When You Travel Alone, Have Short Arms, and No Selfie Stick

I am not in the habit of taking selfies.  They just feel weird to me.  Maybe one part a little too narcissistic.  And maybe one part just plain awkward.

When I went out to Wyoming, I took lots of pictures, of course.  The mountains, the sunsets, the wildlife, the geysers, the truck.  (And then I maybe took some more pictures of the truck.)

There were, however, a series of bad selfies I took that got scattered through.  For one, I have short arms, so it's kind of hard to get the camera very far away from my own face.  Two, I haven't had much practice, so this selfie thing is a whole new ball game for me at times.  Three, there was no one around to rescue me from my own bad selfie-taking skills.  Four, I had no selfie stick to help me out.

So, allow me to be so vulnerable as to share with you my series of bad selfies:

Let's start with perhaps the best one out of the bunch, the one from Old Faithful.  With the guy behind me also taking a selfie.  See?  We're already off to a bad start.  Fail.

And then there was the one with the backside of this buffalo in Yellowstone.  And I'm awkwardly holding my right shoulder for some reason.  And I'm not smiling.  And I'm standing in the shadows.  And the picture is tilted.  And there are a bunch of campers and buses in the background, cluttering the view.  Fail.  

And then there was the one where I tried to get a picture with Old Faithful over my shoulder. But too bad my head kept getting in the way.  Fail.  

Maybe the one with the truck is the only legitimate one that mildly passes as a decent selfie?  I feel like I have a cheesy grin on my face, though. Not a total fail.

And then there's the one with the boats?  Which makes a horrible and highly uninteresting and cluttered background?  I'm not sure what I thought my goal was with this photo. Fail.

And lastly, this one, next to another geyser not far from Old Faithful.  I'm looking off to the side, and I'm clearly very disgruntled about something, but I'm not sure what.  Maybe my inability to take a good selfie?  Fail.  

I showed my friend Jill my photos from Wyoming, joking with her about my bad selfies.  She was so kind as to buy me a selfie stick for my birthday here a few weeks ago, perhaps out of pity, but perhaps she was just trying to problem solve for me.  Too bad my phone is a dinosaur (a whopping 3.5 years old) and the selfie stick is not compatible with my phone.  Go figure.  Apparently the bad selfie saga is to continue for the foreseeable future, at least until I upgrade to a new phone (which will not be any time soon) or until I get longer arms.  

Remember My Caterpillar-Hating Friend, Johnson?

This picture does not do Johnson's personality justice.

Remember this kid I saved (I use the term loosely) from a caterpillar?  And the kid who asked if little girls could eat dirt? The kid who did this crazy little dance and often brought me to tears from laughter? The kid who discussed Al-Shabab and bombs with me? The same kid who makes goofy faces and holds a special place in my heart?

It turns out he is growing up and becoming a star.

I happened to be checking Rafiki's blog recently and stumbled across this post about Johnson (click the link if you want to see the video of him performing):

http://rafikifoundation.org/site/latestnews.aspx 

Johnson Waindo is a ten-year-old living at Rafiki Village Kenya. He recently presented at the national level of the Kenya Music Festival in the boys ages 10–14 years soloist competition.

The festival competitions go from sub-county, to county, and then to regional levels. At these first three levels Johnson earned first place. Each region sends its top two ranked students to the national level, so Johnson competed against eighteen other boys aged 10–14, all singing "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning."

Johnson achieved second place in all of Kenya—we are all thrilled! Mr. Samuel Agufa (pictured to the left with Johnson) has done an outstanding job training this young boy to compete with mostly older boys. Mr. Agufa helped Johnson develop his natural talent through hard work, discipline, and determination. Moreover, Mr. Agufa has been an outstanding example for Johnson; he has shown him that talent is from the Lord, but talent alone isn't enough without dedication and hard work.

Johnson’s mother died of an illness ten days after his birth, leaving him abandoned in the hospital. His father is unknown, his elderly grandparents impoverished, and his teenage siblings were unable to care for him. With no relatives to take him in, Social Welfare referred him to Rafiki Village Kenya. Johnson arrived to his new Rafiki family in November 2005. We are so proud of him and look forward to all his future accomplishments. 

Yay for Johnson!  Clearly that day I saved him from that caterpillar set his life on a trajectory to achieve stardom.  You're welcome, friend.

That Time I Got Called "Sir"

So there I was in the Jackson airport, minding my own business.  

I had arrived at the airport hours before my flight was supposed to leave, thanks in large part to the fact that the pickup truck I had rented (aka the other piece of my heart) was due back by 2:00 pm, but my flight wasn't until 5:30 pm.  So, I had a lot of free time on my hands.

I milled around the ticket counter area for awhile, sorting through receipts and photographs and mementos from the trip.  I decided to finally make my way through security, find a quiet corner in the terminal and stretch out for awhile before the flight home, knowing I was about to be folded up into a little cube once I hit that airplane seat.  

The Jackson airport is small enough that only a handful of flights go out each day.  And the gate area is maybe half the size of a football field.  People were bustling about when I walked through security, as there were a couple of flights getting ready to board.  Unlike other airports, Jackson actually has legitimate furniture in the form of comfy leather couches, chairs and overstuffed ottomans.  Most of them had been taken over by soon-to-be-departing passengers, so I decided to bide my time until these next couple of flights took off and then I'd see about staking my claim on a leather couch.  

The 3:30 flight boarded and departed, and I discovered once they cleared out, there were a grand total of two other people left in the terminal.  Even airport staff was vanishing.  My 5:30 flight was the last flight out for the day, and since I was so early, there was hardly a soul around.  They actually temporarily closed down the security checkpoint, as one staff member informed me, telling me that if I wanted to leave the terminal I wouldn't be able to get back in for awhile.  I moseyed on over to the appointed leather couch, stretched out with my feet propped up, pulled out my latest reading selection of Friday Night Lights by H.G. Bissinger (brilliant book, by the way.  And we won't even talk about my recent obsession with the TV series) and settled in for the next couple of hours.  

Let me pause here and describe to you my appearance at this point, as this will prove highly relevant.  On days I know I am traveling, I tend to go as comfy and practical as possible.  So that morning I had pulled out my favorite pair of holey jeans, a plaid button-up shirt, my black fleece and a ball cap.  I had zero makeup on, which I didn't even bother to pack and hadn't worn for the entire trip.  I hadn't even bothered to wear any nail polish either, which is rare for me to go long without nail polish.  I also had a football book in my hands.

Okay, so back to the story.  I'm curled up on the couch, reading my book, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot this airport/TSA staff member heading my way.  He's kind of a big guy, holding a sticker-covered Nalgene bottle in his hands.  I look up and make eye contact with him, when he says, "Excuse me, sir, is this your water bottle?"

*Long pause while my brain does double-time, trying to process whether he's talking to me or some imaginary male figure sitting next to me.*

There isn't another soul within 200 feet.  Process of elimination: he's clearly directing this question at me.

"Eh, no, that's not mine," I said. 

And I could tell as soon as I opened my mouth that he realized his error, as he fumbled for a second and clearly got nervous.  

I didn't say anything else, and I didn't bother to correct him.  And he didn't bother to say anything else either, as he just kept walking right on by, eager to escape the awkwardness of the moment.

I texted my mom shortly thereafter and said, "I just got called 'sir'..."  First time for everything I guess.  

I suppose I can't blame the poor guy because I did kind of look like a boy, sitting there reading a football book.  And I always look like I don't have much hair anyway when I've got a ball cap on, given that it's so short to begin with.  When it gets tucked underneath a hat, then it really disappears.  So, I really wasn't offended by his mistake, and I even had a good laugh about it with family when I got home. 

But seriously, sir.

I am not a "sir".

Note to future self: ditch the ball cap, put on my some makeup, and avoid reading football books when traveling.  Maybe then I'll avoid a repeat of this little episode.