Dinner party is over. Aunt Florence’s orange cake was a success. Now I must turn my attention to last minutes, errands and what to wear. There was a time when we dressed up to travel. We would put on our Sunday-go-to-meeting outfits with heels and matching purses. Traveling was an event. People hugged and whole families went to the terminal to see you off. Now I must remember to wear socks, put on my tolerate-it-all face, and gird myself for the ordeal. I love being there trips; I dislike getting there trips.
My excitement, though, is building. My stomach feels like it would feel just before I sang at a special event. I did sing, once upon a time. I sang at church, at the county fair, at weddings, and often at the high school chapel programs. My high school class elected me as most talented for singing. Then I stopped singing. Singing made me nervous. My stomach would flutter. I took a sabbatical from singing and began to write instead. Now that I feel my stomach fluttering, will I stop traveling? I don’t think so. I can’t wait to the “being” there starts.
Leara Rhodes 