Charcuterie Board/Rome Italy Regret, a normal human emotion, was the topic of conversation in a recent interview of Daniel H. Pink on the CBS Morning Show. His book The Power of Regret, encourages us to think differently about the feeling, … Continue reading
I’ve heard (can’t remember where or by whom), that the trouble with aging is we think more about the past, worry about the present, and think little of the future. At my age, seventy-four, even in the best of health, the next ten to twenty years will be entirely different than the past twenty. It’s a different time in my life and I can be grumpy and mad, or think about the future.
Recently my horoscope said, “You have to go to where the light is.”
I live in Florida. There is plenty of light and wear sunglasses to take out the garbage.
The advice, by Holiday Mathis, who writes the syndicated daily horoscope column for hundreds of newspapers, is the author of several books, and a multi-platinum songwriter (her songs have been recorded by Miley Cyrus, Emma Roberts and others), made sense.
References to moving into the light, implies embracing spirituality.
Perhaps I should attend church more.
Moving into the light suggest death or afterlife.
I’m not ready to die, but. . . maybe I need to avoid route 95 and look 20, instead of 10 times, before backing out of a parking space.
Although. . . It could mean; avoid negativity and surround myself with bright cheery people, places and things.
If I close my eyes and dream about the future, what do I see? A tiny house with lots of windows and a river view. The above picture doesn’t truly capture the picture in my head. I’m thinking more like this.
. . . just saying
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My brain is fried.
I simply cannot think, not that there is anything wrong with that.
Bob and I have “Binge Watched” Virgin River.
Now that we are finished, I’m in withdrawal and miss Doc and Mel every day. We haven’t a clue if or when season five will be release, and I worry about Preacher when I go to sleep, and pray Jack isn’t alcoholic.
Meanwhile, I introduced Bob to Frankie and Grace. It’s in its thirteenth season so there will be lots of binging, and no worries about Jane Fonda; she knows the best plastic surgeon around.
Today I thought this is ridiculous, and grabbed a book that wasn’t a book club selection.
Sacred Contracts Awakening Your Divine Potential by Caroline Myss is a heavy read. Forget fretting about why we are here. The spiritual path to wellness and a happy life is purpose and Myss has a processes to get us there.
My head was spinning from the Acknowledgements and Appreciation sections, but I pushed through my lack of comprehension to read page one where things started to make sense.
Myss, referenced Howard Thurman, a late theologian, mystic and Harvard professor who had two questions he said to ask ourselves.
“The first is ‘Where am I going?’ and the second is “Who will go with me?”
Now, that’s what I’m thinking about.
Travel!
So, where am I going?
Well . . . I’ve visited the White House at Christmas before, but want to go again.
Who will go with me?
I’m unsure.
This is a link to my December 2012 visit, A White House Christmas
. . . just saying
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At Denver Airport in the morning, there was no transport person!
There was however, one wheel chair inside the door, which I grabbed away from an elderly woman; took outside, put Bob in and brought him indoors; where I could see him while checking in.
Thank God for Betsy and Bill. They waited curbside looking after Bob and our luggage while I’d been inside. We had a tearful goodbye.
Now the attendant assigned to us appeared. However, he had another person in tow. Before I could blink, he took off for security pushing two wheel chairs. I scurried behind.
I had instructed my husband, to lie about his age going through security and say he is 75 years old, this way he wouldn’t have to take off his shoes or stand up.
Praise the Lord, we didn’t wait in line. The second transport, a woman, was late for her flight and checked her Apple watch repeatedly, as I piled her carry on belongings into bins.
Then Homeland Security was about to wand Bob, and I panicked.
“Don’t do that!” I yelled as I raced to Bob’s side. “His arm is broken!” .
“STEP BACK LADY,” he bellowed with his hand on his gun.
Bob remembered to lie. But said he was 74, not 75 yrs old. He is 73. Men!
The ordeal had me shaken, but not for long because. . . now. . . “transport guy” was racing toward a waiting train. I realized he was getting on and followed, running, but I couldn’t keep up. So, before the doors closed, jumped in any car. . . and started to spill my guts to a stranger I was now face to face with.
I couldn’t even remember the terminal our flight would leave from, although the tickets were in my hand. I was dizzy, although it may have been my vertigo.
When I caught my breath, I saw “transport guy” in the next car. He waved.
I’ll skip the flight and transport ordeal on the arrival side and simply say we were picked up by our daughter, Janine and grandson, Dominic.
We drove directly to the emergency room of our local hospital and waited six hours before Bob had an emergency room bed. Sometime later, he was given morphine for pain. The next day, day nine, Bob was admitted for surgery. The surgery, delayed due to an allergic reaction, was on day twelve, June 26th, our 51st Wedding Anniversary.
Every step along the way had sidesteps and challenges. He now has a nine-inch rod in his arm and three weeks post operation is doing well.
As Betsy, Bill, Bob and I lamented, this was one hell of a Yellowstone trip.
. . . just saying
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The next morning, Tuesday, of our trip (no pun intended), would have been day seven of our vacation. However, no one was calling this a vacation. Somehow Bob had sleep and I finally fell asleep only to be awaken at 5:30 by an alarm clock. I guess the previous guest wanted to see the sunrise, and yes; the water bottle urinal had come in handy during the night.
Betsy and Bill brought coffee and explained they had attempted to check out and told; NO ONE EVER GETS A REFUND.She had asked to speak with the general manager and told, he wasn’t in.
It felt like salt was poured into our wound.
Meanwhile, Daniel came by, and asked how we were doing. On the verge of tears, I explained the no refund policy, and said, “I know it’s not the hotel’s fault Bob fell, but it feels mean., really mean.”
His eyes expressed sincere regret.
Shortly after I received a cell call from the general manager informing me, we would receive a refund.
Daniel returned and assisted Bob into the car. No one wanted a repeat of last night.
And so, the 571-mile trek back to Fort Collins had begun. We may have stopped at McDonald’s for fish sandwiches, I can’t remember. We stopped, but. . . Bob didn’t get out of the car. He was unable keep down any fluid, There was no voiding.
On the way I phoned Southwest. “I have a medical emergency and will need assistance,” I said.
They switched our return flight to the next day, and assured me a wheelchair would be waiting.
. . . just saying
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I would love to tell you we returned to the $400+ dollar night Inn and got a good night’s rest. . . but, the day wasn’t over yet.
Bill and I were helping Bob out of the car, when his face went, “lights out.” I grabbed his chin and looked directly into his eyes. “Talk to me! What’s happening?” Then, he fell to his knees. I think we all screamed.
Fortunately, a nurse and her strong husband had just left their cabin and knew how to support Bob without injuring his fractured shoulder more and moved him to a chair in our cabin. Betsy called 911.
Hotel staff arrived in a flash and determined acute pain caused his near collapse. We got him into bed, double dosed the pain medication, and gave him something for nausea.
My beginning to catch a breath was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was another staff member with paperwork to sign. A kid, probably my grandson’s age.
Understandably the hotel needed to document the incidents. I reassured him it was a simple trip and fall. We weren’t going to solicit a lawyer.
Like Danny on Blue Blood’s, he handed me paper and pen. “In your own words. If you wouldn’t mind.” He expressed his appreciation once the forms where completed and asked . . . emphatically, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Well there was. My concern was getting Bob, weak and under the influence, to the bathroom. How many times does an 73 man void during the night? I’d lost count.
“Do you have a urinal?”
“No,” he said, embarrassed.
On the counter behind him was my wide mouth water bottle. I glanced its way, his eyes followed mine.
“Problem solved,” I said.
Shortly after, Betsy brought me dinner. A pork sandwich with homemade cold slaw she’d packed. Remember if the park opened food might be hard to find. Oh yes and a large bottle of wine.
It was around 10PM and the sun had finally set.
. . . just saying
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The next day, after breakfast, we checked out and wandered around Jackson, mostly shopping and people watching. After lunch we headed north into the Grand Tetons National Park. The temperature dropped as the elevation climbed to 10,000 ft and once inside the park the temperature was about 40 degrees, although the sun had came out.
We checked in at 4:15PM. Why do I remember the precise time? Because like most accidents the events are played over in slow motion. We drove to our close by cabin.
I carried my luggage inside the cabin then heard a scream. We ran outside to find my husband lying on the ground.
The above pictures tell the story. Bob tripped holding his ipad, fell, and fractured his right shoulder. Betsy call 911. Hotel staff came immediately in a golf cart, knew not to move him, and called for an ambulance. It was raining and temperatures continued to drop. We grabbed blankets. The man layered their winter jackets underneath a garbage bag hoping to prevent shock, The ambulance, traveling from outside the park arrived one hour later. The ride back was the same one hour over bumpy roads. Doctors at St. John’s hospital determined Bob probably need surgery but didn’t argue. A man with his medical history needed to be home to Florida. He was discharged, arm in a sling with pain medication.
The process took hours.
Betsy and Bill had followed the ambulance and patiently sat in the ER waiting room wondering what to do.
“Well girlfriend,” I said, calling on my cell phone. “You’ll have to go shopping. Bob has nothing to wear. That really nice blue checked shirt was cut off.”
. . . just saying
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Day Four/Sunday of Vacation
Yesterday, after the service person said he would order a part and be back next week to fix the air conditioner, the refrigerator stopped working. Other than ice for the cooler this morning, it wasn’t an issue, because; if Yellowstone opened, we’d been notified the availability of food would be limited. We’d planned to pack the basics. Betsy cooked a fabulous fish dinner, trekked back to the store for ice and emptied the frig laughing about another thing gone wrong.
In the morning, everyone was up and dressed early. Luggage and beverages for four people fit in the trunk and we departed promptly at 7AM.
About 65 miles later, we stopped in Laramie, Wyoming, for a McDonald’s breakfast. I’m a fan of their bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, and convinced everyone the bathrooms would be clean and the coffee hot.
The elevation increases along the way and the beige landscapes fades to green in response to the mountains dotting the distance.
There was nothing, but landscape for miles. I got a little nervous at the thought of running out of gas or having a flat tire. I imaged traveling in a covered wagon and being low on beans.
Lunch? Once again, McDonald’s and my original favorite . . .the fish sandwich.
We arrived in Jackson Hole on schedule, and checked in.
And We had a memorable meal at the Cowboy Bar.
The sun came out. Although we got drenched in a down pour returning to our cabins.
Things might just work out.
. . . just saying
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Yellowstone was closed! My friend had phoned the day before to explain there were additional sidesteps. Her husband needed an unanticipated medical procedure the day after our arrival and her air conditioning was on the fritz. Always the optimist, I said, “We haven’t seen you in ages and there is lots to do in Colorado.”
Our flight was on time and arrived as scheduled. We visited the Gaylord Hotel, a spectacular lodge rising-up in the flat plains close to Denver International Airport and had lunch. It’s about an hour drive to Fort Collins and Bill insisted we take the scenic route father than Route 25 to avoid construction, traffic delays and vehicle accidents. And we did see some sights; housing construction competing with fracking fields. However, in the north the brown flat lands turn green with flowers and lakes.
The men retired early and the women watch “Being the Riccardo’s” staring Nicole Kidman. I loved everything about the movie.
The air conditioning repair person was scheduled for the next day and we slept comfortably with a ceiling fan and the windows open.
Things might work out just fine.
A chartreuse pillow similar in shape and size to a to a large dog bone sat on a purple couch in the hotel lobby. The clerk was all smiles telling us we were early. So, we sat on the purple sofa and waited, mesmerized by a carpet cleaner. The bubbling steamer was pushed back and forth by a housekeeper determined to suck up its remains. The noise and disinfectant smell quickly drove us outside into the Florida heat and sun, which was worse. So, back inside. . . we stood, as the lobby was now crowded. An audience of turning heads as though attending a tennis match watched silently, and I wondered if they would applaud.
Upstairs, I loved the room and fantasized about living in a Tiny House before we headed out to dinner. The restaurant was with-in walking distance, but we decided not to walk hearing thunder, once downstairs.
So, my husband took the elevator to get his car keys, but returned saying the room key didn’t work. He held out the key to examine and discovered he was using a hotel business card to open the room door.
The sky opened-up with what is called “Big Rain” in Florida, as we drove to the restaurant and although wet, we eventually we had dinner.
Day one of the vacation from hell.
. . . just saying
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claudiajustsaying 