September 15
We have a fabulous desayuno this morning at the sports center cafeteria: the standard cafe con leche and toasted French bread with butter and jelly, and orange juice and a small muffin. Served with a friendly smile and warm attitude. Jerri makes it a point to tell the man it's the best desayuno we've had so far.
A Canadian man comes who wants a “real" breakfast of eggs and bacon. Jerri helps him order. The cook makes such a presentation that I have to take a picture. Compare his breakfast with the standard (taken at a different cafe).
Another day of fabulous weather. We're headed for Pamplona through a lot of farmland and several towns--lots of up-and-down topography.
At a point where the Camino turns left and up a hill, four runners come dashing down and approach us. When I realize they are going to cut the corner, to avoid a collision with them I step off the road into the tall grass...which is obscuring a drainage ditch narrow enough to be obscured but wide enough to fall into. Thank God for my tough, high-ankled boots that took me forever to get used to. They prevent my right ankle from rolling. This could have been our next misadventure. Does even one of the men inquire if I'm okay or stop to help me out of the ditch? They don't even break stride. I haul myself out with my walking poles.
To enter one town, we must cross a medieval stone bridge. There is a lovely patch of colorful flowers on the opposite bank that we take pictures of. Jerri wants someone in her photo. Since the ground falls away immediately on our side, I sidestep along the metal railing and crouch down. Two of our familiar fellow pilgrims happen upon us just then and are aghast. But it's not a very high bridge and I feel perfectly safe and unafraid. And, hon, I'm making sure to tell this story after you already know I'm safe and sound. (This photo will show up when Jerri has a chance to e-mail it to my phone.) But here we all are, standing on the correct side of the lovely bridge.
Except later it turns out I'm not totally sound. Whether from the rough treatment my body endured on the race to Roncevalles or from my right leg absorbing most of the impact from the fall into the ditch, my right knee starts to really hurt on any downhill section. It takes two extra-strength Tylenol and two ibuprofen to ease the pain. This worries me.
Right, I know, if I'm not worrying about this, I'd be worrying about something else. Maybe this is God's plan for me--to show me that I can overcome any obstacle if I just let Him take charge.
This has become our catchphrase; whenever something unfortunate or otherwise undesirable happens, we say, “It's God's plan." :-p
In the back of my mind, though, I wonder if something we joke about actually is God's plan. Or is it all God's plan...?
We have a fabulous desayuno this morning at the sports center cafeteria: the standard cafe con leche and toasted French bread with butter and jelly, and orange juice and a small muffin. Served with a friendly smile and warm attitude. Jerri makes it a point to tell the man it's the best desayuno we've had so far.
A Canadian man comes who wants a “real" breakfast of eggs and bacon. Jerri helps him order. The cook makes such a presentation that I have to take a picture. Compare his breakfast with the standard (taken at a different cafe).
At a point where the Camino turns left and up a hill, four runners come dashing down and approach us. When I realize they are going to cut the corner, to avoid a collision with them I step off the road into the tall grass...which is obscuring a drainage ditch narrow enough to be obscured but wide enough to fall into. Thank God for my tough, high-ankled boots that took me forever to get used to. They prevent my right ankle from rolling. This could have been our next misadventure. Does even one of the men inquire if I'm okay or stop to help me out of the ditch? They don't even break stride. I haul myself out with my walking poles.
To enter one town, we must cross a medieval stone bridge. There is a lovely patch of colorful flowers on the opposite bank that we take pictures of. Jerri wants someone in her photo. Since the ground falls away immediately on our side, I sidestep along the metal railing and crouch down. Two of our familiar fellow pilgrims happen upon us just then and are aghast. But it's not a very high bridge and I feel perfectly safe and unafraid. And, hon, I'm making sure to tell this story after you already know I'm safe and sound. (This photo will show up when Jerri has a chance to e-mail it to my phone.) But here we all are, standing on the correct side of the lovely bridge.
Right, I know, if I'm not worrying about this, I'd be worrying about something else. Maybe this is God's plan for me--to show me that I can overcome any obstacle if I just let Him take charge.
This has become our catchphrase; whenever something unfortunate or otherwise undesirable happens, we say, “It's God's plan." :-p
In the back of my mind, though, I wonder if something we joke about actually is God's plan. Or is it all God's plan...?
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