Wecome to this blog!

Hello everybody - Welcome to the blog that I kept during my summer 2006 sabbatical. It was a refreshing and renewing period of my life. Thanks to a grant from the Louisville Institute, I was able to rest from my pastoral work, to study and pray the psalms, and to deepen my spiritual journey.

Feel free to poke around these pages. Share some of the thoughts that occurred to me. Take a look at some of the places that I was privileged to visit.

And drop me a line if you have any questions! My e-mail address is bill@presbybop.com.

All the best to you,
Bill Carter

OK, enough of this

Two and a half more hours, and I'm back on the clock. It's time to remove the "away" message from the e-mail server (if I can remember how) and find the church calendar that I stashed away in mid-June. Hmm . . . wonder what I have to do this week? I don't have a clue.

Meanwhile, today was a perfectly relaxing way to end the sabbatical. We worshiped at a nearby church, went out for brunch, and had a swim in the pool. I did some reading and writing. I've begun to write a report of sorts, knowing that I have to summarize the summer in some way, if only for myself and the organization that provided the grant.

Have you ever noticed? Whenever we take a trip somewhere, people will ask, "How did it go?" They will give you about thirty seconds to speak, and then the conversation will move on. So one needs to be ready.

There's no way to boil down an experience such as this. The working title of my report suggests how it's gone: "A Good Sabbath, or How I Spent My Summer Vocation."

There have been a few changes in me that I'm aware of, and perhaps others will detect them. Here's one change - my sermon for next Sunday is mostly written, and the sermon for the following Sunday is started. I hope that's a rhythm that I can keep going for a while. It will sure make my home life a bit easier. And it suggests that I am really looking forward to returning to my work.

As I settle in tonight, I recall a sermon that Tom Troeger once preached to our annual preaching group. Paraphrasing Deuteronomy 1:6, he declared, "You've been on this mountain long enough." Not a bad theme verse as I return to my beloved congregation!

This sabbatical has been an amazing time, and I feel deeply refreshed. Thanks to the many who have made it possible. I am grateful beyond words.

In loving memory

One of the harder realities of a sabbatical is that some things happen while you're gone. When we were in Scotland, my good friend Paul Dobson died.

Paul has been the clerk of session during all my years in Clarks Summit. We sat next to one another during hundreds of hours of church meetings, about which he always kept his sense of humor. An expert grandfather, he had a quick twinkle in his eye and a ready joke.

After he retired, he became a daily regular around the church office, weeding our flower beds and drinking gallons of our coffee. We could count on him to remember the previous night's Top Ten List.

I miss him terribly, and commend him to the care of the God he loved. And I share deeply in the grief of his wife, family, and many friends.

Thanks, Paul, for your life, your love, and your gentle smile.

Rambling purposefully toward home

On the way home, we take a detour and stop to hike at Watkins Glen. The two-mile chasm is located in the center of the Finger Lakes of upstate New York. It feels good to get out and stretch our legs.

This visit is a first for Jamie, Katie, and Meg. I enjoy introducing them to a beautiful spot that my extended family has always enjoyed. They kid me mercilessly about speaking in my tour guide voice.

We climb a lot of stone stairs and will later descend them. Somehow they didn't seem so steep when I was a kid.

After a spirited hike, we explore the touristy village of Watkins Glen and have dinner in an interesting pub. Two blocks away, Jamie spots a yarn shop, and returns to announce, "It's very good." Thanks to my wonderful Aunt Peg, we also plundered a great shop in Erie. Jamie points out that's twice as many yarn shops as we found in all of Scotland.

It takes a while to get home, but we're in no hurry. We discover that A.C. Moore is having a sale on frames, so we stop to pick up enough to frame our favorite pictures from the summer.

We're planning a celebration dinner at a nearby restaurant for the whole household. As my sabbatical ends, everybody is moving on to other things. Josh returns to Marywood University and Lauren begins her college career. Katie heads off to the Panama rain forest and Meg will visit a cousin in Syracuse. And Jamie will enjoy a week of peace and quiet with me out of the house!

To Grandmother's house we go

As the sabbatical winds up, we've had a couple of wonderful days to enjoy family members who live some distance away. Here's a picture of Grandma Stewart. She lives about six hours away, and we don't get to see her very often.

At 92, she's full of life and imagination. She is extremely bright, a voracious reader, and an astute observer of human character. What a privilege it is to have a grandmother like her!

We enjoy the hospitality of my Aunt Peg and Uncle Jim, who are consummate hosts. While we're here, my parents will return Katie and Meg from a week of Cousin Camp, and the four of us will head home.

Swing and Sway

So here's something that I don't normally get to do: play piano with the Sammy Kaye Orchestra! Once a year or so, bandleader Roger Thorpe will call to see if I'm free to fill in. Usually the answer is no, but I could accept yesterday's engagement at the Clemens Center in Elmira, NY. It was a hoot!

The Sammy Kaye Orchestra is one of the "sweet" bands from the swing era. With a lot of hit records from fifty and sixty years ago, they continue to tour around the US. The concerts may be getting earlier due to the aging of the audience, but yesterday's crowd was very appreciative.

The band is based in the Hudson River valley, and includes four musicians from the Binghamton area (that's Al Hamme in the sax section during our rehearsal).

It's a sight-reading gig (note to self: time to get those bifocals). The "book" includes about 230 tunes, all numbered and well-worn. Roger calls about fifteen numbers for the first set, making sure that he's balancing ballads and dance tunes with features for the "boy singer" and the "girl singer." The second set is all the "82's," which is where the band's hits are numbered: 82-A, 82-B, and so on.

The afternoon is a celebration of American song, and a whole lot of fun. It's pure show biz, and I'm grateful that I look pretty good in red.

Since I was traveling to Elmira, I decided to go early and worship with my home church in Owego, NY. Lest anybody think I'm sleeping in during the sabbatical, the alarm went off at 6:30. Had to be on the highway by 8 AM to catch the 9:30 service.

Nobody knew I was coming, but everybody knew I was there. That's how it is when you go home. Mom and Dad are in western Pennsylvania, hosting their grandchildren for a week of cousin camp. When I called my brother to see if he would be attending worship, his wife laughed and said, "Since the kids are with Grandma and Grandpa, he's sleeping in." Ah, yes; I forgot that's what some people do on Sundays.

Rev. Parrish Bridges, pastor of the church, is a great guy. He preached a good sermon that my brother, my sister, and parents did not hear. I sat in the back row, two rows behind the parents of my kindergarten love interest. The chair of the worship committee approached me over coffee to get my "outside opinion" on applause in worship. In fine Carter tradition, I was the last person to leave coffee hour.

This is the church that taught me to love and memorize the psalms. Above the organ pipes, there's a quote from Psalm 100: "Enter Into His Gates With Thanksgiving." That's what I do every time I go into that building.

Time Flies

An unusual phrase, but we all know what it means. It feels like the days of the sabbatical are accelerating toward their conclusion. So I find one of my favorite t-shirts to put on. It reads, "So many books, so little time."

Clearly, a sabbatical is neither a quick fix nor a drastic intervention. It's a gift of time and space in the middle of an active life. It's a season to catch up with one's self, to nurture one's spirit. And it's a season to build on the things that remain: relationships, vocation, spiritual life, and The Big Relationship.

I am deeply grateful that it has been all of these things for me.

With just over a week left, I've had touches of depression and anxiety as the experience comes to an end. Yet the whole experience has sown many seeds for my future. Here are just a handful:

• I have a rekindled love of scripture, particularly as a personal Word from God rather than merely the source of sermons and studies.
  
• I have a deepened appreciation for God's gifts as received through other folks, and a conviction that Christ's ministry must be shared among as many people as possible.
  
• I have great clarity about our congregation's need to minister to an increasing number of children and families.
  
• I enjoy a very deep love for all four of my children and my wife, and appreciation for my network of beloved friends.
• I know in my bones that Torah is a Gift, and that the Sabbath commandment is given for the benefit of the human race.
  

If I forget to tell you this, dear reader, thank you for your encouragement and support during this journey. Your prayers have been heard, and my prayers have been answered.

Happy Birthday Meg!

That tall, willowy blond in our house is eleven years old today! Before the day gets busy, Meg agrees to go out for French toast with the Old Man. We have a wonderful time, for she is a wonderful daughter with a wonderful soul. She points out that she is an inch and a half shy of her fourteen year old sister, and that she wears the same size shoes.

This is birthday week for our household. Tomorrow is my mother-in-law's Natal Recognition, and we'll surprise her with a sleepover at her house and Boston Pops tickets. It's followed by the birthdays of a favorite cousin and her mother (the favorite aunt). We call them our favorites since they've been reading this blog.

Meanwhile there's a lot of sabbaticalizing to do with just a week and a half left. I've been doing a good bit of writing, trying to sum up the experience, and I hope to work on a few more psalm compositions. A quick count suggests that I've composed about twenty-two psalms so far.

Some friends have seen me going in and out of town, giving the false impression that I'm "back." Actually I'll be out of town a good bit before the sabbatical is over. I do look forward to seeing everybody after the 21st!

It is blessed to receive

Today I had the good fortune to hear a wonderful sermon by the Rev. Bill Samford. On the few Sundays that I've been in the area, I've made a point to go out and hear somebody else preach.

That is one of the occupational hazards of clergy. When Sunday comes, one of the only voices you hear is your own.

Bill is the pastor of the Hawley Presbyterian Church. Today is the 25th anniversary of his ordination as a minister. I won't be able to attend the party this afternoon, but I enjoyed the sermonic banquet this morning. And it was good to have a taste of bread and wine to go with it.

Thanks to Bill, and all the other fine preachers that I've been able to hear thus far this summer: Virginia Miner, Jim Thyren, Iain Campbell, Linda Morgan-Clement, Bill Carl, Cynthia Campbell, Prior Christian Leisy, and the youth team at Iona. Additional thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor, Fred Craddock, and John Galloway for their taped sermons which have kept me company in my travels.

As we were traveling to St. Giles

Location, location, location: put a Starbucks across the street from a huge medieval castle, and some American tourist will take a picture of his pretty wife.

And why not?

After Jamie finishes her caramel steamer, we wander through the Princes Street gardens and climb the hill once again. The pasta house where we dined last night was so good that the birthday girl decides we should return there for lunch. (She's looking remarkably well preserved in this picture, don't you think?)

But first we're going to worship at St. Giles Cathedral, mother church of the Scottish Reformation. After wonderful worship services at Iona and the Back Free Church, our expectations are high.

Frankly, we are disappointed. The mid-day service is seven minutes long, consisting of a psalm, Gospel lesson, prayer, and benediction. All of it is delivered as if we aren't there. No passion, no interest, no concern to make a redemptive difference in the world.

Sure, it has to be disconcerting for the pastor to lead a service when tourists are standing around with digital camcorders, hoping to catch this quaint moment. I don't fault him for shooing them away. But when the moment of worship comes, why does it have to be so "quaint"? So oblivious? So sterile and detached?

I left the building with a hunger for something more. After all, this great pulpit was the spot where John Knox preached the Gospel and denounced the queen.

Later in the day, we drop by the John Knox House. It is of dubious historical value (i.e. there's no proof that he ever lived or died here). Yet the house honors the man. A large plaque declares, "John Knox is able in one hour to put more life in us than five hundred trumpets continually blasting our ear." Ah, that's preaching! That's what I want -- and that's what I want to offer for others.

So I take a quick picture of Knox and me (I'm the one on the left). It gives me something to aspire to.

Good preaching gives life to people. The Gospel demands nothing less, and the Spirit can make it happen.

In the Big City

From Stornoway, we catch a morning flight to Edinburgh. There's a two hour delay before taking off, and I use the time to write down a new tune based on Psalm 29.

Our hotel has been recommended by Dennis Dewey, who takes about three groups a year to Scotland. It's a hotel on Princes Street, one of the main drags through town, and the views from our window provide a good orientation to notable historical sites. That's the art museum, with the Assembly Hall of the Church of Scotland above it.

Looking left, the memorial to Sir Walter Scott is across the street. Holyrood Palace (the queen's Edinburgh pad) and the adjoining park are in the center, with the spire of St. Giles Cathedral looming above it all to the right.

For a Presbyterian, Edinburgh verges on being holy ground. John Knox preached our denomination into being from the pulpit of St. Giles. The city has a significant Presbyterian heritage, although it's been eclipsed by the rise of the secularism and is significantly downplayed in all the tourist literature.

We arrive on a brilliant blue day, drop our bags at the Ramada, and head up the hill to the "Holy Mile." Jamie discovers a shop that is properly named. It's not far from the Whisky Heritage Center, so we drop in there for a quick visit and a wee dram.


The Edinburgh Castle looms over this part of the city. Situated on a huge chunk of rock, it's a formidable presence and a constant reminder of the city's medieval roots. The day after we leave, the castle will be the site for the military Tattoo, a huge presentation of bagpipe bands, highland dancing, and precision marching. It's a big deal, and sells out a year in advance.

This is also the opening week of the Edinburgh Festival - there will be hundreds of artistic presentations around the city, including opera, drama, all kinds of music, and a concert tonight by Manhattan Transfer.

But most important, today is Jamie's birthday. It's her day to call the shots. We enjoy a brisk walk along the Royal Mile, or at least the first half of it. She's interested in visiting a worship service at St. Giles Cathedral, and suggests that we return tomorrow for that.

On the recommendation of Dennis Dewey, we wander down to Sandy Bell's Pub, haven of a lot of world-class folk and traditional music. Even though there is a new smoking ban throughout Scotland, the place is noisy and small. It's hard to imagine where a band will play, until a fiddler drops by for a pint.

We stick around for a short bit and decide to opt for a quiet stroll. We have spent a lot of time walking together on this trip, and have enjoyed the exercise very much. On the way back, we pass by a coffee shop where J.K. Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter book, and stop at a basement internet cafe where we can write notes to loved ones at home.

Edinburgh is dramatically different from the small town of Stornoway. It was odd to grab a noontime sandwich at a Subway, especially after the restraint of three days in the Hebrides. The city moves at a faster pace, and the sheer number of tourists makes it more impersonal. But we're glad to be here - and this whole trip has been a tremendous gift for which we are deeply grateful.

And then we walk by the alley (or "close") which was the home of Deacon Brodie, a murderous whack-job of a person who inspired Robert Louis Stevenson to invent Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde. It's right across the street from a sidewalk vendor who has more facial piercings than we had ever imagined possible...

Toodling around Lewis

Monday is our day for driving around the Isle of Lewis. It's not a big island. But there's no reason to hurry either. And there are plenty of amazing sights to enjoy. We take our borrowed car and negotiate a couple of backwards traffic circles. Very soon we're deep in the countryside.

We head to the northern tip of the island, to a place affectionately called "The Butt of Lewis." Not far from the lighthouse, there is a beautiful beach (Port Stoth) with the bluest ocean north of Puerto Rico. We enjoy a picnic in the white sands, and I take a thousand pictures.

Circling south along the coast, we visit a quilt shop and a rather random standing stone. It's adjacent to a working-class farmhouse, and looks like it was dropped out of a space ship.

Through the moors, there are occasional sections where the soil has been cut. This is how the traditional folks cut the peat, which they cut in precise blocks and dry as fuel. It's a lot of work, but the fuel source is free to anybody who wishes to work for it.

Continuing south, we arrive at the Blackhouse Village of Gearrannan. This is a small settlement of traditional croft (farm) homes which have been lovingly restored by the local community. The homes were inhabited until about thirty years ago. They sat unoccupied for ten years after the final residents (three spinster sisters) passed on.

The local folks decided to keep the heritage alive, and began a historic preservation association. It's possible to book a room, and a number of youth groups "camp" in the hostel which has been established in one of the blackhouses.

After the blackhouses, we continue driving to the Calanais Standing Stones -- to enjoy them by daylight and to read the interpretive displays. The stones are still a bit spooky. They are shaped in the form of a Celtic cross. That's striking, since they were here for two or three thousand years before the crucifixion of Christ.

Like I wrote before: this collection of stones is one of those Unsolved Mysteries on the planet.

We head back to Stornoway again, crossing the peaty moors and doing our best to keep the car on the left side of the road. Dinner is at a Thai restaurant; it's every bit as fine as our favorite place in Manhattan.

Worship - in and out of the sanctuary

After a leisurely breakfast (wouldn't it be nice if all Sundays began that way?), Donnie gives us a lift for the noon service at Back Free Church. It's a strikingly simple building in a rural area. Except for an occasional English word, the entire service is in Gaelic, the ancient folk language of the people.

The service purports to be directly from the Bible. The only musical instrument in the sanctuary is the human voice. There is no need for a worship bulletin. Here's the order:

• Psalm 95 (a few verses spoken, the whole psalm sung while seated)
• Prayer (about ten minutes long, for which we stand)
• Psalm 89 (sung)
  
• Deueronomy 32 ( the whole chapter read)
• Psalm (a brief portion sung)
  
• Sermon (about 35 minutes long in Gaelic; you can hear it by clicking here)
• Prayer (brief)
• Psalm (sung)
  
• Benediction (after which everybody leaves quickly in silence)

Culturally speaking, the congregation is quite conservative. Jamie is probably the only woman present who doesn't wear a hat. She is certainly the only woman in slacks. I wear my short-sleeved pastoral collar, which prompts the lady next to me to ask, "Oh, and might you be a visitor today?"

The Gaelic psalm singing is remarkable. It's great to meet Calum Martin, a music teacher who has worked hard to record these psalms. We chat briefly about his work with jazzer Willie Ruff, and I promise to be in touch by e-mail with questions.

Pastor Iain invites us to the manse for coffee at 5:00 pm. Our driver smiles when he hears this, and suggests that we borrow his car. "In fact," he says generously, "just keep it for a couple of days and enjoy the island."

Iain and his wife Anne are pleasant hosts, and we're able to stick around for the English service at 6. Iain is a fine and fiery preacher, and we enjoy his passion very much. The psalm singing is much tamer, and sounds like acapella hymn-singing.

After supper at one of the very few restaurants that is open in Stornoway, we decide to take advantage of our wheels and explore some local countryside. A beautiful sunset begins at around 9:15, and we decide to chase it for a while.

Driving westward across the moors, we stop to exchange greetings with a flock of sheep. This is a harsh and lonely landscape, given to much silence and the possiblility of severe weather. More than once, I ask out loud, "How do the psalms shape these people?" There is no immediate answer - just the howling of wind and an incredibly beautiful sky.

Glancing at the map, we realize we're not far from the Calanais Standing Stones, a set of 4000-year-old tall rocks that were intentionally planted on a seaside hill. These are curious markers left by an ancient people, as mysterious (and old) as Stonehenge. Just why they happen to be placed here is a question posed by documentaries on cable TV.

Arriving just as the sun lights up the sky in blue, purple, and creamsicle orange, I throw the car into park, leap out with camera in hand, and run up the rugged hill toward the stones. Jamie shouts behind me, "You'd better hurry!" and I'm glad that I do.

The evening sky gives us a gift which we can only touch through a series of photographs. A later conversation with a professional photographer confirms my hunch: you've gotta be a little wacky to shoot pictures of landscapes. It involves strange hours, unusual postures, and an attempt to see more deeply.

These stones have been here a long time. They've survived a lot of bad weather and are content to remain obscure. They are not easily explained, a bit eerie and odd. And they are waiting to be found. Glimpses of the Holy?

Isle of Lewis

Hello from Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, on the northwest corner of Europe. We caught an early flight from Inverness this morning.

Lewis is a flat, somewhat remote island. Stornoway is the only community that resembles a town. We're here for three nights, having found a cool B&B on the internet. Margaret, our proprietor, sent her husband Donnie to "collect us" from the airport. They're quite comical, even a bit bawdy, and we like them very much.

Tomorrow we will head off for worship at the Back Free Church, about five miles away. This is one of the few churches in the world that still lines out the psalms in Gaelic. In fact, tomorrow's service will be entirely in Gaelic -- so there's no telling what we will understand. The service has been the one non-negotiable part of this journey. I'm excited about hearing the psalms "done live" by a congregation of acapella voices.

Stornoway will shut down for the Sabbath. When Donnie drove us into town, he pointed out the only place that will be open tomorrow -- a gas station and small market, kind of like a convenience store. "It's owned by Norwegian Catholics," he said, "and they're making a killing."

Yesterday we took a bus from Fort William, driven by the Driver With A Deathwish. We whizzed by Loch Ness ("Look, there's Nessie!"), caught a flying glimpse of Castle Urqhart, and landed on two wheels in Inverness.

Inverness is a fairy tale town, and we enjoyed a thirty minute rainbox from many vantage points. Our B&B was outstanding, quite close to everything. We weren't there for very long, given the difficulties of reaching Stornoway. It would be marvelous to return to explore Inverness and the rest of the Highlands.

On the way to the airport our cabbie took us by the Stuart Castle, reputedly my family's ancestral home. It rents rooms for about $300 a night, and offers a free night's stay to anybody who can last the evening in the tower room which is haunted by a thief named Big Angus. We decided to pass.

Fort William and Glenfinnan

Today we left Iona, backtracked our steps across the Isle of Mull, and caught a mid-day bus along the west coast. We're staying in a cute B&B on the shoulder of Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in Scotland. It's about a two mile hike downhill into town.

Fort William is one of the first towns in the highlands, and the scenery is breathtaking. As we shared a few amber beverages with two ladies from Belgium, one of them remarked what impressed her about Scotland: "So much water - and the mountains rise out of the middle of it."

We take a brief train up to Glenfinnan, site of Bonnie Prince Charlie's big hurrah. It's better known in my family as the Site of the Harry Potter Train Bridge, where Harry and Ron almost got hit by the Hogwarts Express as they were traveling by flying car. Loch Shiel, the long lake by the historical shrine, is also the movie scene for the Hogwarts Castle in the films. My daughter Meg will be impressed.

Jamie, however, was not impressed -- with me being rather insistent that we slog through the rain, yanking along our rolling suitcases down a two mile hill, taking my pictures, and then yanking suitcases back up the hill to catch our train, all so I can impress my kid. Ah, I say, these are the experiences that will strengthen a marriage!

And so I almost end up with two suitcases to pull up the hill. I have it coming.

Neverthess they're wonderful pictures. Really. I think they're worth it. And I would give my big toe to come back here and stay longer some day. It's just that beautiful.

Hi-ho from Iona

Hello from Iona, the small rock where St. Columba brought the Christian faith to Scotland. It's a beautiful day, and we've had a delightful time walking around this very green island. The island is especially quiet after the tourists have left.

We took two ferries and a bus to get here. Crossing the Isle of Mull, we were impressed by the craggy hills and bleak landscape. The crab boats were coming into Fionnphort as we landed there. Jamie conversed with a friendly sea lion, but he was speaking in French.

Tonight after dinner, we will join the Iona Community for worship in the historic abbey. And for the first time during the sabbatical, I spent a lot of money in a book store -- the Iona folks have a one-stop spot for all their wonderful songs and worship resources.

Jamie is unfamiliar with the Iona group's fresh approach to worship. As she heard the teens on the youth conference practicing for tonight, her ears perked up. "Can't wait to hear them tonight!"

More stories to tell, and some incredible pictures.

On the road.. er, the tracks

Had a proper Scottish breakfast in Glasgow. We catch a train from the busy Queen Street Station, and begin the three hour ride to Oban.

It's a pleasant journey. We stop briefly at the Loch Lomond park, and enjoy some beautiful scenery. Around the bend at Loch Awe, the castle Stalker appears.

Shortly we're in Oban, which is the jumping off-place for the Western Hebrides. Many of the ferries leave from here.

This is a fun place, kind of quaint and touristy. We enjoy an impromptu reheasal of a pipe band, settle into our comfortable B&B with a seaside view, and applaud a 10-star sunset.

Tomorrow we'll catch a ferry to Craignure, on the Isle of Mull, and then take the bus to Fionnphort, where we'll catch the ferry to Iona.

Greetings from Glasgow

On behalf of all the Glaswegians, Jamie and I offer a hearty hello to you who dwell across the Pond. We landed safely in Glasgow after an all-night flight. Immediately found a Starbucks, and began to explore this fair city.

Had a hearty walk up to the cathedral, where one of the organists treated us to some rehearsal sounds. Found a pub for a quick bite and sip, and picked up tomorrow's train tickets to Oban. We agreed: a few hours wandering around Glasgow has been sufficient to see whatever we wanted to see.

We have splurged for tonight and booked a swanky hotel room. The shower will feel good. The trick is to get caught up with the time change.

Love to all -

BC

The pilgrimage continues

Getting ready for Scotland. We're flying out soon from Newark.

Meanwhile it's time for laundry, luggage, and taking all the photos off the memory card.

Jamie joins me for this leg of the trip. We'll be in touch as we're able.

Lots of love to all!

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Did you see the movie? Then you have a pretty good idea how yesterday went.

Didn't set a car on fire (yet), but I did sit on a runway for four hours at an airport that never appeared on any of my itineraries. That resulted in a missed flight, which could not be rebooked for another week, since it was purchased on frequent flyer miles. US Air customers, beware!

And Southwest customers, beware: I did not learn that Southwest baggage handlers do not transfer luggage to other airlines until I had already given my luggage to a Skycap, who would not return it because it was on its way to security. You must go to your next destination, exit the plane, pickup your luggage in the terminal, go to the ticket counter of the next airline to check it, go back through security screening, wait for the plane, and go to the next stop.

Unless, of course, your first plane arrives four hours late. The ticket counter won't be open at 1:35 AM.

Here's another travel tip: avoid the Econolodge in the Philadelphia airport. You get what you pay for.

My beautiful wife came to my assistance, and we made a day of it. As we stopped at a gas station on the way home, she made a new friend.

Despite the travel industry, there is goodness and beauty in the world. Thank you, God.