December 30th, 2010 (See Previous Post Down Below to Catch Up)

04:30 am.

A Prickly Night at Best

Sleep was haphazard and there was an edginess in the house that comes when change is in the air.  Kash upon waking made a comment that it didn’t seem real, the excitement wasn’t the same as the kind you have as a child when sleeping (not) through Christmas Eve, waiting for the unwrapping to consume even the air molecules in your lungs.

Since I was staying behind, there is a haziness that settles in, a numbing fog of separation anxiety mixed with a certain false bravado one shows the ones most loved, when you are happy and sad at the same time.  The exhilaration of finally pulling the trigger for a long awaited journey and hoping that all shall be well.  It feels like a moment to step aside.  So I am quiet even though I want to bark.  I think it’s the wind that has me uneasy.

It’s a couple of  flights, a shuttle or two, and a hired taxicab driver to get to to Shangri-La (or in this case- Fort Lauderdale- the first portal to the Big Adventure).

As with all Portals, there is sure to be some down time.

Time enough to buy something that will jog our memory of this fine example of living life to the hilt, so the initial salvo is released, and the first memento is secured.

The Shot Glass Heard Around the World

That is pretty much what we have here.  It will be broken-in along with several anticipated cousins.

You know how back in the day when “the people” were the actual Indians that roamed and hunted the Great Plains?  The battles they fought with one another were triumphs of courage if one “Counted Coup”.

“Counting Coup”  is a French term (not a French act) that describes  the act of touching the enemy warrior in the heat of battle, reaching from your horse to his.  It was considered courageous, because no weapon is involved, and the Indian Brave is at the mercy of the enemy by daring to touch them while declining to pull rank with a weapon.

We count coup by collecting shot glasses from the places we visit.  There is no assault on the liver to be framed here.  Our journeys and adventures are not seen through a glass, but  are cataloged by the glass.  Kashmir is one of the People, I am a stray hybrid Teuton.