50 Days and Counting…

There are two things that made me realize this tour was really happening—a coat and salad dressing.  It wasn’t the fact I was on the phone with my UK management (Nat) or my guitarist (Ashley) all morning.  It was, “Should I take my really heavy coat that goes beyond my knees.” It doesn’t get that cold in North Carolina.  Followed by, “I need to ask Ashley if the UK has real salad dressing now.”   Last time, all I got was oil and vinegar and plain mayo.

Instead, Ashley called me Sarah Palin because I mentioned something about francs when we go to France.

“Euros, Kim. We moved onto Euros, Sarah Palin,” said Ashley.

“Don’t call me Sarah Palin. It was stinking francs the last time I was there!” said Kim.

It’s been 11 years.

When I think about the tour, I have the same feeling I had the first time I skied—down the bunny trail:  exhilaration punctuated with a dash of fear. The rope pulled me and the other 7-year-olds up the bunny trail (I was a few multiples of their age.) for our maiden voyage.  I didn’t think about how I was going to stop, or if I was going to kill a kid on the way down.  I thought, I’m doing this no matter what.  If I don’t live to tell about it, my mother will kill me. England, France, Germany, hear (here) I come!

Shine.