Typically, I’ll write a pre-trip article to sort of rev up to the actual day of departure, but this year is a banner year – one that I’m not likely to forget anytime soon!
Where to start? Well, the run up to the last week saw a series of events – my oven going out, my dishwasher going out, my phone going out, insurance not paying things I thought they would, and more money leaking through my hands than you can shake a stick at! I have bills where bills never were before and payments out the wazoo. But… money isn’t really the point.
The point is that unless you have a dream to shoot for, life is rather pointless. I remember MLK shouting, “I HAVE A DREAM!” And that’s how England feels to me.
That’s when I got a call from my petsitter. She’s in rehab after being taken to the hospital in an ambulance when she collapsed at her home. Her daughter (who I’ve never left) is watching my babies instead. I’m leary.
I was on the final countdown to my trip when Hurricane Harvey hit the Texas Gulf Coast. In fact, my hometown was the hardest hit in the Galveston area and featured on national news. Everyone has been evacuated today. People I’ve known all my life are without clean clothes, food, water, electricity, and other essentials. It’s horrendous.
My car decided it was not going to function properly, and on the day the hurricane hit, I was driving my car to leave it at the dealership. I was beginning to feel the fates were against me!
Hurricane Harvey also meant my flight plans had to be changed since I was flying out of Houston (now flying out of Austin). All the things I had lined up… all my ducks in a row were tumbling down around my ankles.
That’s when my brother called wanting refuge in Austin as the water was rising in his neighborhood. He’s on his way here now. And I’m thinking… maybe this trip isn’t such a good idea after all!
But, it’s really too late to back out. All the tickets have been bought and plans laid. And, besides, I HAVE A DREAM! I dream of gently rolling hills, quaint cottages, seaside fish n chips, and summers in a pub garden chatting with friends over a cold cider.
I’ve been counting down the days until I leave (we’re down to about 3 now). But each day, I feel like I’m crawling through the desert like a dying person trying to reach the oasis. Is it really there? Can England heal my soul as she most often does?
I really hope so. I really REALLY hope so.
I HAVE A DREAM!