Even the Best Laid Plans...

The observant reader might have noticed that I am not, in fact, in Europe.  Here's what happened:

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Todd and I employed our best Tetris skills cramming into our Mini Cooper everything we'll bring on our trip, plus items to leave with family while we travel.  When the little car could not possibly hold another thing, we said good-bye to our house and pulled away from it for the last time.

It was 10 a.m. and the sky was as clear and hopeful as our expectations of blissful globe trotting.  Unfortunately, Mother Nature didn't care about our plans and within three hours delivered a blizzard that would close I-80 for two days.  Our progress was halted in Middle-of-Nowhere, Wyoming (where, annoyingly, I had no cell phone service).

When the highway was still closed the next morning, we decided to bypass the weather, taking a 2-lane road along the Continental Divide that led south into Colorado.  This detour proved to be a good gamble; it was free of snow and had more deer than cars.  

Pronghorns (antelope, not deer, thanks @Lynne) in Colorado

Our luck wouldn't hold, though.  Road conditions deteriorated as we crossed the Rockies, leading to white-knuckled hours dodging giant semi-trucks that moved at alarmingly inconsistent speeds and paths on steep grades and around curves.  I can now state with confidence that our car can accelerate very quickly and also has very good brakes.  My husband can confirm that the Oh-Sh*t bar works.

By the time we reached Denver, two days behind schedule, exhausted and relieved to have escaped the mountains unscathed, I seriously considered partaking in Colorado's newly legalized state pastime...  We then crossed Kansas without dying of boredom, but had to cut short our visit with friends in Kansas City in order to get to mid-Missouri in time for Grandma's memorial service.  (Which we did.)

That was last week.  I thought we would be in Spain by now, and was a little bummed when we canceled our flight to Madrid, even though I had agreed to delay Europe for just a little while and first explore more of the United States in our own car.  And maybe I could get used to the idea of not working; appreciate wherever we are today and not worry about where we should be next week.

I have been retired for exactly three weeks.  My mind is still in "vacation" mode; I feel like we should go-go-go before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.  My husband, who has been retired for two years and is accustomed to it, reminded me, "What's the hurry?  It's not like you have to go to work on Monday.  Europe isn't going anywhere."

So, even though I'm still longing to be somewhere across the Atlantic, I am trying to not be so anxious.  I have enjoyed the extra time with our son, and catching up with my in-laws, and I am getting used to not calling Utah home.  Tomorrow, instead of jumping on a Madrid-bound plane, we are getting back in the car and heading to the east coast, where we will spend a couple of weeks vacationing.  Then we'll fly to Europe.  **That's the plan.

**subject to change

Adieu, Dorothy

Our exit from Utah began with bumps and jags, rather than with the smooth start I'd hoped for.

Amidst all the hub-bub of arranging to become

In loving memory of Dorothy Irene Yoder

full-time gallivants, we lost my husband's paternal grandmother, Dorothy Irene Yoder, who passed away at the age of 96.  The family was kind enough to wait for us to arrive in Missouri (more about our misadventures on that commute in another post) before holding Grandma's memorial service.

Grandma Yoder was a tiny woman with a steady, piercing gaze, who enjoyed getting gussied up for visitors.  She was spry, 10% feisty and 100% hearty midwesterner.  She loved ice cream and the color lavender, and didn't much care for meat.  When I think about the stories of Grandma's youth, which she told with fervor and crystal clarity, I marvel at all she must have seen in nearly a century on this planet.

Grandma was born in 1918, the same year that World War I ended, Chevrolet sold it's first pick-up truck, and Air Mail service began.  Dorothy was a third-grader when the first motion picture with sound was played, and it wasn't until she was 10 years old that sliced bread was invented.  Grandma married Grandpa Walter when she was just 16 years old; they were together for 70 years, until Grandpa's passing 11 years ago.  "Greatest Generation", indeed!

Grandma was memorialized in the Yoder family plot, next to Grandpa, in a picturesque, sunny hilltop cemetery just a few miles from the town where she grew up.

I am fortunate and very glad to have known Dorothy Yoder.  Farewell, sweet Grandma.