Training day...............The flip side.............................

The Compassion in Action training was a wonderful amazing experience. It was also a very nurturing "take care of me" weekend, and I am feeling relaxed and refreshed this morning. This is good!

As far as the information I learned, and details of the class, I need to sit with things for a day or two before I share them. For today, I thought you might enjoy hearing the details of my trip to the conference.

I learned that it doesn't really do much good to print out directions if you don't plan on reading them. Why would I need to read them before I was well on my way? I knew where I was headed for the first hundred miles or so.......... At least I thought I knew. When I decided to check out where I was heading next, I discovered that I was already lost. At least as far as the directions where concerned. No big deal....... I simply told myself that I wasn't lost, I was just on an adventure. After going out of my way a bit, I got back on track just slightly before exiting a toll road. After paying the toll, I checked my directions with the attendant. She told me, "Oh it's much easier if you just____________." Okay! I can do easy..................... I should have done directions. Easy took me straight to construction......... DO NOT PASS gas station! Of course I didn't listen, because I was an entire bar away from empty. Plenty of time to get gas at the next stop. Or so I thought. Out of nowhere, Chicago jumped out at me. Totally torn up, all I could see was pile after pile of concrete surrounding the plethera of orange barrels. And WHAT WAS THAT IN FRONT OF ME? Could it really be the skyline of Chicago? NO! YES! NO! YES!..................... OH! GREAT! By this time, not only was I wishing I had gotten gas, but I had been in the truck for awhile, and I had to go, if you catch my drift. I decided I would get off, get gas, and check my directions. Let me tell you, for being that close to Chicago, there really wasn't anything around. (Except a bunch of industrial parks.) I finally came across a truck stop, (Tom's Truck Stop to be exact) no gas, but they had to have a bathroom right? As I was going in, I noticed the typical sign stating the rest room was for customers only. Eating at truck stops, isn't my thing, and besides I figured they just had the sign posted, but it wouldn't apply to me. (Don't we all think that rules are for everyone but us?) I went in, and told the waitress that I would like to use the rest room and check my directions. She looked me straight in the eye and said, "I can't let you do that." Now there wasn't a mirror in front of me, but the look on my face had to have been priceless. Sort of like what a trapped animal might look like. Bladder was filled to overflow, and there was no way she was going to cooperate much longer. The waitress went on to explain that not five minutes prior to my arrival, a pipe had burst and they couldn 't use any water. (Patty's luck strikes again!) Thinking fast on my feet, I ask her if she had a cup I could use, and she was happy to accommodate me, giving me the largest styrofoam cup she had. Cup in hand, bladder and I headed to the bathroom. Being well versed in surrendering specimens, (NO! I have not had to be drug tested, I am just old and have had many a yearly physical.) I had no problems with having to aim into the cup, but without the backup of the toilet, my sense of panic returned as I began to reach the top. Let's just say, "EVERYTHING came out okay, and I was only slightly embarressed when I had to take the cup outside to dump it in the grass. (Thank goodness there was a tiny strip of grass between the road and all the other surrounding concrete!)

The waitress was very nice and understanding, and between her and the cook, I left much "relieved" and with another set of 'easy' directions. When starting out the trip, I knew I would be going near Chicago, but had I been in the passenger's seat, I am sure I could have reached out and touched a sky scraper or two. Had I seen a gas station, not only would I have reached out and touched it, I would most likely have kissed it! But nope, nada, not a one in sight. I called (my) Mister, and ask him how many miles I could go once the needle was on the second red mark, and he told me not more than fifteen miles. What he couldn't tell me was how this number was affected by traffic jams. I was traveling at between five and ten miles an hour. If I was good at math, I might have been able to figure out the adjusted number, but since I am not, I just kept trying to convince myself I was on a great adventure, having the time of my life.

The cook that gave me directions, told me it would take me about twenty minutes to get to the next road I needed to take. An hour and twenty minutes later, I had given up on the idea of ever getting to the other side of the city, and was trying to caculate how long I could survive with the amount of food and water I had with me. I began talking to my angels in earnest, asking them for a sign. (I didn't care if it were literal or mysical......... I just wanted some gas and grass to magically apprear before me.) Immediately after asking for the sign, I looked up and this is what I saw........................................

"RUNNING ON EMPTY? DIAL ____________ FOR ALTERNATIVE ROUTE"

After reading the sign, I had an immediate vision of my truck abandoned on the side of the road
and me walking arms out stretched, eyes towards the heavens praying to come across a gas station before I became a grease spot on the side of the road. I jumped right to bargining with God to spare me, because my family would never be able to find the spot to put up a memorial to me,and even if they did, it would soon be torn down to make way for the constuction.

By the grace of God, forty minutes later the truck was still inching forward, and I finally found my gas and grass. I might have kissed the attendant taking the money if he wasn't safetly installed behind a wall of plastic.

Not to long after getting gas, I came to my exit, and the rest of "Patty's big adventure" came to a close. All in all, it took me about three hours to travel two hundred and fifteen miles, and three hours to travel the fifteen miles through Chicago. No amount of culture and big city living could convince me to willingly move into that type of traffic style. I complain when it takes me two cycles (maybe five minutes) to get through the one traffic light in my small town. My hat is off to all those folks that deal with that mess on a daily basis, but all I can say is "Better you than me!"