bit more, I bet on some of the games with one of the men accompanying us. We broke even. ::grin:: No big money bets, but money is money! I can see this is going to become a tradition. He and I started it when we vacationed in New York last year. A regular season game was being played, and I bet on Duke. He bet on Maryland. I lost. I had to pay him, and he has never let me forget it. Now, we are even. He is such a trip.

Hubby had reserved the three hotel rooms for all of us. One for the fellow who had his three sons with him, one for my betting buddy and a business friend of his, and one for hubby and me. It did not occur to the hubster when he made the reservations to request specific beds in each of the rooms. All three rooms had a king-sized bed. That posed a problem for the two guys sharing a room. I had absolutely no idea that two men would have EXTREME problems sharing a large bed. Oh, but they dooooo! No amount of persuasion would change their minds about it. The rooms did not contain any couches; they only had overstuffed chairs. Those two wanted a rollaway bed brought to their room. ::eyeroll:: Hubby said he would make the call to request one. All of us went on to the games. Had a blast. We stopped back at the hotel to kick back for a little before it was time for our 8:00 p.m. dinner reservations. No rollaway was in their room as of that point. During dinner, the two potential bedmates were in a sweat about the lack of a rollaway bed. Hubby informed them the hotel was out of spare beds (which was untrue, but it was way too fun to pimp these guys about their predicament). They looked to me to convince them my hubby was lying. Riiiight, like I was going to pass up the opportunity to give them a hard time. I said I heard hubby on the phone saying, "Oh, okay. No, I understand. We will figure out something else. No problem." What priceless faces they had after I said that. And having downed several bottles of Cabernet, the conversation was pretty loose. I grilled all of the guys about what the big deal was. Two women friends would share a bed if they had to. So why couldn't men? Uh, I know why now. And I laughed myself half sick. It was the friggin' funniest conversation I think I have ever had. When we returned to the hotel, I went into their room with them...and by the window was the rollaway bed. One of the guys actually hugged it. I was losing it! Men. ::shaking my head...and laughing hysterically::

There was something that occurred that I positively loved. We were in a cab. The driver was Somalian,and we chatted with him. He has been in the States for four years. What a joy he was! He was very pleasant and upbeat. We asked how he liked living here. He bubbled enthusiasm as he answered. He LOVES it here. He said this is so unlike Africa in many ways...all of them good. He appreciated that no matter where you went in the United States, English is spoken. In Africa, there is no one language spoken everywhere. He also said there was weather for everyone here. If you want cold months, you know where to live. If you want warm weather year 'round, you know where to go. If you want to experience four seasons, you have choices. In Africa, that is not so. He mentioned a few other pluses, then he finished with, "United States...land of opportunity." That really tickled me. And his enthusiasm rubbed off on us...just as I bet it does with others who are lucky enough to find themselves in his cab.

I brought along my camera to photograph the State House. I love its architecture. There was also a church I wanted to photograph that I saw the last time I was here. From our hotel room window, in the distance I spotted yet another church that captured my fancy. I have decided I might start a series of church paintings. I would like to paint each one using a different style or method. I think it could make an unusual collection for a wall somewhere in my home. And it could just grow and grow. I have always found myself admiring churches wherever we are. The Civil War monument and Union Station were also interesting structures.

I was very worried when we left on Thursday. Mom has not been faring very well recently. I was quite concerned about the breathlessness she is experiencing that has worsened since her pacemaker was implanted. The doctors are fiddling around with her medications, so it is highly possible that is responsible for the shortness of breath. But, it is also possible her valve leakage is causing it. Anyway, Wednesday nite I talked to her on the phone, and she was horribly breathless. (She is not a smoker, by the way, nor has she ever lived with a smoker.) I was so afraid to leave her that I asked her if she would like to come to Indy with us...that she would not even have to leave the hotel room if she did not wish. She declined my offer, and told me to stop fretting about her. Umm...not likely. I called her again on Thursday AFTER talking to each of my sisters to make sure they knew Mom was struggling with her breathing big time. All of them promised me they would call and visit her regularly while I was gone. I called her on Friday during one of the games, and she thought perhaps there was a bit of improvement. I was elated. Same news on Saturday! ::fingers crossed that it continues to improve:: That was good news number one for me.

Good news number two: I wanted to bring something of Daddy's along with me. (The reason why is personal, but it was highly appropriate for me to think of him.) I was not sure what to take. I finally settled on his wedding band. Before I proceed, I need to say that Mom wears his original wedding band on the middle finger of her right hand. When they were married, Daddy had just gotten out of the hospital. He had developed an abscess at the top of his neck after being hit there by a baseball, splitting open his head. His weight plummeted during the time he was recovering from that. He was 6'4" and weighed all of 160 lbs. His wedding band was sized to match his weight at that time. After a few years, the ring no longer fit him. He put it away, and had a new ring made that contained some diamonds that were left to him by his mother's twin sister. During his confinement in the nursing home, we felt it was wise for him not to wear that ring...our fear being that it would be stolen or somehow slide off due to his weight fluctuations. He went without a wedding band for five years. His birthday falls in December, and he was always very difficult to buy for. It was more difficult during the nursing home years. Well, in December of 2001 I had what I thought was a brilliant idea for a gift I could give him. I would buy him a new gold wedding band. Then, he could have one on his finger like he had for soooooo many years. I guessed at his ring size. His birthday arrived. He could not speak, but he was semi-alert. My sisters and mother were gathered around his bed when I gave him my gift. I had to open it for him. When I opened the ring box, his eyes grew so large and a smile broke out on his face. I asked Mom if she would please put it on his finger. She took it, held up his hand, and while slipping the ring onto his finger, she said, "With this ring I thee wed." God, I recall almost sobbing. We all almost sobbed...except for Mom and Dad. They just looked at each other in that way they always had. The look of pure love and devotion that is seemingly so rare to see anymore. He passed away one month and three days later. I got to have the ring. I put it on an old chain of mine and wore it to Indy. The first day we were there, I went to a jeweler and bought a beautiful gold chain for that ring. And I wore it each day of my trip. He was with me. And the good news is that I did not cry or feel sad. I liked having something visible of his with me. It was comforting. ::smile:: Maybe it is a step in the right direction to healing my heart.

The negatives of my trip? There were not any. None. Zero. Zip. It was a grand time in every way. And I think I deserved to have it be exactly as it was.

"Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind." ~Seneca