In the week that has passed since I declared that I had 49 days left until I begin my summer in Italy, I’ve managed to spend 14 days.  This is due to one of only two possibilities, as far as I can see.   Either I have unknowingly entered a time portal that sped me ahead seven days, or I was really bad at math last week.   It’s anybody’s guess what happened really, but the point is – I’ve only got 34 days left in the States! 

A couple of nights ago,  I dreamed I was hang gliding over Italy.   In addition to trying to figure out how wind works,  I noticed that I could smell citrus and flowers and foliage.  I’ve never smelled dream things before, and I thought this was more remarkable than my attempts to master flight from 5,000 feet above the ground.   

I had roughly the same dream last night,  but in addition to citrus and flowers,  I could smell powdered sugar.  There is no wonder to this.  Day five of Whole 30 has been known to do weirder things. 

But it did leave me with an imperative;  I must do it.   I must find out what the air smells like closer to the stratosphere.  I’ve jumped from higher,  but what I recall of the smell was a mixture of sweat,  exhaust,  and musty parachute.  Obviously,  location is partly to blame;  Fort Benning ain’t Tuscany.  Mode of transportation and proximity to hundreds of baby soldiers just like me probably account for any other differences that might exist. 

I’ve hinted to the family that hang gliding would make an excellent Mother’s Day gift certificate, but Mike reminded me I am afraid of heights. 

“Not anymore!”  I proclaimed with flare and an ambiguous accent because I can’t recall who I heard declare it once on TV, though my impression is that he was German.   Possibly French.  In any case, Mike seemed to neither recognize that I was doing an impersonation nor remember that God cured my fear of heights at Easter Mass last year.   I’d asked for him to heal my heart,  but he bargained me down to this.

Surely, God did not free me from my acrophobia to have me keep my feet planted on the ground.   Could it be that He is who is sending me these dreams,  knowing I will follow my nose into the sky? It seems unwise to ignore Him.

I admit, using the threat of blasphemy to get a hang gliding trip for Mother’s Day instead of the standard flowers and chocolates I can’t eat for another 25 days anyway is pretty low, but as long as I’m not in the air,  nothing is beneath me,  now is it?