write up to now

So, a month and some change later, here is the end of this story... 
The Story of My Write, the 1000th post is Here...
Write On Through High School (Part Two) is Here...
Write On Through the Dry Spell (Part Three) is here...

May was so uber busy for me, much of it is a blur.  Not only did I finish up and send off about 9 families to Disney World and Universal Studios, but in the last week, I've helped 5 more families get out the door to the magic that awaits. Hence, not a single word on this blog since the end of April, which makes me sad because now May 2015 will have nothing in the "published" tab in the archives over there --->

And that's how life is, huh? 

So, at the end of the last blog published, I was finishing up the "Story of My Write", which is a history of my writing... not really for you, honestly, but for me, so when I'm 77, sitting in a wheelchair in the Sunny Meadows Nursing Home and can't remember when I last took a poopy--which will probably be while I'm thinking "when did I last take a poopy?"--Campbell, 41 years old by then, can come for his monthly visit and read to me my own life stories.  Then he can tell me my name and where I am, because I likely won't remember that either.

Let's finish this entire thing up by taking you back to spring 2005.  I had been married for just over a year, I had been involved with Valleydale Baptist Church for about 6 years, The Lovely Steph Leann and I had really become close to our new Sunday School Life Connection Life Group Sunday School class (the "NearlyWed/Newlywed Class") and our church was going to New York City for a week to do some mission work in Queens and Brooklyn.  I was all in, because having been to NYC a few years previous, I fell in love with the city and had a heart for it's people. 

In a "trip meeting", where everyone comes together for cheap pizza and Milo's sweet tea in a classroom after service to watch a video about what we'll be doing, they were looking for "online journaling people"... that is, people who will be willing to write up a daily summary to share with the group back home in Birmingham.  I raised my hand because no one else did, and my name was put down.   I was told to just write up a few paragraphs at the end of each day and email it to someone in the church, and they would post it on the church website.

Challenge accepted.

But also, I wanted more than just people in our church to know what was going on, so after Star Wars Celebration (mentioned in the previous post) and that slight experience in writing, I decided I would go to Blogger.com and set up an account... I did.  And when it came to a name, I thought "Well, this is only for my NYC trip, so... New York Dave?  Nah... um... Mission Trip... Nope... Broadway... I love Broadway stuff... how about...

BroadwayDave. That works."

Now, in hindsight, I would have come up with something that would make sense beyond just this trip, but I also remember not thinking much would come of this blog after the trip.  I'd write about the trip and be done with it.  Maybe save the posts into a word document onto a floppy disk for safe keeping (remember... this is 1995, and "flash drives" were not affordable and many computers didn't have USB ports anyway).

My first post was called "Less than 30 Days", and it was a quick little blurb on who was actually going on the trip, back when my audience barely eclipsed those people.  I then decided I would practice a little writing by doing another post, this time about my love of Kelly Clarkson and her new (then) song "Behind These Hazel Eyes"...

I followed it up with a few more, including the sadness of finishing a Harry Potter book, picking up "Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince at 1201a on release day, a take on MC Hammer and a few more random notes... then the trip began, and my first trip blog came out on July 27th, 2005, introducing everyone going on the trip--remember, I'm still writing on the premise that when this trip is over, so will my blogpage.

We were staying in Manhattan at a hostel, basically... each tiny room had a thin mattressed bunk bed, a window that barely opened, and down the hall a small bathroom with a shower--one that you had to essentially duck into, as there was a frame that held the shower door... a short frame.

And it was hot.  I mean, freakin' hot.  Like, walk outside and the cold shower you just had in the tiny community bathroom upstairs a little bit ago was now negated by the hot, humid temperature at 5am.   Ick.

The sole computer in the building was downstairs and cost $5 an hour, and was old... when you typed a sentence, the cursor wouldn't move.  Then about 20 seconds later, the cursor would fly across the screen leaving in it's wake all the letters you just typed, only missing some words, misspelling words, skipping letters, forgetting punctuation and more.  So a post that would normally take me 25 minutes took over an hour.  Still, I did it.  I posted the day's events every night.

I would also send it back to the church email address and they would post it as well... only on day three, I wrote this about my roommate Larry:

So, it was hot. It still is. Anyone who knows me knows I sweat when I think too much, so last night wasn't great... though with the fan, it wasn't that bad, honestly. Larry, sleeping in the bunk under me, had a bigger problem. Apparently his fitted sheet came off, and he stuck to the plastic mattress cover in his sleep, creating that "sscchhllllleeeepppp" sound when he moved.

Someone sent me an email a few days later (I could only check my email during this hot, late night computer time) asking for the blog address, as the church stopped posting what I had written.  I found out later they thought the idea of a "shirtless Larry" was inappropriate for publishing... to me, it was the best way to explain the heat.   Oh, there was also the story of the naked French guy...

Apparently, there is a naked french guy roaming the halls. He approached Paula in a towel, but Tim only saw him wearing the Star of David on a chain on his neck. I think his name is Jon.

That probably didn't help either.

By the 11th NYC trip blog, I had made the decision that I wanted to keep blogging, because I enjoyed it.   So I did just that.

I started writing about anything and everything... I posted recaps about American Idol episodes... I talked about my marriage and fun with The Lovely Steph Leann... reviewed movies... discussed Disney... talked about friends and family... delved into politics... pop culture and more pop culture... I even did a 100 Coolest Things of the Year for a few years running...

I go back and read some of the stuff I wrote--especially about politics--and will sometimes even wince, thinking "I could have worded that better... eh, I probably shouldn't have said that at all... yikes, that was a d-bag thing to write..."

Then again, I read some of the early posts and think, "Wow... that was really funny... could I write that kind of funny stuff again?"

Evolution of a writer, I guess you would say.  Somewhere along the way I realized that yes, people do actually read what I write, especially since I had random people at church, at work and in life just tell me, "Hey, I enjoyed your blog the other day..."  People that make you say, "You read that?"

So at the end of June, Clouds is My Coffee celebrates 10 years of existence. Not nearly as old as some online journals and blogs... but way, way older than most.

And here I am, at 250,000+ page views over the lifetime of the blog... not bad, I think.  I'd probably say 100K of them came in the last two years, so I'm on my way to a million hits.  Think about that... 1,000,000 individual page views.  Holy crap. 

I can't promise you I'll blog every week, but I will try.  I have no plans to change the content... it will still be about movies, music, pop culture, life, family, Disney, random Amy Adams (whom I'm in love with) references, random Julie Wise references (because I think its funny at this point), random Troy and Samson stories, maybe the final season of American Idol, and maybe just a little bit of politics...

Obama is a tool, incompetent, and the worst president this country has ever known.

Well, maybe not too much politics, at least until after the 2016 election.

So, thanks for reading.  Thanks for visiting the page.  Don't be afraid to check out some of the blog links I have over there ---> and give them a spin as well. 

And that... is the story of my write.

a sacred delight (a bronx tale)

When I was at the end of my college experience, in the spring of 1998, I took my first mission trip to New York City.  I had done missions work here and there, usually a week at a time, before, but this was NYC... I'd never been, and I couldn't turn down the chance to go.  Problem was, this trip happened to come before, during, and after the Winter Quarter Graduation Ceremony at Troy State University.  Mind you, this was when Troy State was Troy State, and it was in quarters, not semesters--semesters came the following fall.

The problem really wasn't a problem, because I had missed the deadline for renting my cap and gown for graduation anyway.  I mean, it was like, $50.  I couldn't come up with $50 on the fly... now, if you ask me how I afforded a trip to NYC, I can tell you... I have no clue.  I'm trying to think back, and I really have no idea how I paid for that trip, or had the money to spend while on it.  Who knows.  Then again, with my credit card history, I might have just paid that trip off a few years ago.

Anyway, to finish that part of the story, on the Friday of trip, I glanced down at my watch, noticing it was after 2pm.  I was walking down 7th Avenue, and turned to my friends Melanie Jackson, Allyson Guy and Troy McConnell and said, "Hey, I just graduated college..."   My fellow graduate Dixon Brock told me some time later that they did say my name aloud.  I never even saw a program with my name on it.  Such is.

Sunday Drive "Doors Wide Open'  A pretty good CD, and only $2.99
on Amazon

Well, while in New York City, one of the plans we had for the ministry we worked with was to plan a neighborhood coffeehouse in the Bronx, and we had music, and skits and snacks and coffee and so on...

SIDEBAR!!!  I worked at a local radio station in Troy, and produced my own Christian music show on Sunday nights, called Sunday Night Power--every Sunday, 7p to 11p, and with contacts from various record labels and promotions, I got all kinds of CDs and backstage passes and interviews and so on... and ended up meeting this band named Sunday Drive. They were your typical Christian music band of the late 90s... a few dudes, drums, guitars, some fast stuff, some slow stuff, and a few albums that were forgotten within a few years. And frankly, their music, while good, was mostly forgettable.

However comma there was one song that I singled in on, namely "Sacred Delight".

 

"Did you smile when you made the moon, and gave the sky its color? Did Creation dance in rhythm to Your song of life, I wonder? Did the angels know You knew my name before I existed? Did you tell them out of all You made, why You gave me Your image? Is it true, I'm Your heartbeat? And You love me more than anything...?"

 

I loved that song. Love that song.

 

 

And in the weeks leading up to the mission trip, I felt it important to make one request... "Can I... can I sing 'Sacred Delight'?" Now, its important to note I am not a singer. I sing. I wail. I warble. I can't remember half of a sermon two hours after its over, but I can nail every word to Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back" or "Jump" by KrisKross or "3am" by Matchbox 20 or even most Whitney Houston songs (pre-crack, of course)... but a singer I am not.  The Lovely Steph Leann can attest.

 

 

Back then, it was just as true.

 

 

My buddy Troy McConnell didn't care. He said, "Dude. I love it. Let's do it." We practiced, and I know he gave of himself alot in listening to me warble and such. In my defense, it was in my key, and overall, it wasn't too terribly bad... but still, he encouraged me.

 

 

The trip comes.  We are in New York City, spending our days in the community of Brooklyn and the Bronx, our nights in a little community church.  And its cold... there is snow, not Alabama snow, mind you, but real snow.  For me, it was the first real snow I'd ever seen.  It was like powder, and when you threw it at someone, it disintegrated into a spray of fine flakes, leaving very little moisture on your clothes--unlike snow in Alabama... throw a snowball here and you are likely to give someone a concussion with a good head shot.

 

So, the day of, it was cold and rainy. It was snowy outside, and I woke up with a head full of allergies and congestion. I could barely breath, my nose was so clogged. I thought of cancelling my little tune, but just wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do. This wasn't even about other people worshipping, this was about me telling God that I will praise Him no matter what. In a little empty church sanctuary in Brooklyn, I sat listening to both Troy and our friend Claire Baldwin simply tell me, "You do what you feel you should. But if you feel the urge to praise Him, then you do it. Who cares what anyone else says?  You are performing for an audience of One.  Its His worship."

Troy and I, in mid-song.  Well, Troy in mid-song, me in mid-song-butcher.

And so I did. That night, in the Bronx, I gave my first--and last--public singing performance. I had to start the second verse over at one point, as I lost my place. Troy on guitar was as patient as ever. I made it through it, as off key as I ever was... and felt proud of it. Not sure anyone else got anything out of it, especially the Puerto Rican family in the front row... they didn't know Sunday Drive from Reese Witherspoon, but for me, it was courage. And humbling before God.

 

 

What sacred delight. What infinite wonder, that I'm precious in Your sight. You love me like no other, not other. Sacred delight.

 

 

So, this coming Sunday, I'll sit down with my notes, my Sword, my lesson book and we'll discuss the proper ways of taking on Hell with a water pistol. I'm sure I'll "uh" and "um" and "...you know..." and "...so..." alot. Count on it.

 

 

But, if like that night in the Bronx, if can get my fat head and large ego out of the way, God just might say something important. Something delightful. Something sacred.

 

Did you think of me the day you died, and know that I'd intend this... did you know one day I'd come to you, in search of your forgiveness... is it true, I'm your heartbeat... and you choice to die than to live without me...  

Word.

 

Of course, it wasn't all serious... in one of many skits, Kendrick and I
do something a little more comical--a two person, five character skit
called something like "No No Not Today"

 

Where They Were

As I've done in years past, I've asked a few readers and friends to chime in and tell me about their September 11th memory and experiences. With apologies to all three, I changed the format at the last minute.... I had intended on inserting these in the midst of the planned-9/11 column I was going to do (and will do next) but after reading these, I think they deserved their own column so they can remain uncut. Had they known that, they may have written more, so I hope they are okay with what will be.

The following is unedited, with the exception of the first non-essential sentence of the first write-up.

I was at Alabama on 9/11/01, rooming with Drew [Morris]. We had undoubtedly stayed up late the night before playing Ken Griffey Jr.'s baseball game (well, not HIS game, but the game he is featured on...) and so, as college students, the 8-9:00 hours were just not something we were terribly interested in. I remember my mom calling my cell and telling me to turn on the TV, that something was going on in New York. At that time, reports were coming in that a plane had hit one of the towers, and so everyone thought it was a tragic mistake, pilot error, one of those twin-props that fly around and hit stuff. I stood there for probably 30 minutes as me and the newscasters all started to realize that the flaming hole in the building was much larger than a twin-prop plane, and that no respectable commercial pilot could ever, or would ever, land a plane into an occupied building. I think it was at this point that I woke Drew up, and we stood in silence as we watched the second plane hit. We were still half-asleep and groggy, but just sort of looked at each other, silently understanding the magnitude of what we were seeing.

The rest of the day is a blur. Phone calls to family members, getting gas because of the shortage we thought would come, finding out if classes were canceled, making plans. I remember sitting on my apartment steps and talking to Matt, at Lee, and we compared stories and just were family for a while. I told him that I didn't want to go to war. The sun rose the next day and life went back to the new normal we were all subject to.

Eight years later, so much has changed, but one truth remains: America is a great place, and Americans endure. Through fire and death, torture and heartbreak, families missing parents, bodies never recovered, and flags on cars, we got through it, and every day forward is another step in the process of recovery. --Brad Latta

Brad is considered "the Ombudsman" of the Clouds in My Coffee website, usually offering up great counterpoints to my political ideology and opinions. A practicing attorney, you can find his information here.

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On the morning of 9/11/2001, I arrived as usual at Briarwood Christian School where I was a band director. I was there early enough that the events in Manhattan had not yet begun to unfold. I continued my prep and setup for my first class, pretty much sheltered off in the band room from news and information. As the first kids started filing in, a couple of them asked if I had heard the news about the airplane crashing into the World Trade Center. At the time, of course, it sounded like some bizarre accident from an old made for TV “Airport ‘77” kind of movie. The information had little context and came in the form of a fairly casual question from the student, so I assumed there was not much to it and proceeded to teach my class.

After that first class, I had time to go to my computer and try to get more information. By that time, two planes had crashed into the towers, and they were jet liners (not little private planes as I had assumed). “Terrorist attack” was now being bandied about as an explanation.

I had to commute to another campus for more classes, listening to the radio and stopping in the teachers’ lounge where a TV was on. I was now seeing actual video for the first time, and I think that is when it began to sink in. Still, it kind of felt a bit sterile to me, a little bit distant, a little bit forensic in all of its surrealism. The video was not yet personal, the news coverage seemed cautious, and it was something everyone seemed reluctant to process.

I think it finally hit home with me when they started showing video of people leaping from the towers, choosing to throw themselves to certain death rather than deal with the terror of the fires and the inescapability of their circumstance. I could not imagine the choice. I could not imagine the final calls home. It was then that I started putting actual people in the seats of those jets, actual people in the towers as they collapsed, actual people committing heinous acts so far outside of the realm of humanity that it could not be believed. It was no longer forensic and distant. It was real, and it grabbed me.

I have since been to the site of the WTC. New construction has begun; life has moved on – as it must and as it should. Still, I don’t think I can forget that day. I hope none of us do. -- Kris Dekker

Kris is the music minister at Valleydale Church (an sbc fellowship) and choir director, and is skilled at over 153 different musical instruments. Or seems that way. His website is called The Left Brained Artist.

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There are a few moments in America’s history that I remember with vivid detail. I recall watching the Challenger explode on National TV at a babysitters home when I was a young girl. I remember hearing the news that the Gulf War had begun as my parents drove me home from taking high school band pictures. And even though it was 8 years ago, I will never be able to erase the memories from 9/11. It was the day that I can honestly say my role as a military wife changed forever. It was the day that I realized we were no longer just a family that would have to deal with training exercises, frequent moves and military protocol. We now would have to face the grim reality of war. A war that would induce stress and worry that none of the young military wives I knew had ever experienced. A war that would take our husbands away from our children, so they could fight a battle that none of us really understood, but feared with great intensity.

On September 11, 2001 my daughter was just 3 months old and we were in Alabama on her first vacation. That morning we left very early to go fishing at a remote location. It was a beautiful morning with Daddy, Mommy, Papa and Morgan on her very first fishing trip. After piling into the car, my husband turned on a CD and we began our travel down the dirt road to town. My father-in-law pulled us over frantically and implored us to please turn on the radio. What we heard was hard to comprehend as the news radio tried to explain to its listeners what the rest of the world was watching unfold on TV. Still in a state of confusion, none of the events really registered with me until we got to the house and joined the rest of the family watching those horrifying images on TV. I wept and shook as I watched the planes slam into the buildings over and over again. As I imagined the fate of those people on the planes and in the buildings I sobbed violently. And then as the initial shock wore off, I was crushed by what I knew this meant for our family. President Bush had not announced it yet, but I knew that America was going to fight back, and my husband would be going to war.

War. For the generation before 9/11 we didn’t really understand what that word meant. Sure, there was the Gulf War, but that was short compared to anything in our countries history. And we had all seen images of Vietnam, Pearl Harbor, World and Civil Wars. But in an age where Hollywood controlled most of those images, it was easy to let ourselves be lulled into a sense of security. Certainly those things were in our past, not our future. Even as a military wife, I never really thought twice about my husband’s safety because most of his job was spent in the states or on occasion in countries such as Spain where they simply participated in training exercises. But on September 11th I understood that war was in our future, and while I had no idea what to expect, I was scared out of my mind.

We returned to base after our period of leave and I was shocked at the changes at the Air Station. Our base housing was actually not on the physical base and therefore had never been guarded, but as we drove up to our neighborhood we noticed that the streets were barricaded and there were Marines carrying M-16’s at the newly erected gates that now safeguarded the families. Those kids didn’t look a day over 17. I was used to the image on young men in uniform, even to seeing weapons and tanks on base. But this show of force took my breath away. On base, you could no longer park your car anywhere near a building and it took forever to get through the gates. They stopped many cars, Marines, wives and children waiting while military police randomly searched their vehicles. Even though it was an adjustment and a shock, I was proud of The Marine Corps for making these changes in such a short period of time. It gave me a strange sense of comfort.

Friends who were actually on base when the country was attacked talk of being beside themselves as they rushed to remove children from schools. Living on base was terrifying because rumors were flying about military bases being the next to be attacked. Many Marines were not in contact with their families for hours as they were called upon to enact emergency security measures. Wives huddled together in each other’s living rooms, holding on to the only other people who could understand the chaos that was all around them. They struggled to explain what was happening to small children, and to ease the growing fears of older kids as they too realized the Nation would soon be involved in a fight that would certainly involve their beloved parent.

For months, no one knew what, when and where our military would be called into action but we all knew it was just a matter of time. Families did not have much communication with commands who were busy with the important task of preparing their Marines for battle. Rumors of chemical weapon attacks coupled with the new gear that was now sitting in our living room gave me a sense of dread I will never forget. We were told that when the Marines did deploy to never send them religious material, for if they were captured, being a Christian could be a death sentence. Every day that passed became more anxious as we awaited news of a now almost certain deployment to war. And when that phone call came, in the middle of a steak dinner, my husband was told to get his gear together, he would be leaving in days. As the steak sat uneaten on the table, we started the packing process. My daughter was just 7 months old.

On the day that my husband boarded that bus, the families all gathered at the unit. None of us knew what to expect and not many of us could pry ourselves away from that parking lot until the buses were out of our sight. Small children cried and I remember a little boy clutching his father’s leg screaming “I don’t want my Daddy to die”! It was simply horrible. As we got in the car to leave, the radio was playing a song with the lyrics “I’m gonna get through this” but I honestly had no idea how. No war had started yet and no troops were in Iraq…my husband would be with the first group to enter the country.

I will not divulge the entire story of that deployment today, but will tell you that there were days when I was glued to the news hoping for any information about my husband’s unit because we had no contact with them for 40+ days. I will tell you that my sister Marine wives got me through that deployment which started out as a 3 month separation and turned into 8 very long and scary months. And I will tell you that when my husband got home he was safe, along with everyone else in his unit…even though they all were terribly thin, very tired and worn.

To date my husband’s unit has still not suffered any casualties, despite being the most deployed unit in the Marine Corps. And the conditions of deployment have improved greatly since that first time. But we will never again be able to go back to that feeling of security that we had on September 10, 2001. War is a harsh reality in my community now and is expected to be for many years to come. It is one that none of us like, but many of us realize as a necessity so that we will never have an attack on precious American soil…ever again. -- Erin Coates Whitehead

Erin, aka Erin the Marine Wife, is frequent mentioned on the Clouds site, and is a proud wife to a proud and brave Marine husband. Her site, Many Kind Regards, is one of my favorites, and she's also just started a website for The Brendon Scott Coates Foundation for children with cancer.

The Mission Statement

I love New York City. I do. I've been there three times, all three times on missions. The first was in 1998 with my campus ministry, the second was with a group from another church, and finally, I went last year with Valleydale Church (an sbc fellowship). So, when I knew that Valleydale was heading back to New York this summer, I was all about it.

Only, God wasn't. For some reason, as the year began and we inched closer to our annual Global Worldreach conference, I didn't feel it. Irritating, actually. I felt as if, when you are willing, and you have the availability, why wouldn't God want you to go somewhere like that for His Glory?

And then I began to learn about another trip. This was was to East Asia, an overseas trip in June that my friends Matt & Ginger had taken last year, and it clicked with me. This was my trip. But East Asia? I mean... East Asia? For years I felt as if God was using me here, stateside, and never.... NEVER... felt the urge to leave the country.

Not to mention--this trip is going to cost me almost $2000 straight up, plus another $160 for getting a passport (rushed, even) because this is due in two weeks. TWO WEEKS.

Steph was very uneasy. And rightly so, here was her husband suddenly thinking that he might go around the world, a trip that had to be paid for in two weeks, money that already had been spent on bills, debt and such. Now, I had to come up with, through financial support and other means...

We discussed this on Wednesday... Thursday... Friday... and Saturday. Finally, we made an agreement. We would wait until Monday, continuing to pray together and separately about the trip. She had already decided that she would not go, it would just be me, but we would re-convene on Monday, sit down and have one final discussion about the trip. I told her that if she still felt hesitant for any reason on Monday, if she felt reluctant, if she felt likle that would be something that I--we--would not do. And I wouldn't blame it on her, I just wanted both of us to be on the same page with this, because I knew if I went, I would have her support either way--I just wanted her complete peace about it.

This morning, Sunday, after church, she tugged on my arm and simply said "Hey, if this is something you still feel called to do, then do it. I'm with you." And there you go. I'm going to East Asia.

Now, after an afternoon to nap on it (overnapping and missing the "closing" ceremonies of the Global Fellowship) and think about it, its sinking in. I'm going to East Asia.

Wow.

And as I wrap up my list for support, and get ready to churn out about 100 letters for help, I am getting fired up. I'm going to get to watch God fly like a whirlwind through this, first watching the money come in then watching him mold my heart and the hearts of the team.

I figure the trip cost $1850, the passport will be $167, and expenses will be about $250 or so. That makes, round up, about $2300 to raise in two weeks. So, $0 down, $2300 to go. Let's do this.

"102 Minutes"... Dave's Book Review

Finished a book recently, so I wanted to share it with you fine people.

Anyway, the book is called "102 Minutes" and its by Jim Dwyer and Bill Flynn. The book is an account of what went on inside the World Trade Center towers at 846am, when Tower 1 was hit, and 1028, when both towers had fallen, and the 102 minutes in between.

It uses interviews of survivors and eye witnesses, taped recordings and transmissions and histories gathered to give dozens of stories in the book. You see the story of Frank di Martini and Pablo Ortiz, two engineers in the building that had many chances to get out, but chose to continue upward to help people find a way down. They perished in the tower. Richard Fern, who had every bit of luck--or God's help--getting down, as in finding the correct staircases right away, or getting the one elevator in the building that worked, right before it stopped working.

There is the story of Ed Beyua, who had a medical condition that kept him in a wheelchair on the 27th floor, and his friend Abe, who could have left at any time, but stayed with Ed because they knew that help would come... and it did only when firemen saw them... and a breakdown in communications led some to think that others had Ed and Abe taken care of. Both perished when the tower collapsed. Considering they were on the 27th floor, and even running down the stairs for you and I would take ten minutes, and they were 900 feet below where the plane had hit, that leads us to the most disturbing part of the book.

Because of the 1993 WTC bombing, there was much anamosity between the FDNY and the NYPD over who should do what, and who should get the glory for what. This broken relationship, which should have been repaired, only furthered to deteriorate. That explains why there were dozens of new high tech radio systems in the trunks of some police cars, unused, and why joint training sessions between the two departments when highly unattended. Thats also why the police didn't try to rescue people off of the roof during the brief momentary window they had, or why there were up to 200 firemen in the North Tower, many on one floor taking a breather, getting water, unloading gear, when it fell--even though they had a warning of a few minutes that it would almost certainly collapse. No communication.

The book also goes into a brief history along the way, telling how the towers got built, and the edge-of-reproach way that the fire codes were skirted, making the first part of the building a monumental, almost indestructable section, while the top was flimsy, with sprayed on fireproofing material, and inconvenient--and it turned out deadly--exit and staircase system. But the people is what will get you. There is a list in the back of people, people accounted for in the book that perished somehow in the towers, or in Tower 7, the Marriott hotel in between 1 and 2. Everytime I read a new name, I would flip to the back to see if they made it. Sometimes they did... sometimes they didn't, and when they didn't, you would read on to determine how they died. Sometimes in the blaze. Sometimes from jumping. Sometimes you'd read their last phone call to their loved one.

Overall, the book is excellent and reads very easily. Highly recommended. Its due in paperback sometime this month (January) so look out for it, shell out the $15 and sit and read.

Thoughts on 9/11, Part II

We continue with what was written in September 2002, a year after the 9/11 attacks. I had just gotten back from NYC--and Ground Zero--a month prior.

Thoughts on 9/11 Part II

“This poem makes me feel like my daddy is speaking to me.
‘I give you this one though to keep, I am with you, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glint on the snow.
I am as sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain when you awaken in morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft starts that shine at night.
Do not think of me as gone,
I am with you still in each new dawn.’ ”
--Brittany Clark, 11, reading a tribute to her father who was last seen helping a handicapped woman on the 88th floor of Tower 1.

We had been in New York City for eight days now, and were two days from heading home. The trip had been tiring, exhausting, but so rewarding and such a learning experience. I hate clichés, but that’s really the only way to describe it.

On this particular day, we had one task at hand. We had been scheduled to travel down to Manhattan to the First Nazarene Church, where we would meet up with the pastor and get some information on the Festival of Life. The Festival of Life was an upcoming (then it was, it’s already passed now) festival with musicians, speakers and the Gospel of Christ being shared. All we had to do was to take a handful of fliers, which were just postcards with info on both sides, and hand them out around Ground Zero and Battery Park.

For those of you unfamiliar with the area, as I was, Battery Park is the southern tip of Manhattan, close to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, across from Staten Island. Right above Battery Park is the financial district, Wall Street and the Stock Exchange area. To the northwest was the World Trade Center, both towers, and the seven other buildings that make up the WTC. Just so you know, the two towers were only part of the Center itself. There’s your history lesson.

"I was so overwhelmed that day that I couldn't watch anything... My aunt was in NY that day on business... that day they were in the building across the street. The smoke and heat and debris of the first crash literally pushed them out of the building. They were running down the street with t-shirts covering their faces. They looked back to see people jumping out of the towers before they got to Battery Park. This too will be a day to live in infamy. This is our Pearl Harbor. I still haven't figured out what that means for me yet.”
--Kasie Moser, Samford University

We arrived in the Trade Center area, which was weird, because there was this big patch of open clear beautiful blue sky where I know some buildings should have been. I had on my backpack, Erin had hers, we all had a handful of fliers ready to hand out. But as we got closer to the site, it became apparent to me that fliers weren’t even something I was going to be thinking of.

Going to Ground Zero… it didn’t necessarily excite me. Maybe it made me anxious, because we live in Alabama, and though we saw everything live on television, it still seemed like a world away. As we walked closer to the site, I began to recognize stores and shops that I had seen on TV, on specials, in pictures. The Century 21 Department Store building, the Famous Pizza sign on Broadway, things like that. The first thing we saw was the Memorial Wall, a fence that circled a church, a fence covered in things… I began to walk a little faster, ahead of everyone.

The area known as Ground Zero is surrounded by a maybe-seven foot fence, and most of the fence is covered in a black tarp. There are holes in the tarp, apparently where someone had torn through to see, but you still couldn’t see much. On the eastern side, however, is a platform with an uncovered high chain link fence set up for people to view the site. Because you can’t see Ground Zero, or the land itself, from the direction we were walking, the first thing that is noticeable is the high buildings around it, one of which, I am guessing One Liberty Plaza, is completely covered in a black tarp. I’m talking maybe 50 or 60 stories, covered in black. On the far side is another building (Dow Jones, if I’m right) which looks to be in use, with a roof that looks heavily damaged.

I was way ahead of everyone in our group, but it didn’t matter to me. I was ready to see this area. I somehow almost felt like I needed to see it, to piece together what I had witnessed on television to real life. I rounded the corner and came to the viewing platform to see Ground Zero, the site of where the two tallest buildings in the western hemisphere had once been. It was awe inspiring.

"I was, of course, in the best place to be, at church. Still in shock but comforted at the same time. Quietness was in abundance and time for reflection also. I don't think anyone in the office thought anything of any of us stopping to weep and pray for those families and rescue workers who were directly affected. I know that we have all been indirectly affected by the 9-11 attack and that life as we knew it is forever changed. [But we are reminded] God can take anything and use it for His glory."
--Lynn Nipp, Pastor’s Admin. Asst. Valleydale Baptist Church

The hole that was in the ground was indescribable. In addition to the two towers, also destroyed were the Marriott Hotel that sat between 1 and 2, and then World Trade Buildings 5, 6 and 7. So the land obviously had to be big enough for all of these buildings to reside on… and there was even a courtyard in the middle. But they all came down into this big hole, which was the “basement” of the World Trade Center, including shopping areas, restaurants and other office spaces.

The hole I stared at was at least 5 stories deep, and—I’m only estimating—a couple of football fields wide and long. There were 6 billion pounds of steel and wreckage when the buildings came down… it filled the hole I was looking at, and rose above it 7 stories. That’s at least 12 stories… 140 feet… high of stuff. Steel. Metal. Wood. Bodies. Computers. Chairs. Papers. Desk lamps. Counter tops. Pencils. Filing cabinets. Not only was it 140 feet high… the pile was probably a good ¼ to ½ mile in circumference. I never imagined it would be so big.

To be a fireman, or a rescue worker, going to the pile, pulling out stuff bucketfuls at a time… I can’t imagine it. I just can’t put it into my mind how they did it. Just seeing the emptiness of this pit, closing my eyes, and imagining what I saw on television actually being in a crater this size… it takes my breath away and breaks my heart into pieces.

Finally, I couldn’t look at Ground Zero anymore… it was just too much. I walked back towards the Memorial Wall, pulling out my fliers. I tried handing them out with very little luck… because I’m sure they didn’t want to be bothered, I managed to give out one for every ten rejections and pass bys I got. I made my way to the wall… and this is where it finally all hit me at one time.

“My AP physics teacher turned off the TV after a long time of watching, after the pentagon was hit, after hearing about the plane in Pennsylvania. He started to talk to us--mentioning that "if you're a Christian in this room right now, you need to be praying...” That was very bold to say in a public high school. Three girls grabbed their bibles and asked if they could have permission to go in the hall to talk - they went, I followed. I didn’t really know them. One simply asked, "You want to pray with us?" "Yeah." I remember getting tired of the people talking on the radio about it. I drove without any radio or music a lot of times after 9-11, just praying.”
--Tammy McLeod, Then a High School Senior

The church that sat in the middle… I don’t remember the name of it… I have been racking my brain, but I can’t remember the name of it… of this wall was closed. The sign in the front read something like, “This church was a command post and triage for the wounded during the attacks on September 11th. We are now closed to repair and make renovations following the attacks, and will reopen (it gave a date I don’t remember).” The fence that was around it was a tall, iron fence, and the church and fence made up the entire block.

"Working for the Red Cross, it was no time until our donor center was filling up with people wanting to donate blood. Here in Alabama, donating blood was therapeutic and gave people a way to feel like they were helping their fellow man. By lunchtime a long line had formed and people were patiently waiting to donate. As the afternoon progressed the line grew even longer. At one point the wait to donate was 5-6 hours but no one seemed to mind."
--Tad Roose, American Red Cross

I walked to the front of the block, the site of the first area that I had seen when I initially walked up, and began to look at the things on this fence. I was drawn to this fence… I put the fliers in my backpack (I’m sorry Fish, I didn’t do my job… please forgive me) and began to study this fence more closely.

There was a note from a little girl to her dad who had died in the Tower collapse. It said something like, “Daddy, I miss you.” And was written in crayon, laminated to survive the outdoor air.

There were thousands of paper cranes there. A school in Japan wrote, “The paper crane is our symbol of peace and healing. The crane was first created by a woman suffering from the effects of the bomb in Nagasaki, and throughout the century, has meant so much to so many people. We have made 7,000 paper cranes, one for each of your dead and your wounded in New York City.” And the cranes were everywhere.

There was a newspaper clipping of a young guy who had died, and how much his sister misses him

There was, of all things, a plastic mold of a seahorse, the kind you’d use in the sand on the beach. It sat in front of a ceramic angel, now faded and worn, chipped on the wings.
There was an Irish flag there, with the words “Ireland loves NYC! We are praying for you all!”

There was a poem there from a son to a father, who died in the crash

There was a letter from a wife to a husband who was aboard one of the plans.

There was a Mormon Bible there, inscribed to someone who was killed

There was a stuffed rabbit there, with a white coat, now brown from dirt and dust, from being outside so long. The fur was rough feeling, but the rabbit was very squeezable.

There were many I Love NY t-shirts, all with different things written on it, with signatures from California, Alaska, Mexico, Georgia, Japan and many other places.

And a fireman’s helmet, just hanging there on the fence. Nothing else with it, just a fireman’s helmet.

Crosses. Toys. Trinkets. Necklaces. Baby booties. Pictures. Frames. “Missing” photos. It was all there. I looked at a large wooden cross for several minutes, and then tears began to form. A light tap on my shoulder came from Fish, who was walking by. She saw me… I don’t know what she thought I was doing, but somehow I think she understood how taken in I was by all of this. She talked with me for a minute, asking me if I would go across the street to Office Depot and pick up a few things. She spoke very softly, very gently, as if not just in reverence for the lost lives represented on this wall, but almost seemingly out of respect for me, because she could see on my face that this was really hitting me hard.

Fish gave me a reassuring smile, a small squeeze on the shoulder and she walked past me. I turned back to the cross I was in front of, and a tear trickled down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away… was it okay to cry in front of all these people? I mean, some of these people were taking pictures in front of the wall, like it was tourist attraction or something (which totally inflamed me)… could I cry? I think it wasn’t a matter of whether I should or not. I knelt down in front of the cross, took my backpack and laid it under me, and placed my hands on the iron fence and on the curb. I began to pray, and I prayed for at least twenty minutes right there. And as I prayed, the tears flowed. For the families, for the little girls who lost their mommies, for the little boys who lost their daddies, for the parents who lost their little boys and girls, no matter the age… for the lost, for the saved, for the entire area. I prayed for the survivors and their families, and the victims not just in New York, but Washington and Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

"[It didn’t hit me] until I was watching the news where all the people were crowding around with pictures of their loved ones, screaming for them, screaming for anyone to help them find them. Knowing deep in my heart that they were probably dead. That's when I cried. That's when I sobbed for 20 minutes or longer. I'll never forget their faces, or their urgent pleas. "My son, he was a window washer on the 102nd floor of the World Trade Center, Tower 2. If you see him, please call. . . ." "My husband. We have a little boy. . . please, please, if anyone has seen him, please call me." Here we are, a year later, and I know that I'll never forget the images I saw over and over again. I'll never forget some of those faces. I'll never forget President Bush's face when he found out, or the comforting words he gave out to the nation."
Stephanie Campbell, Atlanta, Georgia

Finally, I stood up and wiped my eyes. Behind me, I heard several people taking pictures… it would be arrogant to think they were taking pictures of me praying, but it’s possible. I didn’t even see anyone I knew, except for that brief moment with Fish, for another few hours. So I was able to walk the block… I was told to walk the block, from God I believe, and prayer walk. And so that was my afternoon… I won’t dive into that, because that goes into a whole other story…

I’ll stop now. I didn’t know quite how to end this, but I think I’ve found it. It addition to the comments Tammy McLeod sent me above, she included an excerpt from her journal, written on 9/11/2001. And it’s a fitting way to end this email, to end this letter to you guys.

"God, You are such a mighty and awesome God. I thank You for the peace You give me and everyone who trusts in You. I pray for the victims and their loved ones. I can’t pretend to know their suffering and pain. But You've not given me or anyone else more than we can handle. I’m glad that nothing surprises You. Thank You for the promise of working everything out for the good for those who love You. forgive me for all my ignorance - please stop me from making this simply an emotional time - I pray that I will be an effective Christ follower so that the people around me will see You in the midst of their uncertainty and questioning. I love you...”
Tammy McLeod’s journal

Thoughts on 9/11 Part I

Can you believe its been 4 years since the 9/11 attacks? Like the Challenger explosion, Princess Diana's death, and for older people, the moon landing and JFK's funeral, this is one of those rare events where everyone remembers where they were when it all began to unfold.

I wrote the following essay below, in two parts, and I want to add a third part later this week about my re-visit to Ground Zero about a month ago. When 9/11 happened, I attempted to write some things... but nothing made sense. A year later, I finally was able to produce my thoughts on paper; mind you, this was before I dated Stephanie, this was before I worked at NBC, this was in the midst of The Deuce, so this was a long time ago. So, here we go...

Thoughts on 9/11, Part 1

Oh, the rhetoric we are thrown this week… “Tuesday morning began as such a beautiful day…” “Everything seemed so normal on Monday…” “Our lives would change forever on that day…” But here’s the crazy thing… it’s all true. Tuesday morning was a perfect day. Monday was your typical Monday. And nothing would be the same.

To spare you from what you’ll hear over and over and over today and tomorrow and in the next few days, I want to share with you a few different things. I want to give you my Tuesday morning. And then I want to share with you my Wednesday afternoon that occurred eleven months later. These are my thoughts… maybe they ramble, maybe they are boring… but I wanted to share. The stats I have come from USAToday.

I work at 1069 the Point and 973 Oldies, but last September, it was Oldies 106.9, and down the hall was Rock 97.3. Rob and Shannon premiered on Monday on the 106.9 station, stolen from up the hill at Magic 96. I had already me t both of them, and had applied—and been granted—an internship with their morning show. The first day was really hard, being there at 5:45, answering phones, telling people where Burt and Kurt went (the old morning show, now you can find them on 101.1 The Source in the afternoons), telling people about Rob & Shannon, talking on the air some, being introduced as SuperDave. Katy still calls me that… I like it.

I’d been at Cox Radio for almost three months, I was still learning my way around, still learning my place. My computer was old, the only person I knew really was Michelle Carr, then the national sales assistant, and she was even kind of intimidating, because she was tall and knew everyone and everything much more than I did. I made it through the morning show, Rob and Shannon made it through the show as well, and I came back to my desk to work on Alabama Football packages. I didn’t know Katy. I didn’t know Lori. I barely knew Tammy McLeod, Jason Demastus and knew nothing of Alex and Erin and Melanie and the Shades church up the hill.

Tuesday morning, I awoke at 5:30 am, got into the shower and headed to work. Rob & Shannon’s second day on the air, one of today’s big features was that a guy from San Francisco was going to call in about pricing records. He’s a big vintage record expert, and we were going to invite listeners to call in with their records to be priced. I found out my vintage “The King and I” soundtrack album, with the Deborah Kerr and Yul Brenner cover, was worth about 18 dollars.

At 8:50am, the phone rang, and I answered it… it was Ericka Woode, our lovely midday host, also stolen from Magic 96. She was letting me know that since 8:46am, the World Trade Center had been on fire, and that we should turn on the television in the studio. We did, and Rob began to announce over the air that the tower was on fire, and that this was something that everyone needed to watch. We played another song, as Rob, Shannon and I were talking about it, and then at 9:02, Rob was on the air again.

Shannon and I stood transfixed on the TV, watching this image of the tower burning, knowing now it was a jet that had crashed into the side. Rob began to say, “Folks, if you are not hearing the news, it appears that a plane has crashed into the side of one of the buildings…” when I noticed a small image in the background of the TV getting bigger. I pointed it out to Shannon, who said “That looks like a plane.” The image got bigger and bigger and then, on live TV, crashed into the other tower. It was surreal… the people on the news on ABC were quiet for just a few seconds, and then people were screaming, with the newscaster yelling, “Oh my God! A plane has just hit the second tower!”

Shannon and I gasped, as Rob was also quiet for just a moment. “Folks, we have just seen history… another jet has gone into the World Trade Center. You need to turn your television on right now!” Suddenly, everything was different.

The phones began to ring off the hook, the program director came running in the studio, the new director began to go ballistic, pulling every news story he had to put this on the air. Within an hour, we were directed to go straight to news and news only, as every Cox Station joined a news feed. We then began to answer phones, finding out information, answering questions to what we knew, being clueless to what we didn’t know.

At 9:59, on live TV again, I saw the South Tower began to shake and then fall.

At 10:28, I saw the next tower come down.

I was in New York City in 1998, and had visited those towers. I didn’t go to the top, but stood outside looking at their might, their majesty. They were 1,300 feet tall, straight up in the air. I was 5’7, with a straining neck, not able to see the top the closer I got to the base of the buildings. In 102 minutes, the world I knew had gone from pricing records to seeing both of the World Trade Towers collapsed. And I had no clue how to react to that. It was surreal. It wasn’t happening. This was a movie, this was a disaster movie from the 70s starring William Holden and Shelley Winters.

I answered phones for most of the morning, but then just grew weary… I got tired of people saying the same things over and over, asking the same unanswerable questions over and over… I just wanted to go be somewhere else. I tried logging on to the news sites but they were jammed. I remember ESPN.com, my favorite site, having a small picture in the corner with the announcement “North tower struck by plane”. After the South tower was hit, the entire site was devoted to the coverage.

There are several things I will never forget…

The smoke from the first tower

The plane slamming into the next tower

The shrieks of the news people when the second jet hit

And that video of the man with the towel…

I saw video of a man hanging out the window of the North Tower, the first one struck, waving a white towel. He was close to the top of the building, maybe the 90the floor or so… he had no chance. The rescue helicopters couldn’t get to the roof, the firemen couldn’t get past the 90th floor, where the jet hit. He was just waving his white towel… I saw a firefighter later talking about it. He was in tears, simply saying, “This man… wanted us to help him… but there was nothing… there was nothing we could do…”

200 people packed into the 78th floor lobby of the South Tower. They are all there, some going up, some going down, because they were told that the tower was secure. It was that floor, the 78th, that was sliced in half when American Airlines Flight 175 rammed through it. 200 people were there. 12 survived. Twelve people out of two hundred survived the left wing of a plane flying 417 miles per hour slicing through the floor they stood on, waiting for an elevator.

Another thing I can’t imagine is the desperation… being on the 100th floor, knowing you are going to die. Knowing you can’t go down. Knowing you can’t go up. So… you jump. I’ve seen video of this as well… and it’s haunting. What do you do? An estimated 212 people died by jumping. But you have to think that there were scores more that we’ll never know about that found a way to die without jumping… stabbing themselves, hitting themselves, maybe helping each other die somehow. Maybe taking an overdose of Benadryl in a co-workers office to knock you totally out.

I went home that day during lunch, sat in my room and cried. My tears flowed for a few minutes, watching the television, watching the people running around, scared, hurt, lost… watching the thick smoke, watching the fires blaze out of control. When I went back into work, I stopped at a gas station… already, gas prices were rising because of gas shortage fears. There, I ran into a college friend of mine, Donna Tucker.

Donna is my height, very pretty, very plucky and perky. She graduated a few years after me at TSU, but we knew each other instantly, and gave each other a hug. “How are you?” she asked. “Oh, I’ve seen better days. It’s been crazy today,” I replied. “Yes, I know.” We chatted for a few more minutes, about the past, about life and other things… I think God sent Donna that day to me, because for four minutes, I knew nothing about New York City, I knew nothing about Washington DC, I knew nothing about Flight 93 in Pennsylvania… I only knew of Donna and her life, her husband and how she was doing. It was a break from reality, even if ever so brief.

Rudy Giuliani made a good point… we’ll never know all the heroes. Of course, we know the firemen, the rescue workers, the police officers… but there must have been so many people who died we’ll never know of. Those people who helped usher people down the stairs just in time. Those people who gave up spots on the elevator, just in time for someone to be saved. Or maybe those people who helped comfort those others, when they all knew they were going to die. I’d like to think I’d have been that person.

Reflecting back, I’d like to think I’d have been th,e person to stand up and say, “People, Christ loves you. In a few minutes, you’ll have to stand before God, but right now, you can make a decision to live with him forever!”… but I am afraid I might have been the guy (this actually happened, according to reports) who told a lady trying to get on the elevator in front of him, “Lady, this isn’t the Titanic, woman and children aren’t first.” Who would I have been? It scares me to think about.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in silence for me. Usually, my cd player at my desk blares out whatever music I’m in the mood for, but not today. Many people in my office left early to go to their families. I called my mom and told her I loved her. I went home, and as cheesy as it sounds, I was really happy to see Michael, Tom and Shawn there. It was a comfort zone, and right then, on that day, I didn’t want to be challenged with anything. I wanted to be with people I cared about, and it was a relief to see them.

At Bible Study last night, John’s main point was to say there are no accidents. You can say this was or wasn’t the will of God, but you have to know that despite the devastation, so many people know Christ. So many people have heard the gospel. So many people are going to spend eternity with him as a result of September 11th. You can say, “Why would God sacrifice so many to save others?” but you know what, I don’t have an answer. I don’t have a clue. I do know though, that God uses everything for His glory and His purpose.

NYC Entry #11: Reflections of a Memory Bliss

Just for a point of reference... this blog will continue. This just happens to be my last entry about New York City...

Today, I turn 30... actually, about an hour or so ago. How's about that? No longer am I in my 20s... I'm a 30something now.

Things feel different... perhaps it will wear off soon enough, much like the tears of most teenagers at most Christian summer camps, but then again, it was the same way when I came home from NYC in 2002. And things remain different then when I went. But this is a different "different", a better "different"... a good feeling "different".

Let me first give some mad props and awards and feel goody moments to the team--these are of course from me, so others may agree or disagree, but its my site, so there....

The "White Boy Thug Leadership Award" goes to Philip. Phil to the Wat to the E-R-S. Few times have I laughed like I did when you did the big pimpin' stance. And beyond that, you led well. Even in the more unpopular decisions (leaving at 730am on Saturday morning?!?!) you led very well. Thanks for putting this trip together. And props to the wife for the notebook.

The "Tall Guy I Didnt Know But Ended Up Being Pretty Cool Award" goes to Colby. Didn't have a clue who this guy was, but he was quite fun to be around. Very solid guy. Enjoyed you being there.

The "Most Likely To Be the Team Mom in the Event of an Emergency Award" goes to Geryl. Happy birthday to you. You brought an incredibly gentle and sweet spirit to the team, and I thank you for that. Nothing against you, Philip or Paula, but had I contracted lyme disease or something, I probably would have called on Geryl.

The "Will Be Breakin' Hearts While Daddy Loads His Shotgun in Seven Years Award" goes to little Anna Lynn. You've got a great head on your shoulders, kid. Keep it up and you'll definately be a Barlow Girl. And with those big blue eyes, you'll have to be to keep the boys away.

The "Hippychick Award" goes to Staci. If you were to have grown up in the 60s, I can totally see the flowers and beads on you. Stac, leading the dribbling session was, seriously, awesome, and I just enjoyed being around you to hear you giggle at your husband and call him "big 'un."

The "Playa to Playa, Pimp to Pimp Award" goes to little Brandon. Though I wasn't there, he apparently was playing basketball with some of the Big G's, even though he's a lowercase g, and someone yelled out "Throw it to the black guy!", to which he responded "Which one?" That's classic. You know, you could have gone either way... either really annoying, or really cool on a trip like this, and you were the latter. Mad props. Enjoy your kabuki mask.

The "Big Sister Award" goes to Paula. I figured it out this morning... you weren't a team mom, you were a big sister. Thanks for your sleeve to dry on and your willingness to be there. You made a difference. Plus, you were just fun to be around, and that says an awful lot.

The "Holy Mother of Pearl Award" goes to Big Josh. You rock. I'm happy that this trip allowed me to hang out with you some, and get to know what a cool guy that Mark said you weren't. Even when you felt like crap, you kept it rollin', which is very admirable. Oh, and you can't beat the comedy when it comes to Big Josh, who shared a bed with Little Josh, paying said Josh $10 just to sleep on the floor one night.

The "We Gonna Make It Do What It Do Baby Award" goes out to Little Josh Blackburn. You my cracka. You were a definate source of comic relief, even when Jordy slipped past you grabbing basketballs because you were stuffing your face with a sno cone. Oh... stick your tongue out and wiggle it. Thats what I'm doing right now. And laughing. Funniest moment for me: Josh, Mark, Brandon and I are sitting in one of the rooms, me next to Josh. Philip comes in and says, "Hey Josh, I need you to give your videocamera to David for filming tomorrow." Josh, with all the sincerity in the world, says, "David who?"

The "Pied Piper Award" goes to Tim. Big man had kids flocking behind him all the time, like they were moons and they were orbiting around the Planet Tim. Truly, though, in my mind, he was the heart and soul of the team--besides God, of course. His passion for the kids, and his "i'm friggin' pumped!!!" attitude was just inspiring, and the bling provided mucho laugho.

The "Did I Just See That? Award" goes to Larry Long. Funny story... he said he was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed (or for the day--either way, he was sweating) and he looked out, and across the way, about 30 feet away in the next building, was a woman standing in a t-shirt and her underlings, and she was cutting a watermelon. He says, "Its like a train wreck... you dont want to look, but yet, you think 'did i just see that?' so you have to look." Larry was the man when it came to the older kids, which for some, the fact that there were no knife fights and gangsta leans meant it was a successful week. He was also a good, quiet, non-snoring roommate.

The "Least Annoying Rugrat Award" goes to Daniel McCammon. Good kid. Great source of entertainment. And also, good knock-knock joke teller.

The "Big Daddy Award" goes to Chuck McCammon. He's a good dad, too. And a great guy... you can see why he's the children's pastor. From what i've been told, he's not good at basketball, but hey, who needs Upward when we're already Home? Thanks Chuck, for being cool, and I'm glad you and I got to spend a little more time around each other.

The "Snugglebunny Techno Geek Award" goes to Mark. I didnt sleep in their room, but he had to share a bed with Josh B a few nights, and Brandon a few nights... and from what I gathered, both boys liked to wiggle and spread out. Mark is a big kid--and I hope to be such when I get 37, which is what he turned this past week... I'm only 7 years back. And he is also a master when it comes to children, and it showed this week. He's on KidStuf with me, and I'm better for it that he is.

The "Dave and Nat, BFF Award" goes to Natalie. Not sure about the "B", or the second "F", but I do know the "F" in the middle makes me smile. She was like my sister-in-arms on the trip (I think I really connect with people who are my age, so that might have something to do with it) and she provided much laughter (even when she didnt think stuff was funny). In leui of my lovely wife not going, Natalie made a decent date. =)

I also have to give props to the Williams Grocery store for their 50 cent water, Twin Mountain Springs, and no-tax 20 oz soft drinks. And their flypaper ridden bathroom. You may hit a swarm going in, but once inside the bathroom no flies for you.

Props to the sno-cone guy, for actually heeding our calls and coming back later in the day instead of right in the middle of our camps. Leche was the popular flavor, though I enjoyed the coconut cream.

Props to Duane Reede, not too shabby of a drug store, open late.

Best cheesecake? Carnagie Deli, definately--of course, I only had that, and cheesecake at Henry's, and the latter wasnt very good.

Best meal? Carnagie Deli's five inch high roast beef sandwich. It was awesome. I wish I had gluttoned myself to eat it all.

Best Moment for Me on the 2005 NYC Valleydale Church (an sbc fellowship) Trip That Did Not Include Prayer, Salvation or Anything Important Like That? The Coney Island Cyclone rides. I'll do it again, too, one day. Perhaps not in the back car, though.

Hardest Part? The Infernal Stairs at PS 63. If given a choice between no fan for the week and not climbing the stairs, it would be a tough decision to make.

My final thoughts really... God is amazing. God uses who He wants, when He knows it will glorify Himself the best. Who knows, had this trip been two weeks later, perhaps Cindy would have come and not Mark, or Colby not coming and both Philip and Jill would have come... but God ordained this trip for this week for His purpose, and I love Him for His plans.

Those kids are amazing... they just want love. Even Gaby. Even Jason. They want someone to make them feel important, they want someone to let them know that someone cares, and I think for a week, we did just that. Would I have liked to stayed longer? Only to build stronger relationships with them... but thats not what He wanted. Our job was to plant seeds, it will be someone else's job to lead Jordy to Christ. To lead Darrin ("Bob") to Christ. As someone said, Christians are not in the business of sales, we are in the business of advertising.

I hope we go back next year, and I selfishly hope that its in God's purpose for me to do so. I also hope The Lovely Steph Leann comes with me too. Thanks to all of you who went--I can't imagine it being any different, and I can't say that I'd want it to be. Even with AC.

And that's all I have to say about New York City for 2005.

Dave

NYC Entry #10: Finality

Well this is it. The final morning. No subway rides, no trips to West Way Cafe for some french toast, no adventures at Crotona Park, nothing. God seemed to bless us a little extra after a long week, as when I woke up, I was only partially covered in sweat, not completely, due to the breeze slightly blowing through the open window.

The time was 5am, and we were to be outside with our luggage at 545, so we could catch the bus. I had cleaned up most of the room last night, but Larry picked up a few things I didnt get. We had about seven half filled water bottles just laying around the room, so I poured those out the window, and dumped them in our garbage bag. He got a quick shower, then I did right after. The last time to use the cubby hole shower stall... didnt feel bad about it. The water was actually kind of cold, and it felt really good.

I put on my ESPNZone shirt and threw on my backpack, put my drivers license in my pocket, grabbed my celly and was ready to go. Just a sidebar: When doing missions anywhere there will be heavy walking, like NYC, take luggage that has a handle on it. Not a 'pick up' handle, but one you can roll the suitcase with. Learned this lesson the hard way. Just a tip from your ol' Uncle Dave.

Larry was sitting outside when I came out with my luggage. I told him I was going to walk up and find a 24 hour drug store or something for something to nibble on, but when I did, there was nothing open. The City that Never Sleeps, my booty. When I came back, standing outside was Terry (he introduced himself), smoking a cigerette and drinking a beer. Mind you, this was in fact 530 in the morning. Mark was out there as well, and we talked to him for a little while... Terry, and his pal Keith that joined him soon after, were from Dublin, Ireland, and they played soccer. They had to end up in LA in two months, but until then, they were going to see the sights of the USA. Mark mentioned to me that he was thirsty, and I relayed my fruitless search for beverage, but Terry came through with a solution. "You guys wan a coupla birs? I can git them for ya if yuh'd like et" in thick Irish. We both decline, saying that we dont drink this early. Or ever.

Had a black dude come up and say "So, I see you guys are drinking early in the morning! I got one thing to say about that..." and then he began to rap some jibberish that ended with (paraphrasing) "I ain't got no money, I'm hungry, can you spare a buck?" Terry gave him a few bucks, and Tim, who had just come out trying to pawn off some extra food, gave Rapper J (as he called himself) a big bag of BBQ chips. (You cah't fult tha guy fer tryin, Terry would say when Rapper J walked away).

A cab then pulled up, and another guy got out... and I promise, be it my magic or immaculate beer conception, Terry immediately materlized a beer out of thin air and it was in the new guy's hands before he fully was out of the cab. It happened in about 1.25 seconds. This new guy was Trevor. They all stood talking to us for a minute, dropping the "f" bomb a few times--Terry said cursing was so normal in Dublin no one thought about it. Daniel and Chuck were out there by now, and everytime the "F" word came out, he'd turn to Daniel and Chuck and say "oh, I'm sorry", then continue on. "So, my and my boys ur travelin the stits, and for f*$&--oh, i'm sorry--goodness seck, we try to f$&%--oh, sorry mate--do what we kin to..." and it cracked me up.

Terry said he and his guys would love to visit Alabama, so I gave him the number to Valleydale Church (an sbc fellowship) and told him to call and try to contact someone on the NY trip. Really, I just wanted to envision Lori or Donna Land taking that call--that thought alone amuses me to the point where it would be worth it, but if they actually do call, thats a 100 out of 100 on the unintentional comedy scale. Finally, the time came to walk away from The Palace. Sadly, no more un-airconditioned rooms, no more jacked up showers, no more money hungry internet computers that barely work... of course, the sweat was still there. We went a block out of the way to our stop, which was okay for everyone with handled roller bags, but me carrying my suitcase by its handle.... not good times. Bad times.

Our team was the only one on the bus for a while, though by the time it passed Shea Stadium, it was pretty full--our luggage probably took up 1/3 of the bus room alone. We unloaded off the bus, got in line at the Delta desk at La Guardia (where Mark swears he saw Jake Gyllenhaal a few people behind us in line. Natalie and Paula disagreed. I was torn.)

I had a breakfast combo at the airport Burger King that cost me $6, when in B'ham it cost me $3.02 (joke of the week... what does Jackie Chan order at BK? a Whah-Pah! Do hand chopping motion for full humorous effect). Then I bought a $4 Sports Illustrated and a $3.50 People Magazine. Thats really it. Then what happened?

We came home.

Nothing more to tell, really. The flight was uneventful, and I got to sit next to Natalie again. Neither of us really said a word to each other or anyone else on the way back, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence--it was more of a "hey, you're tired, i'm tired, we're friends enough now that we won't bother each other" which was good. The plane lifted off, then two hours later, landed in Birmingham, Alabama. After a week in the big city, our town seemed small and definately different.

Ken Mackey (Paula's hubby) was there to pick us up, along with another guy (Dave Harris?) that I dont really know... Philip's wife was there to get him, as was Colby's wife. Everyone else got off at the church, just in time for the 11am service. When we got to the church, everyone grabbed their luggage and went different ways--we'll say our "thanks" and "see yas" another time, I'm sure, because I didnt see anyone else after I went inside.

And up in the choir was my love, Stephanie, singing. I could tell when she spotted me, because a big smile came on her face, and it was sooooooo good to see her.

Well, thats all she wrote. Our New York City mission trip has been blogged, and is over with. I know I've written a lot (trust me, my extra money was pinched for it), and I appreciate you reading even some of it.

I'll have one final blog for NYC to write, which will be more of my thoughts and reflections on the trip, but this blog site will continue on, so don't forget about me. I plan to continue doing thoughts, prayers, movie reviews, encouragement and other fun things here... check back in a day or so for NYC Entry #11--The Conclusion.

NYC Entry #9: The Bling of Jesus

Welcome to Saturday, the last full day of NYC-dom. Started early, this time meeting at 7am for breakfast... of course, I was wrong in thinking of the departure time. I thought it was 745, it was actually at 730, so I learned of this when Mark banged on the bathroom door. The shower I had used all week was in use by someone else, so I walked around the the other shower on the floor, one that some of other team had used. Let me just tell you how jacked up this shower is... the faucet is on the left side of the shower, where the showerhead is located. The drain, however, is on the right side of the shower. So, as you turn on the water to get it just the right temperature before you turn on the shower, the hot scalding water is draining around your feet, burning you. Or freezing you if you start with the cold water instead.

Made it to the West Way Cafe, where this time, Larry and I were joined by Colby, Geryl, Daniel & Chuck, Mark and Philip--so even though we were supposed to leave at 730a, Philip the fearless leader was with us, so it was okay. Most of us got the Belgian Waffle, which looking back, I liked the french toast better.

Our plans were to travel down to Ground Zero, do some touristy type things, then meet back at Crotona Park by 3pm to set up for the Block Party that was being thrown.

Oh, come to find out, the man who was murdered while we were in the Bronx was a cabdriver from Senegal. It seems a homeless man walked up, and asked the cabbie to buy him a cigar. When the cabbie refused, the man pulled out a knife and simply slit his throat... then just walked away. The cabbie was DOA at the hospital. Very sad and scary... we've been approached probably a dozen times collectively for money, usually without incident even with rejection, but to know that something like that could have happened makes me shiver.

At Ground Zero, they have put up a new memorial fence around the entire area, with pictures, plaques and timelines in various places. GZ is very difficult for me. The last time I came, I knelt in front of the make-shift memorial fence at St Paul's Cathedral and prayed until I cried. This time, I walked down the fence a few times, and read and observed the things that had been placed on the fence. Two stood out at me... a picture of Chris Amoroso, a Port Authority Police officer, and Moira Smith, a NYPD officer. Both pictures showed them with people who appeared to be hurt, and both captions had basically the same text--officers who helped people, and went back inside the towers and never came out. After a little while, while other team members were taking pictures and reading, I had to walk away before I cried. I couldn't help it... it just tears my heart to read and see what happened here, though I personally think we should all be reminded of what happened on a regular basis. Four years later, much of the country has forgotten that yes, we were in fact attacked unprovoked.

Okay, I'll stop before I get on a rant, and this isnt the time nor place for it.

So, we moved on as a group, walking down to Wall Street, seeing the financial exchange building, the Trump Building (making me wonder if thats where the Apprentices get fired--though that could be just a movie set), and other various and assundried money-related building type things. From there, we walked on down to Battery Park. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the NYC area, let me see if I can draw it out for you...

New York has five boroughs, or sections. Coney Island is a part of Brooklyn, on the right lower section--its huge. On the left is Manhattan, it is a long "Florida without the panhandle" looking section. To the southwest of that is Staten Island. Right above Brooklyn is Queens, and right above Manhattan (and next to Queens) is The Bronx. Looking at Manhattan, Central Park's southern border is pretty much right in the middle of the Manhattan island. Of course, it extends up for 60 something blocks, so it ends close to The Bronx border. We were staying close to the upper west side, only a few blocks from Central Park, and from the Hudson River on the other side. Funny story--Paula was so jazzed she went to Central Park, only to find out, she actually had visited Riverside Park, which is right on the beach of the Hudson River.

At the bottom of Manhattan is Battery Park, and you can catch a ferry here to go down to Staten Island, past the Ellis Island location of the Statue of Liberty. Right above Battery Park is the Financial District, where you'd find Wall Street, Trump and the World Trade Center, not to mention the big hole in the ground that is currently the former WTC Tower site.

Geography lesson over.

As we walked to Battery, we met a gentleman sitting with his suitcase on the corner, selling his wares--bootleg dvds. The Dukes of Hazzard was one (which had actually hit theaters yesterday, August 5th), and Lil Josh bought it. Bigger Josh bought Batman Begins, but he had a number of dvds for sale. Mark and I both agreed that we didnt want a dvd that might not play in our player, or would have the back of someone's head in the picture.

We entered Battery Park and we were bombarded by guys selling three things... dvds, watches and sunglasses. Oh, there were purse salesmen too but mostly "Hey, we got Oakleys!" and "You need a Rolex!" and "come and see my movies for sale!". Our team went to wheelin' and dealin', and Tim ended up buying a silver Mercedes logo pendant on a large silver chain for $10. I'm not sure what is funnier, Big Tim with this Mercedes hood ornament hanging off of his neck, or all the really white people on our team using the word "bling" over and over again, like it was a common white word like "Condo" or "Volvo". Geryl negotiated with one guy for something, got him down to $5, then walked away because she was annoyed. I think had she kept going, the man would have paid her a few bucks to take it.

One guy had the little bottle caps with some paper under it, hiding the paper and sliding the caps all over the table, wanting money to gamble to see where it was. We watched for a minute, and one lady there kept winning. A couple of times he turned to me, held out a few hundreds and said "if you got a hundred, you can make it five" or some crap like that. I kept expecting him to say "hey, i am a Nigerian prince with millions in the bank, and all I need is a bank account number to transfer it over--can i have yours, and you can have half!" I told him no over and over, though he kept holding his money out for me to play. We just walked away. Though I think that the winning woman was in on the hustle, this con man was a God blessing, as you'll read later.

Everyone walked down and took pictures of the Statue of Liberty that you could see in the distance, though personally, I would have loved just taking a ride on the Staten Island Ferry. Here's the thing... I've been here already, I've seen this stuff before. I have seen Chinatown, Little Italy, Central Park, FAO Schwartz, The ESB and so on and so forth... really, what I wanted to do was go to Midtown Comics and maybe take in an afternoon at the Metro Museum. However--this wasn't about me. This whole trip wasn't about me, it was about Him. And many people going had never seen this stuff, so hanging out with them made it fun.

Philip and Josh told everyone that we could all split up, go in smaller groups and such, and visit, just be back in Crotona for the Block Party set-up by 3pm. I decided to go with Paula, Josh, Brandon, the Herringtons because they were headed to Chinatown, and also with Natalie, because, well, she's my homegirl. =)

Everyone departed their own way, going to various places and such, so we took the train up to Canal Street where Chinatown was located. We got above ground from the subway station and found it was packed out. A little while later, Geryl, Tim and Anna Lynn decided they would meet us at the Park, because keeping up with all of us was too difficult with the swarms of tourists and Chinese selling their wares.

Josh B had a just a little bit of money, and wanted some cologne. He wanted a big bottle of Ralph Lauren Polo Blue, retailing for $50, but the vendor wanted $18. He said "how mucha you got?" and Josh said "I have ten dollars" and the guy replied "Issa eight-teen dolla!". From out of nowhere, Paula firmly said, "Ten." The guy looked at her, looked at Josh, and defeated, said "Gimme ten". Josh handed the last of his money over, and he got his cologne.

We were all getting hungry, but let me say I don't dig on chinese. Actually, I don't dig dog and cat, so I tend to stay away from the oriental food (Japanese I can handle sometimes) which presents a problem for Steph, because she loves chinese food. However, being the selfless guy I am, I told Paula, the B-Boys and Nat that I would go and sit wherever they wanted to eat. They chose the Hon Wong Restaurant, and to me, it was pretty sketch. I ordered a Coke, and got a can with a big hair on top of it. Needless to say, I drank it with a straw.

After lunch, we walked through C'town, and they ended up buying various things there and here. I bought a pair of NYC Socks for The Lovely Steph Leann (she loves decorative socks) but that was all for me. Natalie got her a Louis Vitton purse, while Paula bought some random stuff as well. We strolled on over to Little Italy from there, where I went in and had some not-very-tasty-for-the-twelve-bucks-i-spent spaghetti at some hole in the wall "authentic" Italian joint while everyone else shopped.

And finally, it came time to head to The Bronx. Our plan was to get on the subway at 2pm, so we'd have a full hour to travel to Crotona Park, but none of us figured into our brilliance that we were on the bottom of Manhattan, and Crotona was on the other side of the top of Manhattan. Didn't help that we got on the wrong platform waiting for the wrong train. When we finally got on the right one, it was 230pm and we had 14 stops to make before arriving at 174th Street station, where we needed to be. Yeah, we walked off the platform at 174th around 310pm. I called Josh & Staci, who were already there, and told them we were almost there. After a quick stop at the Williams Grocery, for some 50 cent water and other assorted items, we walked up to the park.

Philip and Colby to meet us to walk us to the Block Party location, which seemed strange to me until I discovered that not only were we on the other side of the fairly large park, the block party we were to tend to was being held on the same day that the neighborhood did their monthly block party, complete with dental screenings, doctor check up booths and other needed things. "Hmm.. popcorn maker, check. Cotton candy machine, check. Lots of drinks, check. A day when nothing like the monthly neighborhood party is planned... hmmm." Just my thoughts. Didn't feel bad being there at 320 either... Geryl, Tim and Anna Lynn got lost, as did Mark, Chuck & Daniel, on the subways, and the entire group wasn't there until at least 4 or 415pm.

Fluid, baby, fluid--pardon my cynicism. It worked out, though.

The block party was being thrown in conjunction with a local church, Lighthouse (which Pastor Kitchens headed up) one guy said it best: "Pastor Kitchens is a great man. I just wish his congregation was like him." That is to say, there werent a whole lot of Lighthouse people there. The other church that was working on it was Hepsibah Baptist from South Carolina, who was just beginning a five day mission trip in the area, where they'd be doing VBS and Bible camps on a different side of the park.

Josh C started working on the sno cone machine, I took a hold of the popcorn machine, and Satci did the cotton candy, until she decided to be with Josh on sno-cones, which was good, because that was definately a two person job. Nat took over cotton candy then. Slowly but surely, kids and parents came. There were hot dogs and chips available, as well as games and one of those big blow up inflatable jumper-mabobs. Mark ended up doing that with Leslie, one of the mission directors, and became an Inflatables Bouncer. So many kids wanted in that thing they had to let them in depending on size for a few moments at a time. I saw one kid go running and diving in the opening, but before he could get through, Mark grabbed his legs, yanked him out and dropped him on the ground. Quite priceless.

Some of the kids we had worked with all week showed up to help, and before long, we had kids taking our places on sno-cones, popcorn and cotton candy, which was fine with us. I wandered down, got a hotdog, had a cheap (re: free) dinner and then got to watch three girls throwing down on some double dutch jump rope. They told me how, but when I did it, I managed to get in about four hops before the rope (which was a long piece of phone cord, I noticed. Had I money, I would have immediately gone and bought them a proper rope) tangled around my legs. I think Staci got in about six jumps, but neither Josh did much.

Kendall showed up a little while later. I also noticed Tim sitting with another little girl, Vernalisa, whom I recognized from camp. It was her 11th birthday, and turned out to be another birthday as well... her first spiritual one. She accepted Christ right there in the park, and it was awesome. She was the cutest darn thing. Later, Kendall got to pray with another little girl, Arelis, who was probably about eight, maybe younger, to recieve Christ. I only envy that they got to pray with the kids, but I think its AWESOME!

I have to tell you this part though... the coconut shells. Some of the games were set up around the food, and I dont mind telling you, they were a wee bit cheesy. Throw the hackeysack into the hole in the wood, and toss the plastic ring on the plastic dolphin... no, I dont know that I could have come up with better stuff, given the time constraints, but its my site, so I can say that yes, they were cheesy.

Anna Lynn was running one booth that I can only call "Guess Where the Shell the Ball is". It was like the street hustle game we saw in Battery Park, only the small object to find was a blue foam ball, and the cups were plastic coconut shell cups, the kind you'd slap a lid and a crazy straw on, sipping pina colada in a hammock, kicking back, enjoying the... wait. Lords work. So, she was having a hard time with this, and finally asked me to do it because she was tired. Not really wanting to, I stepped in and said "Sure."

My mad skillz at doing such a game, moving the upside down shells around quickly so people lose track of the ball, aren't so much skillz as, well, incompetence. I learned quickly, however, that you dont have any problems guessing when there are price tag stickers on the bottom of the cups, all placed in different places. No wonder they were killing Anna Lynn. "The ball is in the cup with the sticker in the corner. Hmm, I will just pick that one." So I peeled off the stickers, and went to work. I'm a show-off, really, so thats what I did. I started flipping the cups, moving them around quickly, I'd pick them up while moving the cups in a circular motion so as to keep the ball in the cup, I'd pick up two of them together, move the ball between the two then slam the cups down, still moving them... yes, this might sound impressive, but I dropped the ball half the time, or the ball would fall out of the cup when I slammed it down. Still, it made for a good show, and the kids all enjoyed it. One kid was talking smack, and I burned him seven straight times. Felt good. =)

When we were about to leave, I suddenly announced that my time was up, I took a bow, and left the cups... only I had to come back, because one little girl starting crying, saying "I dinna get to do it!". So I did an encore performance, cutting my right hand middle finger in the process somehow. Bleedin' for Jesus.

A few minutes later, Arelis joined the faith family via Kendall's lead, and we all began to walk back to the 174th Street Station. We walked by the Williams Grocery store, and I shook the attendants hand and told him we were gone for good. He looked and smiled and said "see you tomorrow?" and I replied, "no, we're heading back to Alabama." I dont think he understood anything I said. That's allright, though. He was a blessing to us all with his 1/2 a dollar water and no tax 20 oz Cokes and for Colby, cheap pecan spinwheels.

Tim still had his bling on, and I was still getting a kick out of hearing white-bread Paula and white-bread Geryl saying the word "bling" all the time. As we stood awaiting the train, Josh B put Tim's bling on Philip, and made him turn his hat cockeyed... Philip then did this rapper pose that was simply priceless... you can't make this stuff up. Hence, P-Wat, or as I call him, P to the Wat to the E, R, S was born.

And finally, we said our goodbyes to Kendall on the train and walked away. Staci, Josh and Mark all headed back to Times Square for a few more purchases, while we were just too tired to do anything else. I went back and began to pack my junk, finding it strange how I had more stuff than I came with, when all I did was flippin' eat while I was there. Larry and I encouraged each other in that we only had one more night of sweaty backs and wet mattresses to endure for the Glory. We kept wondering if we'd see The Naked French Guy, or if I'd get one more chance to turn my head from Foreign Chick in a Towel, but it didnt happen.

So the plan is to be outside with our luggage by 545am, so we can catch the M60 bus to La Guardia by 6am. Early, once again.

I've got one more day... or morning, rather, to blog, and I'll tell you about Trevor, Terry and Keith, the Irishmen at the Palace, and also about the ride home. Then I think I'll relay to you my thoughts of the trip, my favorite moments and wrap it up. Thats coming Wednesday, so stay tuned.