I'm almost afraid to say this aloud...NO snow. No missed flights. No cancelled anything. This is my forth out-of-country trip in four years and the first time things have gone on schedule. Of course, at this very moment I am only about half way to my final destination. We are close to Houston, low enough that I can see puzzle-like plots of green and sand beige, swirly things and straight-edged meandering lines. I imagine cowboys. (Did I tell you that there is a real Cowboy on this plane? I wished for him to sit with us. I would have loved to chat him up. Just listening to the way those southern folk mutilate the English language gives me pause...hmmm)

There is a three hour pause for reflection and food after we land in Texas. I think I recall being here once before as a child. I'm certain the Secord VW van of the 70's had a window sticker shaped somewhat like the Mighty Texas State; proudly displayed with about 40 others on its rear back window, homemade plaid curtains acting as a snazzy backdrop. In those days a guy with a wife, five kids and a couple of spunky Irish Setters couldn't even dream of flying his family afar for some pricey all-inclusive beach holiday. If he had the travel bug, like my father once did, he had to get creative.

My life is dramatic. I don't think I create drama, but it does have a habit of seeking me out. In any case, travel drama is something else, it's called "adventure". It's the stuff of happy happenings and heart quickening surprises.

My adventures with the Guatemala Stove Project are not nearly as planned as one might think. This isn't the "big box" kind of volunteering Habitat for Humanity, World Vision, Free the Children or dozens of others have made famous. It isn't as much an "us and them" experience. We don't spend our days in remote villages and then return home to luxurious accommodations.  When we eat the grey-water-boney soupa, offered with great hospitality, it is our lunch. It isn't a place holder until we get back to a fancier feast.

This is my third adventure to Guatemala. The first trip with the Guatemalan Stove Project in 2011 (you can still read about it here) was part of a personal journey. It taught me about the Maya and myself. I felt stronger, my sense of social justice more defined when I returned back home. I was sicker than I had ever been, thinner than I'd ever been, and happier than I could have ever imagined.

When I spotted Anne across the airport alley it was a strange but exciting glimpse. She was out of context. I had almost forgotten that she was heading to Las Vegas for a weekend of pure indulgence, with the wild and wonderful Judy. Women, booze, food and gambling...Anne laughed when Liz and I told her that I had been identified for a "special" search. The stern (ok, ugly) security woman took my boarding pass and refused to return it. Three bulky American guys felt around in my daypack....ziplock bag of polysporin, toothpaste, antiseptic and grapefruitseed extract, Charmain wipes, two solar lights in boxes stuffed with 'izzy dolls and toothbrushes....oh and a pocket knife...damn little thing. They looked at me with squishy eyes,, considering wether they should search further for a machine gun or pipe bomb. I distracted them with some ditzy conversation :)

The flight from Houston to Gautemala City had a fine collection of Canadian and American tourists. There was a medical group. I didn't speak to them. We met 2 Rotary Club members from Seattle , 2 from North Bay and 2 from NY. Our seat mate was another woman from Seattle, travelling with her husband and a group from Seattle, There are 12 of them and they are going to the tourist centres...Antigua, Tikal and Lake Atitlan...with their Spanish teacher.

We arrive in Guatemalan City late. The small hotel we stay in sends a taxi. Our room is ready. We sleep....