She Is Missed

Christmas marks the turning of a new solar year. Three days after the solstice the days begin to lengthen. Light is brought back to us with the promise of warmth to follow. One week later, the Julian calendar marks the New Year. We all go out and celebrate the symbolic passing of old to new, ironically repeating an ageless cycle. Now, a week on from New Year's, is another symbolic date. And again it feels like more than just a date but a real time of change.

It was a year ago today that my Mom passed away. January 8th, 2009 wasn't a time of light, but a time of darkness.

I spent most of that day flying back to Canada to visit my sick mother. As the plane was taxiing into the gate I was suddenly overwhelmed with odd feelings. I became dizzy and extremely nauseous. For a number of minutes all I could do was pant and hold the air sickness bag. I wasn't air sick.

The customs and baggage lines never felt longer. Cell phones don't work within Pearson airport. Something felt surreal. When I finally got to the transport desk, to catch my shuttle to the hospital, I got told I had a message from home.

That whole experience was like having colour turned off. Like a cloud, so thick and black, parked over me. Daylight was almost night. And try as I have, a part of the nausea and a part of the darkness have remained. It's the place in my soul I used to feel my mother. The part that told me when it was her calling on the phone. That part that told me when she died.

And yet today felt different. A year later and the thick dark cloud is slowly lifting. Like the long sloping line of a warm front, the horizon appears to be clear sky.

Today isn't a colourful day. But it is bright. The world outside is entirely white. A thick fog last night fell onto the trees and buildings as a beautiful pure-white ice. My eyes see it as a symbolic start, a point where darkness begins to give room to light. Today marks my new year.

They can never take that away

On my last trip home to Canada I came across the wicker basket that adorned the front of my Mother's bicycle. I remembered the basket for one reason only, a single day's bike ride.

It's a distant memory. One of my most distant. Shortly after I learned how to ride a bike, my Mom and I went for a ride out in the country. We rode along Lakeshore Road, over the canal, and into the farms and orchards of Niagara to get fresh strawberries.

The most memorable part was that the basket ended up overfilled with strawberries, and the jiggling of the basket as we rode meant our prize was liquifying itself as we went. So we had no choice but to (1) stop and enjoy the fresh strawberries along the roadside, and (2) make jam, once home. A great life lesson, it defined a perfect summer day. And it stained the bottom of the basket red.

That old bike is long gone. Mom's gone too. But the basket and stain remained. Until recently.

I had no choice. I couldn't sell this early-childhood memory at our yard sale. I took it home and mounted it on my "granny bike". My God it was useful! So convenient. And like taking a little part of Mom everywhere too.

I couldn't sell it. But I knew such a basket couldn't last on the bike either. It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of months.

Now there's a single zip-tie remaining around my handbar. It reminds me of where the basket used to be. Now I shall forever see the basket that used to be there. It's absence is a constant reminder. A reminder of a beautiful summer day, and the pure joy of cycling, and strawberries, and Mom. The basket is gone, but they can never take away the sweet memory.

Time to fly

I fly today, for the first time in months. Packing is all new. All the handy pre-prepared bits (travel toiletries, etc.) are no longer laid out ready for use. And though I'm only going home to Canada, I can't decide what to bring, what needs packing and what doesn't. *sigh*

All symptoms of a bad week? No, more about symptoms of a bad spring. But I'm hoping this is a time of change. Over the coming weeks there will be a number of birthday celbrations, including for my Dad and for summer. Summer has to be better than the spring. The spring was better than the winter.

I'm hoping this will be a trip for healing. I'll help my Dad and I know he'll help me. And we'll work on the home renovations, get confused about cutting angles on trim pieces, and bond over fixing computer problems.

I see the clock says I have only a short while to the airport. Time for lunch, and packing up this laptop. It's time to fly.

Get on with it!

I took an hour today and read Johnny's Blog for the first time. A friend of many years and a blogger of many months, Johnny only sent the link to the "secret blog" last week.

I read through a few months of inspiring posts devoted to environmental responsibility and his current "career change". I'm now inspired to do more than read a blog post or two. I'm inspired to go out and improve something! To improve myself!

And really, right now, that's pretty freakin easy to do. Doing anything would be an improvement.

I still haven't been to karate. I feel so old and tired and weak that I can't motivate myself at 7pm to hop on the bus and go hurt myself. Well, it's time.

I haven't even been exercising properly at home. I should do that next. As in, right after typing this. I need to practice my kata for karate. And some stretches and exercises ought to improve the chances of going to the dojo tonight.

And when I'm done that I'm going to do a bit of reading. Starting with the mail. Open the envelopes, pay the bills, sort the rest. Then Pratchett. I've earned it and will devote an hour or more to finishing "Small Gods" before moving on to the remaining unread tomes.

Note, even when inspired to self-improvement I still don't plan time to look for work. I'm not there yet. The "moments of peace" have been few and far between. But I think I can litterally kick the blues away. The hope being that tomorrow I'll feel, better than this.

Merry Christmas to all....

My apartment smells so much like Christmas that I keep expecting my mom to step into the living room at any moment. It's the turkey carcass boiling into soup that really makes the difference. And believe it or not, I really made the turkey.

Cooking the turkey is a bit of a special thing in North American culture. I think traditionally passed on from mothers to daughters, it can include great conflict when passed to a daughter-in-law. People outside or new to the family just don't know the right way to do it. Their stuffing is always wrong. Good, often delicious, but wrong.

Such are the mysterious ways of the turkey. Oh, and more so, the stuffing.

Men learn these things from books. It's written down in little formulas... so many minutes per pound for turkey A, given a maximum weight less than X and a stuffing_variable set to yes. Then you wait (ignoring time) until you get that rich "turkey almost burning" smell and you're done. Easy.

And delicous.

I hope everyone enjoyed celebrating the spirit of Christmas (eating too much with family/friends) as much as I did. Merry Christmas all.

Mostly A Good Week

That was a good week. I spent 3 nights/4 days away in Belgium to train NATO soldiers (mostly Air Force) on the intricit subtlties of my employer's software. The town of Mons is lovely to look at! So nice to walk through. So boring to stay in.

But the boring evenings were made up for three-fold by (1) Terry Pratchett, (2) French cuisine, and (4) uhm, (3) Belgian beer! The days needed no making up for. I was teaching people whom I very much enjoyed being with and working with. Lunches were always fun and class participation was high. I even got to attend a change of command parade and congratulate the new sector commander.

But amongst the enjoyable times, there was also a very sobering and nasty moment thanks to the BBC. Previously I was unaware of Omar Khadr, a Canadian citizen, who was visiting relatives in Afghanistan when it was invaded by the United States. On July 7th, 2002, U.S. soldiers attacked Omar's location... a "terrorist camp." He was the only person to survive (although gravely wounded) and arrested for the "murder" of the one U.S. soldier lost in the attack. Since that time, Omar has been held and tortured and has spent roughly 1/3 of his life now in Guantanamo Bay. A third? That's right, because Omar was only 15 years old when he was arrested.

Omar is the last Western citizen still in custody in Gitmo. Why?

Just incase Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper reads Blogger... let me state for the record that this makes me incredibly angry, ashamed, and quite frankly, left me feeling sick! Mr. Harper, I'm now feircely looking forward to voting against you! And I think this time around I'll do some campaigning around my expat communities, making sure Canadians are registered to vote. Until then, be warned that by writing this blog I've now informed my mother. You're in trouble mister!

The timing of this information was ironic. Just hours earlier I had stopped at an old palace in Grand Place (the town square) and read a plaque commemorating how Canadians liberated Belgium in the First World War. The last shots of the war were fired there, November 11th, 1918.

In happier news, Happy Birthday to the Ice Queen! July 17th was cellebrated the world over by people thankful to know her.

Inspite of a few rough patches in the middle, the training week went well. It ended on a good tone and included me staying on base a bit past class-time to enjoy some 1 Euro beers with the Comms guys. They were fun!

Finally home again, apparently for 4 weeks now, all I can say is that it is, of course, great to be back! 10 hours of sleep and a slow, quiet day have helped rejuvinate this old body. I'm hoping the clearing sky and improved weather will stay around while I head out tonight and rejuvinate the spirit. ;-)

Playing Tourist In My Hometown

Yesterday was full of firsts. I believe it was the first time I ever bought souveniers in Niagara Falls and I'm pretty sure it was the first time I ever bothered to photograph the Falls.

Nancy and I spent the day touring the Falls, the tacky tourist attractions on Clifton Hill, and (of course) the Outlet Mall.

Best of all I recommend seeing the city from atop the Sky Wheel! A huge ferris wheel, fully glass enclosed (and air conditioned), the Sky Wheel takes you as high into the sky as the tallest casino skyscrapers. The view is incredible and the classical muzak piped into the cars makes the whole experience feel classy.... (classy is a rare commodity in the town of Ripley's, wax museums, casinos and cheap honeymoons.)

I Do Feel Older...

I've had a lot of ideas passing through my head as the next potential blog post. There's so much! I wanted to describe the nazi rally in Germany (and the 10x bigger anti-nazi rally). I wanted to describe the trip to Germany (just for shopping... picture frames and a USB WiFi adaptor). I wanted to proclaim my enthusiasm for my upcoming (three days from now) trip to Canada, with Nancy!

And then I looked at my own blog. I read the title, and I knew the next. I do feel older! I remarked today that for the last few months "sitting" and "standing" again are painful activities. If I sit, I'll stay there a while, thank you. If I stand, I may as well stay standing for a bit.

I'm back on another exercise kick... hitting the weights as often as I can. "As often as I can" is a function (partly) of when the pain from the last session dies down. This time-frame is growing. A sure sign of age.

Does this mean I have to be more diligent about what I eat, and how I spend my free time? I think it does. I think it means I have to exercise better, sleep better, eat better.

I've never before actually considered the idea of being physically less capable than I previously was. But the little painful bits that I'm beginning to call "the day" are registering in my brain. Based on this new data, I humbly suggest a new variation of an old phrase...

"You're only as old as your knees feel."

The Northlander

The second time I passed this parked train I got the camera out and open fast enough to take a picture. The giant Air Canada advertisement painted on the side catches my attention. A quick glance to Google tells me that the train used to be one that runs between Toronto and Cochrine, Ontario.

Where's Cochrine? Well, have you ever imagined seeing vast forested wilderness with nobody anywhere near? No roads or phones or settlements. Well you could jump off at that place long before the train reaches Cochrine.

And now this train is sitting just outside Amsterdam's Cental Station. I wonder what it thinks of the change? Wilderness to urban. Lifeline to waiting for repair/repaint. I hope it gets to bring me a few more smiles before it goes back to work.

Baden Cerveja Gourmet

On the plane the other day I saw a movie (4 actually) in which one (then two, then three) of the characters accidentally ingested powerful illegal drugs. I'm beginning to suspect that Baden Cerveja Gourmet (Baden's Gourmet Beer) may contain a mild hallucinogenic very similar to what the characters in the movie experienced.

The secret? It's a combination of factors, but the primary contributors are (1) a very large bottle, (2) a taste like liquid candy, and (4), uhm (3) a 9.2% specific gravity. From what I gather of the Portuguese on the bottle's label, this beer is brewed with only the basic ingredients (water, barley, hops) but I'm convinced there's something more. Way more!

I drink beer from Belgium regularly. I know how to pace myself when it's a "really strong" beer. But this stuff is ... well it's got to be illegal in most jurisdictions. If not it should be.

South America is a home of recreational chemical experiences. I never suspected it extended to their beer!

Case in point... I came back from an amazing dinner experience with two of my cow-orkers. On my way back to the room, I ordered two 'small' bottles of Baden Red Ale. One bottle was fully open, the other had the cap on the neck, loosely ajar. I drank from one bottle, and again, and again. I dropped a bottle cap from my hand. I bent down, picked up the loose cap and placed it into the waste bin. I drank again. I looked at the bottle I had been chugging from from and it was FULL. I was so impressed! How big are these bottles??? Then I looked at the bottle in my other hand and noticed it was half empty. How the hell did the brewery half fill a bottle? And why is the bottle I'm drinking from seemingly infinite? I don't know!

How do these coincidences happen? Really, how? I don't understand. But I think the 9.2 value mentioned earlier may have a bit to do with it.

This stuff is a hard drug. If it isn't illegal it should be! I'm a professional two-fisted beer drinker; Canadian born and raised. If I can't handle this, I'm sorry to report, that you absolutely can NOT either!

Welcome to South America! The beers are bigger, the women's butts are smaller, and none of that explains the way I feel right now. Am I having too much fun, or is there something 'funny' in this beer?

This Isn't Brazil!

As I travelled to the airport this morning I thought," Each journey of a thousand miles begins...

...with a train ride." Little did I know it would be more than one. Instead of being on the plane I'm on a train to Rotterdam, to get a visa to enter Brazil. Who knew?!? Apparently this trip will require ~8 train rides before the plane.

Update:
Visa by Monday. *fingers crossed* Flying Tuesday. *probably* I get to spend a weekend at home (first in a while) and I still get my full week trip to Sao Paulo. :-)

Passport Part IV - Morgan's Revenge

You know it's an epic saga when it comes in four separate parts! Thankfully this part is the shortest and the last.

I returned to The Hague again today and I picked up my shiny new passport. It's lovely, it has *my* name in it, my date of birth and place of birth are correct... it's a passport!

It's been so much fun waiting that I didn't even bother to complain or make sarcastic comments. Well, more like, I'm so sick I couldn't be bothered to think up sarcastic comments. I believe on my way out of the embassy I may have actually meant it when I said thank you.

And the phone rang... Passport Part III

The phone just rang. The Canadian embassy in The Hague has received word that my new passport... latest new passport is in transit and may arrive this afternoon.

I've sent an email to Asia and I'm hoping to hear from the embassy in Kuala Lumpur. The question was, "How much trouble am I in if I show up with a temporary passport?" But the answer may now be unnecessary.

Of course, by this point in the story, what I'm told over the phone is only slightly more "real" than what I watch on South Park.

But don't worry, it isn't all waiting and frustration. There's still humour in this. When I (eventually) pick up my passport and turn in my temporary, I'm going to enjoy pointing out the adhesive problem. It seems I'm actually loosing the last page! Not only is the passport temporary in name, it's physical existence is a tenuous and temporary thing. I hope when the self-destruct mechanism ignites the document it isn't (1) explosive, or (2) in my pocket at the time.

----

Update: At 2pm I got another call. The passport is in The Hague and at the embassy. Tomorrow morning it will be in my hands. :-)

Mogan's Canadian Passport - The Saga Continues

All fun and silliness aside, the week leading up to my party weekend was seriously impacted by the renewal process for my passport.

Originally I was surprised by the complexity of the renewal process itself. Now I'm dismayed! It all started two weeks ago when I got a call from my doctor's office saying the witness papers (part of the 3 pages of forms) were signed and could be picked up. I thought to myself that it had taken a lot longer than I expected. Indeed, upon checking the calender I suddenly realized I had two-and-a-half weeks left before my scheduled trip to Malaysia but the embassy told me to expect the process to take three weeks.

I scrambled! I made calls to almost everyone involved in the meeting (people in the U.S., Europe, and Asia) and found that the authorities and the airlines (particularly the airlines) strictly enforced the "minimum 6-month validity" on passports for travellers. There was no choice so Thursday I ran off to the doctor's, picked up the papers, then went to Den Haag (The Hague) and delivered the forms, my ID, and my old passport to the embassy.

The embassy was closed Friday and Monday (very unusual). Regardless of how things worked out for Malaysia I still needed a temporary passport to go to Denmark. So I went on Tuesday back to the Hague to have them do the temp. passport process they couldn't do the previous Thursday.

When I arrived I was shocked! My passport was on the way! They had just received communication from Canada saying that my new passport was made and already with the courier. They advised I should forget the (expensive) temporary document and just return Wednesday for the normal one. So I did.

But wouldn't you know, Wednesday the courier didn't show! I left Amsterdam on the train before their delivery was expected. And arrived at the Hague in time for them to verify that they didn't have it.

So they made me a temporary one. No problems... I would just head off to Denmark and the normal passport would be waiting upon my return.

I looked through the shiny new temporary passport and was impressed. It looked quite different from my old one. Indeed, different enough that it was hours later, once I was home and the embassy was closed again, before I noticed that my name was spelled wrong. SPELLED WRONG!

The next morning I called the embassy as soon as they were open. I takes about 3-3.5 hours to get to the Hague and back. I had 4 hours before I was scheduled to be at the airport to fly to Denmark. Surely no one would let me travel with a misspelled passport! So I assumed the embassy was be keen to reprint my temporary... a process that takes 20 minutes.

But they couldn't. They don't have control over the information that the computer prints. That comes from a central database in Canada. And that central database is wrong. After seven separate steps to check and verify all the information in my application, this mistake made it "into the computer".

So Thursday afternoon I went to the airport and crossed my fingers. Clearly (from the previous post) I made it to Copenhagen. But returning from CPH to AMS there there a moment it looked like I wouldn't.

The ticket attendant checking my luggage said," Oh, a temporary passport." *pause to read* "Do you have another ticket onwards to Canada? I only show your flight to Amsterdam in the computer?"

Phew! I was able to quickly produce my Dutch Residence Permit and she had failed to notice that the names didn't match.

So later this week I hope to return to the Hague for my new passport. Then Saturday I'll get on a plane for Malaysia. Or, perhaps I won't. Stay tuned to find out.

Very Scary News

It's been a year since I've been home to Canada. Thanksgiving last year I pulled into the driveway just an hour before the whole family sat down to dinner. This year, I intended to wait until Christmas to come home. Until, that is, I began to suspect that my mother's always-poor health was a little worse than normal. The other day I booked a last minute flight home.

Things actually seemed pretty normal when I arrived. Mom and Dad were both in great spirits. J.D. looked a little more frail than normal but was so happy to see me.

And yesterday afternoon seemed like a very normal day. After a bit of shopping with my Dad, and some time hanging out with Mom, the three of us were sitting in the living room watching TV and chatting.

J.D. is a Coke addict. Coca-Cola that is. She has a glass of the stuff with her all day and all night. It's her preferred way to wash down heart pills, etc.. So it seemed odd when she suddenly asked me," Who's glass of cola is this?"

"It's yours Mom."

Two minutes later she asked," Is this your cola?" and at that moment the day began to fall apart. She really didn't know. She didn't know that she had just asked. She didn't know what she had been doing. She couldn't answer any question about the preceding 3 hours. And she was almost as afraid of that as Dad and I were.

There were no other signs of symptoms of a problem. No headache or weakness or dizziness. No pain or similar. But her confusion was so profound we wasted no time and grabbing only a book and her purse we went to the hospital.

Those first few moments were the worst part. We suspected, but didn't speak about, a stroke. As it turns out, it seems that minor heart-attack is more likely.

J.D. is well. She's fine, at the hospital, in good hands, and in high spirits. Mainly she's excited to be able to visit with her friend Carol who's there post knee surgery. We don't even know for sure yet whether it was indeed a heart attack. But from all the tests and probes and scans and monitoring this seems the most likely. And she'll be staying a second night, tonight, to give the doctors time to figure it all out.

By tomorrow I'm sure J.D. will be home again. In the mean time, Dad and I are going to try to cook the Thanksgiving turkey on our own (first time for either of us) so that tonight we can bring her the turkey sandwich that she's insisting on.

Stay tuned for updates. Well wishes can be sent here or here, and prayers are always appreciated.

It was a pretty scary night, but I've never been more glad to be home. I love you Mom!

A new passport... simple.

This isn't the first time I've had to renew my passport since leaving Canada. So I sort of knew what to expect. Even though the process hasn't phased me too badly, it's stunning how complicated it is!

I have to turn in my passport and new-passport application to the Canadian Embassy in the Hague. Even though I'll be in Canada all next week, I can't do it there. Renewals are only allowed in your country of residence. So okay, I fly Saturday and return a week later. I need the passport I have now.

So in two weeks I can go to the embassy. But first I need to go to the dentist! The dentist? Yes, the dentist. Or I could visit my lawyer or my doctor. But I need a signature from a similar notary or witness to sign my application. Fine, I need my 6-month cleaning. So I come home from Canada and go to the dentist to get my passport paperwork filled in.

Then I need to take my passport application and my plane ticket to the Hague. Plane ticket? Yes, I need to get a plane ticket ASAP or else I won't be able to visit Denmark.

I've got plans to visit Denmark 2 weeks after Canada. But the passport (which they'll have and I won't) will take 15 working days... three full weeks. So I also need a temporary passport issued to me before I hand in my application for a real one. And to get the temporary passport, you've got to fill in more forms, pay extra fees, and show proof of travel, ie. a plane ticket. So if I want to leave Holland I need to have a ticket purchased well in advance.

So I'll take my two forms (renewal and temporary), my dentist's signature, my plane ticket, about 160 euros (cash only, no credit) and half a day off work (not including the dentist's appointment) and hand over my passport. Then, just three short weeks (perhaps 2 international trips) and another half day off of work later and I'll have my shiny new Canadian passport.

I'm not even considering the trip to the store to buy new print cartridges as part of the process.

I knew Canadian passports were "popular" but this is silly!

Happy Labour Day, Canada!

Here in Holland, people usually take most of their 4, 5, or 6 weeks of vacation time during the summer months. Europe in general tends to take "the summer off". As a result, there are few (no) public holidays at this time of year.

In Canada, however, life centres around summer long weekends. People hibernate all winter in their homes dreaming of finally being able to enjoy the summer sun and a bit of free time. This hibernation is officially ended on May 24th, the Victoria Day weekend. Known as Memorial Day in the U.S., more commonly known as the May Two-Four in Canada, this is the unofficial start of summer. And Labour Day (shared in both countries) marks the unofficial end.

If you have a summer home in Canada, this is the weekend that the boat came out of the water, the heater got it's winter service, and all your friends stayed over for the weekend to help with the work and to drink your beer. Today people with hangovers will pack the highways with cars and campers and boat trailers as they wearily drive home to their daily worries, jobs, and eventually to their winter hibernation.

Sorry to hear your summer is over. I hope no one tells the weather.

Aside: Ironically I've been sick this weekend and called in sick for work today. It wasn't my intention to not work on Canada's most important summer holiday, but that was the result. I'm with you in spirit... even if I don't have a hangover or sunburn or stories of water skiing.

24 Hours til home....

Wow, what a difference a day makes. This time last night I couldn't sleep. I was too excited by the prospects of imminently being home, in Amsterdam, in my own bed, cleaning my apartment and enjoying unemployment.

Today the word is trepidation.

I'm tired and I wish all the next part of the journey would just disappear. But I also wish I could just hit pause, and stay in this moment and place longer. A lot longer.

When I first picked up and went away, far from home, it was hard. Really really hard. I remember leaving work and going to the airport with tears streaming from my eyes, wondering what insane descision I had made for myself. Today isn't nearly that bad, but all those emotions are there (here) again.

Coming home to my family on Thanksgiving was AMAZING! Children cried, people yelled to be heard, the same old turkey was served and went to waste, and I loved it. 12 days later, the shine is gone. My family still get on my nerves. I still get on their nerves. This town holds no future for me. But leaving home never (ever?) gets easier.

An adventure is closing.

During the last half year I've met Frank and Lies (whom I hope to know forever), Nate and Brian (you GEEKS!) who where awsome, got to know Joby more than I should have, met Diana and Debby and Megan (none as well as I'd like) and dozens of other people who have enriched my life. I've tried not to neglect Esther, and Adam, and Humaira, although I'm sure I've missed pivital points in their lives. And I've grown a lot (WHOLE LOT!!!) as a person myself.

Tomorrow's plane flight marks a passage from one adventure to another. I know not what is in store. And I sleep better for not knowing. It's going to be tough, and parts will suck. But when all is said and done, I simply hope I know even more wonderful people, have enriched my life and person even more, and am still up for the next adventure.

*sigh*

God, please give me the strength to continue what I so long ago started. And please get me home to my bed ASAP.

Sincerely,
Morgan (I Dive At Night)

p.s. I think once home, my soul requires a few night dives to keep the whole thing rolling. :-) So I pray I'm also destined to be hooked up with a good PADI shop too!

48 Hours to home!

I'm too excited to sleep. In less than 48 hours (46?) I'll be home in Holland!

I've spent most of the last 7 months travelling. I've been to Atlanta, NYC, and Boston for work, to Niagara Falls and Toronto a number of times to visit, to Florida and Alabama for scuba trips, and driven about 25,000kms through 18 states and 2 provinces. I've been on 7 flights and crossed the Atlantic a few times. Like the old song says," I'm tired and I wanna go home."

Although not tired enough for sleep. I've tried laying there, but just keep picturing being home soon. The place will be a mess. It'll take days just to get all the dust-bunnies but I'm looking forward to it. To caring for my stuff rather than being in a hotel. Woohoo! Let the dusting begin!

But first, I hope I get some sleep.

If Jesus got laid, it was in Nazareth!

Unlike the Da Vinci Code, I'm not willing to go out on a limb and claim whether or not Jesus got laid, had kids, all that... but if Jesus got laid, I'm SURE it was in Nazareth!

A prophet is never welcome in his home town. But the prodigal son is welcome with open arms. The net sum... a man is more dangerous in his home town/country than ever elsewhere.

Tell people what you've achieved, and they may be impressed. Tell people what you've achieved and that you've from where they're from and... WOW... things change.

The reference to getting laid is simply a metaphor, but in terms of making friends, gaining status, achieving success, having fun, it is incredible how much the idea of the prodigal son overshadows the idea if the prophet in his home town. They're both correct, both true. But one far out-weighs the other in impact.

I once worked in a company where an engineer left and returned a director. His three or four years of outside experience far outweighed the same three years in the same place. This corporate lesson holds true throughout life. Three years overseas, in another company, doing a different job, whatever, holds more sway than three years of the same old same old.

Power to the traveller!

We don't intend it when we leave. We're looking for something new and different. And yet our experience let's us understand the universal human condition in a way that others with less experience never can.

This won't make sense to someone who hasn't done it... picked up and moved half a world, or a quarter world away. But what it boils down to is simple. If Jesus ever did got laid (in his short time on Earth) then he most likely got laid in Nazareth.