9 beds later

More details than anyone would want to know about my recent adventures

As it turns out, I’m a woman who enjoys a mid-range hotel with a passable pool, a tiny little work out room, and a restaurant in a far corner of the parking lot. One night it was a gastro-pub with blackberry and goat cheese pizza. A revelation!

“Just you?” the sweet hostess asks. “Just me,” I answer and off we trot to a far corner that’s either too noisy or too quiet, from where I will ask for a better table if I feel I deserve one, which I usually do.

I’m just settling back into my home and routine after my road trip which took me eventually to Holland, Michigan. I was there for a week of school in the Sacred Art of Writing doctor of ministry degree that I am making my way through as if I’m cutting a path through a field of wildflowers.

That means I love it. It’s beautiful. And it’s also hard. More on that in a second.

I just counted — using my fingers, obviously — to confirm I slept in nine beds over the 21 nights I was gone. Those included the homes of two friends, the home of my beloved family in London, three Airbnbs, one nicer hotel room shared with family on an adventurous outing involving Detroit, and two of the above very satisfactory hotels where I floated on the surface of the pool like a waterbug and then laid like a starfish on the giant bed I had. In these places, managers themselves swing through the special breakfast room to check breakfast supplies.

I enjoy the endless orange juice, the strong coffee and a new addition to the hotel breakfast buffet, a machine that curls out a stream of yogurt like soft serve ice cream. I loved it. And the little pots of special toppings like granola and dried cranberries off to its side.

I love it so much I requested they refill the machine on my second morning when I discovered it empty.

A flurry of hustling back and forth from the back storage room to the machine ensued, along with the twisting of knobs and turning of wheels, one failed attempt, followed by heads-together style conferring between the young front desk clerk and the man-manager who seemed a tiny bit officious.

I watched the clerk duck into the storage room, pulling her phone out of her pocket, not knowing the manager was right behind her with the large empty yogurt bag. (Seeing the actual empty bag streaked with the white of leftover yogurt detracted from the magic). I looked away. And “Oh oh,” I thought. She’s going to be caught on her phone at work. (I knew this was her first day because she told me when I complimented her dress), but nothing bad happened.

Except that the women at the table in front of me were simply roasting a friend of theirs who needs to stop complaining about everything, realize she should have worked outside the home if she wanted a better retirement, and just get on with her life. Just sell the house. It’s too big!

I asked them to watch my computer and other worldly possessions for a few moments and I knew that even though their friend couldn’t trust them, I definitely could.

Those are the mildest of the highlights. There are so many others.

• My mother-in-law had a birthday and enjoyed her party. Sweet. She is content, and we all love that for her.

• I went to a Florence and the Machine concert in Detroit on a spontaneous side trip with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and we watched this woman dance with abandon. I listened to Florence almost my entire drive to Grand Rapids the next day.

  

• The Festival of Faith and Writing was energizing and fun, as always. I helped host an event the night before, a discussion about hope and writing with authors Jen Pollock Michel, Amanda Held Opelt, and Sara Billups. (I got to wear my blue and white striped Banana Republic blazer that was one of my best buys ever.) More importantly than my clothing, I love that format of public conversation. It made me think that we should all host “salon” style evenings in our homes where we invite friends over to have a discussion about a certain topic. I think I’m going to try that. I will report back. The venue for the event, a large bookstore in Grand Rapids, had our books, and there was The Minister’s Wife out in the wild. Hi sweetheart!

• A weekend in Saugatuck followed, with a drive to Douglas. Both beautiful places are filled with art galleries. So, I bought this. It’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.

• My friends and I spent a day using my self timer on my phone and taking funny pictures. I learned how amusing this “album cover” photo shooting is from day trips with my MFA writer friends, but we took it a step further and named our band, which was Slow Turn or something along those lines. In this photo, Susie was saying “You’re standing on my hand,” but I only heard hand and stand and thought nothing of it.

• During my week of school, I loved it all. We spent the mornings talking about writing craft and topics like what life events have formed us as writers. I could name a few. As we made our lists, of course my beloved Brent was on mine, a few times. Becoming a minister’s wife shaped my writing life, but being his wife especially did. He was the perfect writer’s husband and I’m so glad he was mine. He shapes me still, now by his absence. Which leads me to the creative busting apart I experienced where I finally wrote my way back to my voice and received and gave myself permission to write more freely about sorrow and hope and imagination and grief, and the still often unfathomable loss of Brent. The tenderness of my writing friends I’m studying with, and the belief my mentors have in my work, helped me find my particular path through the field of flowers I walk in. At least, I think so. I will probably lose sight of it a few more times, but in this moment, I know what I am doing.

That is my not-full report of being away.

There were other small miracles and delights, great food, disappointing food, singing in the car, yelling at Siri because sometimes he just won't listen in the car, staying with old friends from Regent College days and watching the sun set over Lake Michigan. There was more laughter than tears. Widows sometimes take note of this balance.

But now I’m now back in my own bed. And on we go.

I’ve taken Russell to the dog park and made small talk with a couple visiting from PEI. Lovely. My laundry is done. Finally. New books are piled here and there.

When I come home after a time away I like to make my way through the house in a big clean and time of sprucing. Hello again to this painful, joyful place where good work and a good life happens still.