TOUR TALES CHAPTERS 11-13

Chapter 11 - Tualatin, Oregon If it’s Tuesday, it must be Tualatin. Our tour schedule has been going at such a hectic pace, that we had to catch our breath.              Our concert was at the Rolling Hills Community Church, a lovely edifice set in the middle of a spectacular landscape of “rolling hills.” An array of flowerbeds welcomed us as we drove up the wide driveway to the front door.   The church began thirty years ago with three families led by Pastor Dale Ebel. Three years ago, the growing church built this gorgeous building with a sanctuary seating 2500 people, and facilities for every age. There was even a little restaurant near the spacious lobby. Pastor Dale was still leading the church he had nurtured.   When we arrived the choir was having a hot meal in the large fellowship hall served by the ladies of the church. It reminded me a lot of Northland church, where we gave Romeo and Juliet two weeks ago. Vika had called that church “God’s office” because of the spacious lobby and greeting center.   In the middle of the foyer room was a circular desk. Marcia had already placed sales center on half of it.  The other tables were on the perimeter of the hall. Plenty of space here!                                                                              The chancel of the sanctuary had two large screens to either side. Television cameras were placed in the aisle, and close-up images of the musicians’ faces were projected on the screen throughout the performance. The tech people were very creative in their camera shots. I found myself wanting to watch the screen more than the stage. The sound people also did a great job, as the music had to be amplified for such a large room, but they did it with skill.   There were so many people buying books at intermission that they formed a line.  As I would write the inscription, I often asked, “Is this the first time you have heard the Kyiv Symphony?”  The answer was almost always, “Yes, I read about it in the newspaper.”  The committee who coordinated the event deserves roses. Good job!   By the way, this town is a capital for roses (statewide, nationwide? I can’t remember.) And they pinned a rose corsage on my jacket, and gave Roger a boutonnière, which he wore in the concert.   The calendars had finally arrived. Thinking we had around 600 on the truck, I offered a special sale, “One calendar for $15, 2 for $20. Give it to a friend and tell them how much you enjoyed the concert.  Well, we had a rush for calendars and sold 160 tonight, mostly in 2’s. Then I found out that we had had only 300 on the truck, and I don’t know for sure where the next shipment will land. Well, one thing about calendars. They remind the purchaser of our music and mission all year long.   I would guess that there were about 1800 people at tonight’s concert. We made many new friends, and I would hope that we would be able to return here in 2010.   After the concert, a doctor from Yakima brought Max, our singer with the broken wrist, to the sales area. Max was wearing a sling that kept his arm tightly in control. “It is very important that Max follow the rules of recovery that the doctors have spelled out for him,” said the pretty woman doctor. We gave her a bag of presents to take back to the doctors who had helped Max.   Our hosts for the night were Linda and Dale Ebel, pastor of the church.  From the time I met them, I knew we were in for an interesting stay.  But also, attending the concert were some special friends. Roger’s oldest brother Lee had driven from Bend, Oregon, to be with us. Lee had lost his wife Frances last May to cancer.  A former student John Meranda and his wife Jan had driven from Corvalis, Oregon. They are long-time supporters of the Mission. And a former choir member Igor Kushikov, who has moved to America, was there with his wife and child. Roger had arranged yet another get-together for pie and ice cream. I was torn between wanting to see these friends and having time with the pastor and his family.  I wanted Dale to know how grateful we were for the invitation to his church. I didn’t know what to do. I decided to leave it in Roger’s hands, and Roger said we would see the friends first and the pastor later.   So, like the night before, we assembled a caravan, this time four cars, and went in search of a restaurant. And like before, nothing was open.  The only place we could find was a place called Hot Seat, and when we entered, it was a smoky dive, with billiard tables, and a bar.  I turned to Roger. “You’ve got to be kidding!” I said. The waitress there was very nice to direct us to a family place called Shari’s, and we found a table for 8, and ten different kinds of pie.   Lee ordered eggs, toast, and a milkshake. Roger ordered chips, salsa, and apple pie ala mode. What is it about these McMurrins? At 11:58 p.m., I warned the group, “I turn into a pumpkin in two minutes.”   That seemed to end the party, as Igor’s 6-year-old daughter was asleep in his lap.    First we said our goodbyes in the restaurant. Then we said our goodbyes again outside the restaurant.  Lee said, “I wonder how to get back to my motel from here.”  Since none of the group lived in Tualatin, we had no idea how to return to the Comfort Inn. I silently groaned to think of yet another long ride to nowhere. It was already past midnight, but I knew we should be the ones to deliver Lee to the hotel.   Then I looked across the parking lot and saw a Comfort Inn sign. “Are we still in Tualatin?” I asked. “Yes” said the Merandas. “Then there is your motel,” I replied. We all laughed again, climbed into our cars, and went off in four different directions.   Following the map that Pastor Dale had given me, we were almost to the house, when the cell phone rang. It was Pastor Dale. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Yes, we’re almost to your home,” I said, and we arrived about 15 minutes later, at 12:30 a.m. We visited for a while, but it was quite late. Roger got up early the next morning, and he visited with the pastor over coffee before Dale had to rush off to his 8 am meeting. After that, we had a great time with Linda his wife, and toured their garden of flowers, which Dale tends and grows. Their grandchildren live right across the street. How wonderful. What a family! Linda has so many talents, and she gave me a print of a painting she has done. It will be perfect in my kitchen in Kiev.   Eleanor joined us, and we left the Ebel home around 10:30 am. Since we had no concert this day and a hotel arranged tonight, Roger wanted to visit the historic Redwood Park.  He was disappointed that the Ukrainians couldn’t see them as they passed through northern California, but it was too difficult for the buses, Bill had said.  Instead, the buses stopped at Lake Shasta near Interstate-5. Some of the Ukrainians went swimming. The stop would be close to Redding, California, our next concert venue, and there would be no risk that the musicians would be late to meet their hosts and go home with them for dinner and a long deserved rest. No concert tonight, the first free night in ten days!

Chapter 12 - Redding, California

Meanwhile, Roger, Eleanor and I traveled through Oregon on South I-5.  Roger was still talking about the Redwoods.   By the map, it seemed that we would have many miles of mountain road to get to the Redwoods, but I finally gave in, to take this excursion with Roger and Eleanor. “How often do you get to see this?” Roger said. And it was true. After four hours of driving, it was an amazing sight. We parked on the side of the road, and walked among the large trees some as wide as a semi-truck was long.  I took pictures with my digital camera to hold the memory.   But for ten minutes of glory, we would have 12 hours of travel. We continued on the windy road to Crescent City and started down the Pacific Highway past some ocean waves, as the fading sunlight illuminated the horizon of grayish water with a silver gleam.  By the time we crossed back through the mountains to get to Redding, it was dark. The twisty roads kept my stomach in constant discomfort for three hours. The town of Redding was a welcome relief. We took Eleanor to her hotel around midnight, and checked into our room at a different hotel at 12:30.  Roger brought me a Sprite and I gently sipped it, until I could no longer hold up my head and fell asleep.   I woke from my wonderful bed, to find Roger still asleep. I dressed, and went downstairs for a hot breakfast. Today was the day I had been waiting for. While the Ukrainians went on an excursion, I would go to the beauty parlor and have my hair cut and lightened.    Brenda took me to the salon while Roger rested in the hotel room. Brenda had some other errands to do, so she let me out in front of the shop.  I was just entering the salon when I heard a terrible crunch. I looked back to see the back of a car pressed into Brenda’s door. Oh, no! What do you do in a fender bender? I admit that I continued into the salon leaving Brenda to deal with the dilemma. It was irresponsible of me not to run to Brenda’s side to help. “I’m here for my 1:30 appointment,” I told the girl.    But the ladies inside were all staring at this parking lot accident. “The police won’t come,” said Charlotte, the woman in charge. “This is private property. They only come when someone is hurt.” Then Brenda and the 78-year-old woman named Sara, came into the shop.  They wrote down their insurance information and Brenda, being the efficient administrator that she is, knew what must be done.   “Poor Sara!” said Charlotte as she examined my locks of hair. “This will be it for her. She was bitten by a pit bull last week, and ran a red light on the way to the hospital, smashing into another car in the intersection. They’re going to take her license away.”   I was sorry for Charlotte, but we had a rental car, and we had to report it to the insurance company.  How glad I was that we had insurance from American Express. When we had rented the car, we used coupons from American Express Membership Miles, which gave us the car free, but we had to spend something to activate the insurance. So we pre-paid a tank full of gas. That was the difference between insurance and no insurance. Because the damage was cosmetic, we would still be able to drive the car for the next five weeks of the tour.   Charlotte frosted my hair a lighter shade, and gave me a cut that made me look more like “me.” I liked it!  Now I was ready for the evening concert.   When Roger and I arrived at the church, the Ukrainians were eating dinner on a large outdoor veranda next to the sanctuary. Jerry Mapes, minister of music and missions, sat with us talking about his work in Romania.   The menu that night was pork, roasted potatoes, slaw, and dessert.  One of the cooks asked one of the Ukrainians, “Do you fix your potatoes this way in Ukraine?”    “No,” said the Ukrainian, innocently.  “We cook them.” The cook went back into the kitchen and sure enough the potatoes had evidently not gone into the oven to be cooked.  Maybe they were blanced, then seasoned, and the oven part had been forgotten. But the Ukrainians ate the hard potatoes anyway. I did too. They had a great flavor. They were just hard.                                                                                                         Soon the large sanctuary was filled with people. The opening strains of “A Mighty Fortress” brought the choir forward, and the spellbinding began. It was a wonderful concert.  Luba didn’t sing tonight because she was nursing a cold, but her space was filled with other great artists. We added a lovely arrangement of “The First Nowell” and the men’s quartet sang their spiritual.   After the concert Brenda, Roger and I (who were staying in the same hotel) drove to Appleby’s for a snack. We were so grateful for comfortable beds at the hotel, sponsored by a couple at the church.    In the middle of the night, Roger woke me to say, “I’m falling. This time I’m really scared. I might not make it.”  This was not the first time Roger thought he was dying in the night. He has these spells about six times a year. The first time it really scared me when he said desperately, “Diane, I think I’m dying. I want to tell you goodbye.”  But after repeated incidents, I knew that it lasted about 30 seconds and then he was okay.  I just hold on to him and say, “It’s going to be all right.”  No one knows what causes this. Maybe arrhythmia of the heart. He takes blood pressure medicine.   We went back to sleep, but in the morning he was very weak. He didn’t go down for breakfast. The Ukrainians were gathering at nine at the church to depart for San Francisco area. Roger asked that I take Brenda, and he would stay in bed a little longer.  When Brenda and I arrived at the church at 8:45, the buses were not there, but the Ukrainians were standing with their hosts and their suitcases, enjoying the last minutes of fellowship.  Today they would go to the Golden Gate Bridge on an excursion before they arrived at the next venue, Saratoga, California.    I drove back to the hotel, thankful that we had such competent leaders who can take care of our people.

Chapter 13 - Saratoga, California

Today Roger and I would travel alone to Saratoga.  It was only a four-hour drive. By 11 am, Roger was feeling much better, and we loaded the car.  A quick trip to the mall gave me a chance to pick up a blouse I needed for my concert outfit and some insoles for my aching feet.   Soon we were traveling down I-5. I drove some of the way to give Roger a rest. A quick phone call to Brenda told us that the group had reached the Golden Gate Park and were having a wonderful time. We would go straight to our host home in Los Altos Hills for an early dinner, and then on to the concert at Saratoga at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church.   The traffic turned heavy as we approached the Oakland Bay Bridge. The phone rang and it was Brenda.  “We have a problem,” she said. “We left a Ukrainian at the Golden Gate park and we can’t go back to get him or we will miss our schedule at the church.”   “Who is it?” we asked.   “Yuri, the third trumpeter,” she said.  Yuri was young, blonde, and doesn’t speak much English. This is his first trip to America. With no way to communicate to him (no cell phone, etc.), we were hoping he would just stay put until help arrived. He must be scared to death.   “When did you leave the Golden Gate?” I asked Brenda.   “About 25 minutes ago,” she said   I looked at the map. It would take us at least 40 minutes to get to the bridge, and it was 4 pm. We were in the middle of Friday rush hour traffic. “Oh, Lord, don’t let him leave,” I prayed. “Hang on, Yuri! We’re coming!”   We called our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, and told them we would be late for dinner. We were in emergency mode, and needed to rescue our trumpeter.   In my atlas, I had a downtown map of San Francisco, but the names of the streets were so small, I really struggled to read them. We tried to get on Van Ness, a major street going toward the bay, but somehow we ended up in a neighborhood west of it. Finally we connected to Divisiado, which took us in the right direction, up hills, down hills, lots of Stop signs, but there wasn’t much traffic on this route.   Then from the top of a hill, we could see the Bay and the gorgeous structure of the Golden Gate Bridge.  “We’re coming! Don’t leave!” I said under my breath.   When we arrived at the park, there was Yuri in his shorts, and sleeveless T-shirt, sitting on a cement wall in the parking lot. We couldn’t drive directly to him, but had to follow the curvy entrance. Roger honked the horn, and at first he didn’t look. But when Roger honked the second time, he saw us, and his face turned down in embarrassment, then lifted up in relief.    We brought the car nearer, and he walked to us. We jumped out of the car, hugged him, and saw that he was shaking, partially from cold, but mostly from fear. Rescued, at last!   We called Brenda to tell her that we had found Yuri and were bringing him first to the Rogers and then to the concert. She let us know that our concert was at 7:30 instead of 7 pm as we had thought. Another blessing!    Mrs. Roger put another plate on the table, and we enjoyed a brief, but delicious dinner. We arrived at the church at 7 pm. Roger and I were dressed in our formal attire, and Yuri had time to change and find his instrument.   The concert at Saratoga was wonderful. They had sold tickets, and packed out the place. Almost half the audience had purchased tickets the two days before the concert at $30-$40 a seat.   This concert was the last one for Eleanor who had traveled with us from the beginning. Tomorrow she would fly back to Tampa, FL, where she would sleep for 12 hours to recuperate from our intense schedule.   Joining us tonight was B.J. Dunn who would replace Eleanor, being our driver and volunteer salesperson. B.J. is from Bryn Mawr, PA, and spent 6 months in Kiev as a volunteer in our office this past year.  Now she would be enjoying a concert almost every night.   One of the highlights for me tonight was the reunion with a high school friend whom I had not seen for 20 years. Mona Murray and I were friends from the eighth grade. We were the accompanists for our high school Senior Choir when Roger McMurrin became our choir teacher. Mona brought 40 piano students to hear the concert tonight.  I had had no means to contact her for years, but she had heard about the Kyiv Symphony Orchestra and Chorus and came to meet us.  What a joy to find each other again and exchange contact information so that we would not be lost again.   One lady came up to us during the concert and offered a donation to MMK for $2000 which would give her a painting from our art display. This was the second painting that had been procured through a major donation. We have seven paintings left.   Looking for the car keys at the end of the concert, Marcia found them in the car door where Roger had left them in his haste to get into the church.  Roger and I drove back to the Rogers, and feasted on ice cream with Mr. Rogers.  As tired as I was, I managed to put a load of laundry in the washer.   The next morning I was so tired, I felt numb. Roger went on to the church without me, to give a devotional with the group. It was centered on the parable of The Lost Sheep, and with the experience of losing Yuri yesterday, it captured the attention of everyone. We are all lost until the Savior finds us.  Some of us don’t know that we are lost, but we are in danger just the same.   The buses took the group on to southern California, and Roger and B.J. came back to the Rogers to get me.  Mrs. Rogers fixed a fabulous omelet for us before we left.  With my laundry done, my tour tales caught up, and my head more clear from rest, I was ready to go with them to Glendora in Los Angeles.