Mississippi mud pies

Mud. Mud. Mud.

And some more mud.

While all of you were singing Amazing Grace and listening to sermons or enjoying a nice Sunday nap and some fried chicken, I was getting suctioned ankle deep in some intense Black Sea German mud.

And I had a blast.

I hiked for three hours in the mud. And that was the extent of it. There were no landmarks. No incredible views except for the most beautiful blue sky that would put any Pixar movie generated sky to shame.

I got blisters. I got muddy. I got slightly bored.

But most importantly I got closer to the people on this trip. I got to have a lot of time to think about myself and what I want to change and do and become this next year.

The fact that it is almost time to grow up encroaches me with each ticking of a second. With each question of "what do you want to do next year?" And with each facebook post of someone else getting engaged.

There is that Weepies or Indigo girls song about the world spins madly on.

As I took each step/slosh in the mud, I realized geeze freakin louise. We are growing up.

Not to get too cheesy, but stepping in the mud you had to do it painfully and cautiously so as not too fall. Each step you had to calculate in some parts.

I got impatient. I wanted to run.

But I had to walk.

I got extremely muddy and messy.

But I never fell.

In life, we want to run through parts. We just want to go with it. We just want life to come easy.

But life sometimes, like thick Black Sea mud, will just suction you down. You get messy. You get bored.

But, if you plan each step right, you will never fall. Or fail.

It is so hard for me to wrap my head around this. Still.

So why my life is still a mystery, I know if I just take it slow and easy, I won't fall.

Hopefully.

Now, that the sermon is over.....

Sunday we woke up at the crack of dawn, rode a bus for three hours, slept alot, braided hair, and got ready to conquest the mudflats. And that we did.

After dominating the little sucka, we relaxed on the beautiful island and the beach where I discovered the European man thong is not a myth. But real.

The tides came back in and we had to ride a ferry to get back home. During this ferry ride, I started up with my narcolepsy and nodded off and fell asleep....on the rando German next me.

She tapped me and looked at me like she had just found a hair in her soup. Sorry I just hiked for 3 hours lady.

But I really don't blame her for being weirded out. I was a muddy, smelly, foreigner, with a feather headband. I was the ultimate tourist and that's probably why I heard her mutter something something something America under her breath.

Upon arrival back in the 'brueck, we went out to our "spot," a local pub called "Bottled." And we sat at our "table."

That was only our second time going there, but we have eaten at the same table twice now. That's entitlement. Right?

Then, we rested our sleepy lil heads. The German mud was nice, but I am pretty sure that if I ever get a hankering for mud, I will just go whip up some Mississippi mud pies.

Or just go to the Neshoba County Fair.

But for now, I will just do as the Germans do.

Wonder what they would do if I introduced them to "muddin?"

Then, my worlds would collide. 4-wheelers. Baguettes. Mud tires. Coca-cola Light.

It could be a great world.