Deeanne Gist - www.deeannegist.com - Inspirational Romance Author

Monday, March 06, 2006

Home Again, Home Again

Since I ran out of money in Amsterdam, I had to travel 27 hours straight (and alone) this last leg of my journey home to Norway. I nibbled on the cheese and crackers I had stashed away, and tried--unsuccessfully--to sleep in my seat on the ferry to Denmark. Then I nibbled on more cheese and crackers, and tried--unsuccessfully--to sleep in my seat on the train to Norway.

When the train finally pulled into my home town (Stavanger), I was exhausted and had been without food and water for several hours. I couldn't call my parents to pick me up because I had no money (there were no cell phones back in 1981). Besides that, my parents weren't home. They had gone back to the States for a visit and weren't due for another week. (I'd returned a week early since I ran out of money.)

The walk from the train station to our house was way too far for me to attempt, so I dug around in my pockets and came up with some dust bunnies and a couple of Dutch coins. I boarded a city bus and dropped the Dutch coins in the little money receptacle by the driver. He became very agitated and started yelling at me in Norwegian. (I was suppose to use Norwegian kroner. This would have been like me trying to pay for a US bus trip across town with Canadian coins. Not a good thing.)

I had no idea what he was saying or any idea how to communicate I needed him to take me home for free. I was so hungry and so tired and so close to being home that I burst into tears. Now remember, I haven't showered or slept for 27 hours; I had that gargantuan backpack on and I had no way to get home. The girl in line behind me dropped my fare in the coin receptacle then gave the bus driver what-for. I have no idea what she said, but I was so over the top with fatigue, I started crying more. (I did manage to say "Takk," though.)

I cried all the way home. When I got off the bus, I walked the half mile to our empty house. My mom had hidden a key in a magnetic holder in the dryer vent. Unfortunately, I was too short to reach the dryer vent, and thus the key.

Yet another breakdown. I went next door--backpack and all--where a family by the name of Gist lived. They weren't merely neighbors. They also happen to be the parents of the boy I was madly in love with (though we were only dating at the time, not engaged). My future father-in-law answered the door. I didn't say "hello." I didn't say "I'm home." I just kept crying and said, "I can't reach the key!"

My father-in-law still tells the story of me arriving at their doorstep looking for all the world like a homeless waif. My boyfriend, Greg, was not in town, either. He was working in the States for the summer. But his little brother was home. (I use the word "little" lightly. His brother wasn't 6'5" like Greg, but was 6'1" or thereabouts.) His brother walked me home, retrieved the key from the dryer vent, unlocked the door and let me in.

And guess what was waiting for me on the entryway burea

u? Thirteen letters from my sweet, adorable, beloved boyfriend. My world turned from pathetic to fantabulous in the blink of an eye. I thanked Greg's brother for walking me home. He made me promise to come over for dinner that night (which I did, only to find out my future father-in-law was totally annoyed. Seems while I had been receiving all these letters--and would continue to do so all summer long--Greg had not bothered to write his mom or dad at all. Not even once. Not good.) Anyhoo, I scooped up my letters, filled my very own tub with warm water and bubbles and spent the next hour reading letter after letter from my man.

Instead of removing the picture from my scrapbook and posting it on the blog, I thought these pages deserved to be scanned and posted in their entirety so you could see what Dee-as-a-twenty-year-old-in-love did on the final pages of her scrapbook.

And guess what? I married that precious man the very next year (which was 23+ years ago) and he gave me four wonderful children. Who says there's no such thing as "happily ever after?"

posted by Deeanne at 12:43 AM

6 Comments:

Jezreel said...: Wow, Deeanne, that is so precious! Thank you for bringing us on this reminiscing with you! Your husband sounds like a doll!
Barb said...: He has engineer handwriting too! And you're not just a writer, you're an artist! Some day you'll hafta show us a picture of the wild and crazy parents who sent you off on this whole venture...
Deeanne said...: Wait until I inform my parents that they are "wild and crazy." They'll be so surprised!

It was a fun trip down memory lane for me, too, Jezreel! I'm glad you came along with us.
Barb said...: I just figured your wild and craziness was in the genes....
Deeanne said...: I think the "wild & craziness" must get worse with each generation. My kids are way too daring for my peace of mind. Ha!

Hey, I'm a bit under the weather, so I'm not going to put up a new post today, but should be back tomorrow.
Barb said...: I have one kid who's studying to be a cop. Not his mother's first choice, let's just say. :o0 Nothing against police officers! We luv ya, really!
Re sick--boo hoo! If you had a fax, I'd send you one of my get well faxes with all kinds of healing things drawn on it. Orange juice, good movies, great books, a warm blankie, Tylenol, chicken soup, lotsa zzzz's, etc.....