I had the great pleasure of being in a wedding this past weekend, and the Friday night prior to the big day I took place in a wedding rehearsal. It was held in a Catholic church, and so followed Catholic protocol. As my escort (get your minds out of the gutter) and I approached the altar, the wedding planner told us to bow. Neither one of us is Catholic, so we both turned to her, completely confused, and said "Bow"? She then shot us the nastiest look and snapped, "You are in the house of the lord, you BOW!" I don't think I made any great inroads with her that night. I made a joke later on in the rehearsal and she turned to me and said, "That's FUNNY," with a less-than-amused look on her face.

For John and I, coming back to Kansas is like a drug. In Florida, we learn to live without it and we convince ourselves that it's not all that we thought it was. And then we come back, even for just a moment, and suddenly we're hooked once more. Each time we visit, we enjoy ourselves. And each night before our flight leaves the next day, our hearts break again. I can't decide which is worse: the knowledge that we're not here now or the thought that we may never live here again.