Lone Star state of mind

This past week has seen us assisting lost Texans on their way through Switzerland. Wednesday we helped a couple from Corpus Christi find the back way to Bülach from Baden, and yesterday we helped a Buddhist monk find her hotel in Zurich.
As we were walking back to our car from a visit to Starbucks a little woman draped in long, light gray robes from head to toe, asked us if we spoke English, showing us a piece of paper with the name of a hotel and a phone number. We told her yes, but didn’t recognize the hotel name, so rang them up and soon discovered she had gone in the opposite direction of her intended destination. She accepted our offer of a ride, then told me I spoke English so well and asked where was I from, to which I replied, Houston Texas. She chirped up, “Me too!” She was in town on a meditation retreat and wanted to spend the last few days looking around Zurich. Once in the car she removed her head covering and I saw her shiny, shaved pate. It was then I put the meditation/robes/Buddhist monk picture together. We dropped her at the hotel after a short ride over the bridge she was originally meant to cross and said goodbye.
I was so enchanted with our our encounter and being able to help this woman, and kept wondering why this would make me so profoundly happy and not one of the thousand other instances in my day. Was it because of my favorite joke: “What did the Buddhist monk say to the hot dog vendor? Make me one with everything.” If I were helping lost Buddhist monks all day, would it feel so special? Does everything have to mean something? I hate my writing, why does it feel so awkward?
I had my doctor’s appointment today and although the gene results weren’t back, the MRI showed no more signs of the pituitary tumor I was diagnosed with back in ‘88! Woo woo! I’m afraid to admit it’s given me another sliver of hope that I don’t have the gene defect and am only dealing with a mild case of hyperparathyroidism. I hate admitting that I have hope. It’s like I’m jinxing myself, and this is the part of the movie that you can all clearly see that I have it, but I’m blinded by wishful thinking and froo-froo feelings of serendipity caused by helping a Buddhist monk find her way, as well as a couple from Corpus Christi (Body of Christ), Texas. I mean if that isn’t a sign, what is!?! A girl can leave the religion, but sometimes the religious thinking can’t leave the girl.
In other news, I just sent an e-mail about fonts to my mother starting with the word, “alas”. I am geek personified and it’s amazing I can even put words together to form a semi-cohesive thought.

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