A Long Awaited Post on Our Vacation

Note: I know that this blogpost is really late. I also know that I owe you an update on the July 4^th weekend when my family was in town and an update on my knee surgery. I apologize and vow to do better the next few days.

Traveling on the Government’s My Own Dime

I have a new rule when planning a trip: never, ever, ever let the government be in charge of making all the arrangements. We showed up at LAX bright and early Thursday morning on the 12^th to fly out to Memphis. Melissa and her bags (complete with a $25 charge for the second bag) checked right in, but when I tried to do the same…well, let’s just say that someone forgot to turn on my government credit card. What this meant is that (a) that while my seat had been reserved, the ticket was not purchased, (b) that I had to pay for the ticket with my own pocket, (c) I paid full-fare instead of the government rate. Thankfully at least the seat was still reserved as we were on a very full flight.

Lest you think that the government was done with me, when we showed up at our hotel in Memphis after enjoying a few days of leave in Michigan, the hotel clerk informed me that I was a no-show, as I was supposed to check-in on the 12^th, not the 18^th. Now, I know for a fact that the long-suffering S1 and I explicitly set up the trip to exclude my days of leave, so who knows who or what overrode our inputs. Thankfully, the clerk found us a room even though the hotel was stuffed full of people. One good thing out of this trip though is that because I put the whole trip on my own card, I will not have to pay off the government credit card with my own cash while waiting for my reimbursement.

You see, when I usually travel on the government’s dime, my travel claim almost always is hijacked somewhere, which means that my government credit card bill comes due long before I see any money. Not wanting to be delinquent and hurt my credit rating, I pay off the bill. Then, when the reimbursement does come in, it is sent to my government card which now has a massive credit to it. To get that money back, I then have to call and ask for a refund, which the credit card company (Bank of America) graciously sends via paper check in 5-10 working days. Let me repeat: never, ever, ever let the government be in charge of making all the arrangements.

My Brother is My Co-Pilot (What Good Can Come of That?)

After an uneventful flight to Memphis, Melissa, the baby and I picked up our rental car and headed up to Kentucky to meet my brother. We had reserved a medium-sized SUV, which was much cheaper than renting a mini-van, even though they get the same gas mileage (methinks that with gas prices being what they are, people are avoiding SUVs, dropping their rental price). Melissa tried to get me to pay extra for a navigation system which was insulting. After all, I’ve driven all over Tennessee as a college student, have driven to my brother’s town in Kentucky countless times and have made the trek up to Michigan twice. At any rate, we loaded up into our boxy, Hummer-wannabee SUV (Toyota FJ Cruiser) and headed up to Kentucky where we picked up Michael.

As is common when Michael and I get together, within minutes of starting the drive to Michigan, we were nitpicking at each other. How we’d managed to go the first night without much “fighting” is beyond me. I guess we were too concerned with meeting his new (to us) kitty cats and catching up on Eurocup 2008. At any rate, Michael is convinced that I am a horrible driver, which is really silly. Even an extremely biased, anti-Peter source like my wife thinks that I drive like an old grandpa. Really, I just think that Michael doesn’t want to admit that I have superior skills behind the wheel. However, to throw him a bone, I will confess that he is probably better on two wheels. He has both a very nice road bike and mountain bike and I know that he is looking forward to commuting by bike to UT’s campus when he starts grad school in a few weeks.

She Thinks My Tractor’s…Well, It’s Not Really My Tractor

The reason that Melissa, Sarah Rose and I made the trip up to Michigan was so that my dad’s side of the family could meet the little one for the first time. Sarah Rose was of course an unqualified success, even if most people think she looks more like a Ziegler than an Ott (which most people would also tell you is a good thing). While in Michigan, we took her down to the family farm and recreated a famous photo in my family’s history. Back when Michael and I were wee little lads, my dad took a photo of us sitting with my grandpa in a blue (Ford) tractor. The tractors, now some 30 years old, are still around, so of course we had to have Miss Sarah sit up in the tractor with her great-grandpa, as well as photos of me with him, photos of Sarah of me, and photos of all three of us.

On Sunday, we celebrated my first Father’s Day with a steak meal grilled up by my uncles at my grandparents’ house in Lansing (the farm is in Fowlerville). Of course, Grandma Ott kept us stuffed with food, which is bad news since I’m trying to lose weight. Melissa said that Sarah was too young to try green olives, so we’ll have to wait till next time to find out whether she is a true Ott or not. Speaking of next time, we talked with my cousin Ruthie, who is with the Army in Hawaii. It looks like we’ll be out next summer for her wedding. I know that her family (whom we saw our last night there) has to be happy about her getting out of the Army, though she is marrying a fellow soldier.

You Mean I Was Supposed To Worship?

After our jaunt to Michigan, it was time to head back down South to Memphis, TN for my denominational conference. I have a confession to make: I really am not that strongly attached to my denomination. Because they endorse me for the chaplaincy, it is important that I remain on their good side, but I find that I don’t fit in too well. Part of the reason for that is that the older generation in the group is mostly bitter ex-Southern Baptists who lost the denominational wars of the 1980s and 90s. (Personally, I get tired of hearing older gentlemen proudly stating how they support women in ministry and damn the SBC for not doing so. I used to be a strong advocate for women in ministry, until I found out that they are just as self-centered and self-righteous as we men are. Now I just tolerate them like I tolerate all pastors, including myself.) Part of the reason is that so many of the younger supporters lean decidedly left (this is a denomination that has named its major offering after Jimmy Carter, one of the top-five worst presidents in US history).

In fact, Melissa and I snuck out of one worship session to meet with a seminary friend who is an arch-conservative from Tennessee. I joked that the three of us comprised the entire “right wing” of the denomination. All the same though, it was good to see old friends from college and seminary and make new connections with other chaplains supported by CBF. In fact, the new head of military chaplaincy for the CBF took us out to eat at Rendezvous, a famous dry rub rib joint downtown during another worship session. The ribs were pretty good, though the sides were lacking, especially the awful coleslaw. All the same, the conversation with other chaplains was wonderful, and the meal a more worshipful experience than the official worship probably would have been.

$16.42 Worth of Grace

So, there we were getting to leave Memphis for Rome, GA, when a stranger passing by on the street walked up to our car and asked us if we’d been to the National Civil Rights Museum (he was black). We explained that we hadn’t and continued to get ready to leave when he asked us for money. Now, if you’ve ever been to downtown Memphis you know that there are signs everywhere telling people not to give money to panhandlers. I never do on principal anyway as one never knows what the panhandler might purchase with it—perhaps drugs or alcohol.

However, Melissa and I offered to buy him breakfast. After refusing at first, he finally consented, so I walked him over to a nearby café while Melissa and the baby situated themselves in the car. While waiting for the to-go boxes to come out, the gentleman told me his story—that he’d just been released from prison after doing hard time for some dozen-plus felonies; that he had no family in the area as they’d all moved to Chicago; that he believed in God and knew that he could stay out of trouble and start a new life; that he doesn’t have a job yet but is looking for one (a question I always ask); that he can stay in the homeless shelter for so long…

Two omelet breakfasts and fifteen minutes later, we were finally on our way. I don’t know if the meal meant anything to him other than a full stomach for one morning, but I do hope that our stranger does find his way in life and does really believe that God is with him, one breakfast at a time.

Rome: $180 Worth of Baseball Cards, A Ballgame, a Church and a Pool

Because we left Memphis late, we ended up delaying the big event of trip to Rome, which was opening up a couple of boxes of baseball cards with a former youth of mine and a co-pastor of the church where I used to work. However, we did make it in time to attend the Rome Braves (the single-A farm club of the Atlanta Braves) game, which meant that Sarah Rose has now been to a ballgame. Of course, the Rome Braves lost, but the evening was still a success. She stayed up for the whole game, was admired by the fans sitting around us, and helped create a very special memory for her daddy.

On Sunday, I threw on my summer whites and helped lead worship at North Broad Baptist Church. I enjoyed catching up with some of my former youth (many now graduating from college) and experiencing the wonderfully semi-liturgical worship that NBBC does so well for a Baptist church. After church, we joined the pastors’ family at the home of our hosts for the weekend for a wonderful meal, followed by a pool party at one of my former youth’s home. Sarah sure does love swimming in the water!

After the pool party, we quickly changed and headed out to Las Palmas, my favorite Mexican joint in town where we again chowed down with the pastors, my baseball card friend Ben and another one of my youth, Michele. Back in the day, when I was a poor youth minister who shouldn’t have been spending any money buying baseball cards, Ben and I would always eat at Las Palmas first before opening cards. It’s become part of the tradition, as has opening the cards in the church. So, after dinner we traipsed over to the church office where the pastor, Ben and I opened up our boxes. This was Sarah’s first baseball card opening experience. She found the shiny wrappers to be way more exciting than an autographed baseball card, but I know that she’ll learn in time. As a gift, Ben gave me a ball signed by John Smoltz that he had signed when he’d been down in Rome on a rehab assignment. Smoltzie now resides next to Todd Helton’s autographed ball on the dresser by my bed.

Break It to Me Gently

When I lived in Georgia during seminary, I often made the trip to and from Atlanta and Jefferson City, TN (where I visited Melissa) and Hopkinsville, Kentucky (where I visited Michael). While driving through the hills of Tennessee early on a Sunday morning to get back to my church, I would often listen to the little country preachers on the radio. Now, our theology didn’t always match, but I always appreciated the fervor and honesty of the preachers, something often lacking in my own seminary where we tended to intellectualize the gospel into something abstract instead of a concrete reality that changes people’s lives. I also enjoyed listening to the various Southern Gospel singing groups who would lead worship at these churches. I have fond memories of my dad listening to Southern Gospel while we were getting ready for church when we lived in Georgia.

Sadly, Melissa can take Gospel music in small doses only, so I alternated torturing her with Gospel and Classic Country. As we were driving through west Alabama, Brenda Lee’s famous hit, “Break It To Me Gently” came on over the radio. First recorded in 1962, for some reason in the 40 plus ensuing years, my wife has never heard the song. I swear, sometimes she is such a musical heathen!

Dairy Queen Burgers and Southern Hospitality

Though Melissa doesn’t like Southern Gospel, she loves Southern hospitality. The last meal we had with Michael before leaving him was at a Dairy Queen. Melissa picked the restaurant because she’s never eaten there before, having had only their ice cream. I enjoyed reacquainting myself with DQ’s mushroom Swiss burger and fries, both of which are really good. DQ also had a new ice cream treat—sundae bowls, which we eagerly tried out.

Well, as we made our way back from Rome to Memphis for our flight back to California, we stopped one last time for food in Alabama. Again, Melissa picked DQ (methinks because of the fabulous desert). The people behind the counter were extremely friendly and gushed all over Miss Sarah Rose. Then, as we were leaving, the lady who had taken our order stopped us to ask if she could refill our drinks before we went on our way. Melissa spent her whole (non-college) life in southern California, so she is not used to people being so friendly. In fact, she told me that she’d be willing to put up with humidity and annoying SEC fans and live in the South simply because the people are so nice.

The Final Tally: XXX of Gas

When we left California, gas was peaking at $4.60 a gallon; down to $4.42 on base when we returned (it currently is at $4.38). In our travels down South and in the Midwest, we paid considerably less, ranging from $3.799 in Memphis, TN to $4.159 in Whiteland, Indiana (it was $4.059 there on our way back down from Michigan). All total, we spent $443.14 on 111.982 gallons of gas, while driving 2480.4 miles. We averaged 22.15 miles to the gallon, and 17.87 pennies to the mile. [Note: this does not include gas costs or mileage from the Los Angeles airport and back]. What a long, but fulfilling trip!