The little things

Returned from a trip today. I feel like I have been awake since the dawn of time, but really it was only 4:15 when my insanely disturbing alarm clock sang its sweet tune. Then I rode countless forms of public and private transportation (bus, taxi, subway, train, bicycle—every species, I think, except for the automobilus commonus) in my effort to get the group members safely onto their planes and myself safely back home. It went smoothly—the airport transfer and really the whole shebang. Part of me could have gone another whole week, because the women were amazing, and the group dynamic was really developing beautifully, and of course there were plenty of important historical things we didn’t have a chance to see in the 7 days they were actually here. Another part of me was objecting violently to the above notion—I would guess probably my medulla oblongata or some of those other ur-regions of my being that are responsible for base urges such as throwing myself on the bed and sleeping fully clothed for multiple blissful, uninterrupted hours, which is basically what I was planning to do once I caught up on the joys and responsibilities of the electronic communication that had been piling up in various e-in-boxes.

Until Steffi rang my doorbell, and I decided that eating ice cream with her was a much more interesting idea. We did, and it was. Then we went for a walk and knocked on Helge's door, effectively cutting his shower short. He yelled in the intercom, "I'm going to open up the door, but don't rush coming upstairs, so I have time to put some clothes on!" He was almost decent by the time we made it to his fifth-floor apartment, and the three of us took some champagne and Finnish chocolate and went down to the Elbe to soak up some late-afternoon sunshine that turned into evening moonshine. (The kind from the actual moon, that is.)

I just finished compiling a list of over 30 people who contributed in a face-to-face way to the success of the program I led last week. They served as city and museum guides, meal providers, local resource people, host families and contact people. Each contact represented countless hours of organizing the little things and exchanging multiple sets of emails about tiny details. And it was all worth it. The program went off--with hitches, sure, but none that caused lasting damage.

My friends are less complicated--the simple ring of a doorbell can turn into a lovely evening--but they are worth it, too. Most definitely.