Home Sweet Home

Finally I am home.

We left our house last Monday afternoon on our journey to Melbourne Beach, Florida for my son’s wedding.  We spent a night in Nashville, two nights in Florida and three nights on a Carnival Cruise Ship.

The wedding was wonderful, my son was so handsome, his lovely bride was beautiful.  Everything went off with only minor glitches that the bride and her friends handled quickly.

The wedding ceremony was scheduled at 4 in the afternoon.  My husband and I took my son to lunch that day.  I let him choose and he said he wanted a Happy Meal.  That’s an unusual but nostalgic choice for a “last meal.”   I will always remember that lunch and the fact that his prize was the bat car.

The cruise would have been nice had the weather cooperated.  It was storming the first 2 days and many passengars, including me were miserably puking and extremely seasick beyond belief not feeling well.  But it  got better.

My husband and I got off the ship and traveled to the Orlando airport where he went home and I made my way to Baltimore via Altanta.  I thought I’d have the emotional break down of being left at the airport, but unfortunately my flying circumstances took all my attention and I did not have time to think about being left.  I fly Delta often, but not often enough to have clout with them.  I am lucky to snag an aisle seat, I am always in the back of the plane as part of the livestock.  I have elite status on other airlines, so I am spoiled to upgrades, priority boarding and always sitting in the front of the plane.

Being in the back of the flight to Atlanta seated next to  Hungarian potato farmer and his herd of goats distracted me from whatever emotional episode I was considering.

Enough of that.  I am excited!

I feel today is a new day, I am starting a new era in my life, or at least for the next 2 months.

Like many businesses and companies in today’s economic environment, our company is looking for ways to reduce expenses and tighten our belts.  In a decision I’m sure was hard to make, our executive management said NO MORE TRAVEL UNTIL JANUARY 1.  If we have trips planned, we have to cancel them.  We are not to plan any trips.  We are to work diligently and efficiently with our clients and prospect by phone, email and webinars.

This is wonderful and surprising news for me!  I love staying home! Do you know what this means for me?

I can take my hand lotion and lipstick out of the ziplock bag and carry those things in my purse, unprotected.

No airport hassles, no horrible Pinnacle airline employees to deal with, no mad dashes to the airport.

I will be home to fix a healthy and nutritious dinner for me and my husband and any friends and family that I want to invite over.

I can get some projects done at home as I will have evenings to work around the house.

I can unpack my toiletries and the extra underwear I keep in the zipper compartment of my big suitcase.

I can enjoy my exercise routines at home.

I do not have to eat 12 straight meals in restaurants or stress myself out over which fast food joint I will tolerate at night.

I can buy a whole lime.

Yes, a whole lime.  With my travel schedule of being gone 3-4 days per week, I do not like to buy food items that I will not consume before I leave.  I don’t want to buy food items that if not consumed, will go bad before I return.  I love a wedge of fresh lime in my favorite uppity drink, club soda.  When I buy a lime, I cut it into 8 pieces.  I may use 4 or 5 of those before I go out of town for a few days.  When I come back, the remaining lime wedges are not usable and must be thrown away.  That is wasteful!  So I don’t buy limes, even though they cost about $.30 and I really really like them in my club soda.

But now, I can buy a whole lime and I can use the whole thing and it will not go bad because I will be home to use it!

So raise your glass for a toast!  Here is to Home Sweet Home and whole limes!

Travel Quirks

I heard a keynote speaker at a conference last week talking about traveling as part of your job.  He mentioned travel quirks and said his primary hotel quirk was to always look under the bed.  I have a hotel travel quirk.  I must have the curtains open when I go to bed.

There are challenges for me in this matter. I do not generally stay in luxurious high rise hotels, I can be found in Hampton Inn most of the time.  If I am on the first floor of the hotel, I have an issue in that the window looks out onto the parking lot.  Any pervert could easily peer in on me.  Then there are windows that look out over a flashing electronic bill board or other brightly lit sign.  For some reason the AmeriSuites (now Hyatt Place) hotel in the Park Meadows area of Denver found it necessary to shine spotlights on their hotel which made keeping the curtains open a challenge.

My husband does not appreciate my quirk and thinks it is silly.  Why must I have the curtains open?  Easy.  So I will know where I am.  Have you ever woken up in a strange place and been disoriented?  Didn’t know where you were?  Well, as long as the curtains are open, I know where I am.  Don’t bother me with nit picky questions about how it is dark outside so how do I see to know where I am.  I just do.

As I think about traveling and what I do when I travel, the open curtains are the only quirk that comes to mind.  However, there is something else that I do not like.  I don’t know if it is a quirk or not.

I do not like to be dropped off and left at the airport.  I live an hour from the airport.  When I first started traveling with my job in 1994, I lived an hour and a half from the airport.  My husband at the time worked a 7-3 job.  There was no one that I could impose upon to make that 3 hour round trip to drop me off for a flight or make that 3 hour round trip to come retrieve me upon my return.  I figured out off site airport parking and it worked well. Been using it since.

When I first started traveling, it was tough to do so.  I hated leaving my kids. I had to make arrangements for them so they could get where they needed to go.  My then husband was not the babydaddy and truthfully, I didn’t want him responsible for my kids.  Not because my kids were any trouble, but he was an asshole.  had a lot of mommy guilt as I walked into the airport.  I consoled myself by knowing that I was building my career and I had to do that because I had to support my children.  They would go to college, one way or another.  Working hard to get them there would benefit us all.  So I fought the guilt of leaving and got on the plane.

Back then, people could move freely about the airport whether they had a boarding pass or not.  This meant friends and family could escort the traveller to the gate, sit and visit a while and get those last hugs in before the flyer got on the plane.  These scenes bothered me.  No one was ever there to see me off, to say they’d miss me, to pretend to wipe away tears.  I felt left out.  To add to the misery of being married to an asshole, no one cared that I was gone.  Boo hoo.

So I tried my best to ignore all the emotion around me at airport gates, and then later at the security line, and just get on the plane and go.  This was work to me, not a touchy feely going away ceremony.

So now I hate being dropped off and left.  Why?  You’d think I’d like that since I felt so left out back then.  I don’t like it because I get wierdly emotional about it.  A couple of years ago my husband took me to the airport on a Saturday to catch a flight to LA.  There was an actual reason he was doing this, something to do with logistics, but I don’t remember exactly what.  He pulled up to let me out at curb side and I honest to god cried when he had to pull away.  Good grief!  What is that about?

Then there was the trip last summer.  We planned for him to accompany me on a business trip to Banff Springs Canada.  Because who goes on a trip to a fabulous place like that without someone to share it with?  Just before the trip, my boss called a meeting in NYC.  I had to shuffle things around to get to the meeting and then to the conference in Canada.  The shuffling ended up with me going to NYC on Sunday night.  I left NYC on Tuesday and my husband left our home airport.  We met in Minneapolis and boarded the flight to Calgary together.

When he drove me to the airport on Sunday night to drop me off, I teared up before we got there.  What’s that about?  I was meeting him in Minneapolis in just 2 days, why was I all teary eyed about being dropped off?

If I have abandonment issues, I don’t know about them.  It’s not like the airport is a strange and scary place for me.  I am in airports every week of my life (or so it seems).  Its not that I am worried stressed or scared to leave home.  My husband (the new one) and I get along very well so I’m not leaving in the midst of a crisis or unresolved conflict.  I’m not leaving my kids behind as they are both grown.  The cat is rather self sufficient and if he gets lazy, my husband feeds him.  I do miss my husband and my cat when I’m gone, but I am used to it.  I don’t snivel about leaving when I pull out of the garage to drive myself to offsite parking.

I’ve been thinking about this recently because I am going to have an issue next week.  My son is getting married in Florida and we are all jetting down for the ceremony and a 3 day cruise.  The cruise is over on Sunday.  I do not get to come home from the cruise.  My husband and I will get back to the Orlando airport and he will board a plane for home and I will board a plane for Baltimore.  Dammit.  And I’m sure I’ll blow snot all the way to Altanta.

Fall all around

Fall is all around.  And I seem to be fitting right in with the season.

My business trip last week was to Kansas City and Topeka.  Yes, my job is glamorous.  I’ve only flown over Kansas, so I was looking forward to my trip in a curious kind of way.  I have spent a lot of time in Colorado and I expected Kansas, being a “Plains State” and all, to look much like Colorado.  What I found was Tennessee and Colorado got married and had a child and its name is Kansas.

Kansas is like Colorado in many ways.  It is flat with defined “hills”.  There are acres and acres of flat crop land.  But unlike Colorado and much like Tennessee, there are trees.  Not the scrubby trees in Colorado, but tall trees like in Tennessee. 

The leaves were starting to color a bit in Kansas and it was very pretty.  At least it was when I was not driving into the direct blinding searing glare of the setting sun.  I made up my mind last week that my next eye doctor visit will include prescription sunglasses.  I am old school, I use mapquest.  All my directions were printed out but I had to take off my sun glasses (OH! my eyes!) and put on my regular glasses to read the directions.  That got old after 2 days of being alternately blinded by the sun and blind because, well, I’m blind.

There are not many good thing to say about having a ginormously large nose, but I did find my nose to be quite helpful in Kansas last week.  With its extremely large size, it was possible for me to keep my regular glasses on and put my sunglasses on over them.  I am mortified happy to report my nose not only held both pair glasses with no problem, but there was still room for another pair had I chosen to fortify my sun protection with another pair of sunglasses.

I don’t like to go days with exercise, so I chose one evening to go for a nice run.  I stayed in the Overland Park area and the main road has a nice pedestrian path right along side.  I put on my running shoes and sunglasses and headed out.  I’m not sure what my issue was, there is always an issue with chronic hypochondria, but my run sucked.  My right knee started hurting at the onset of my run.  My left ankle still hurts from my unfortunate encounter with the pine cone weeks ago.  I felt like I weighed 50 pounds heavier than usual and it was just a miserable run. 

I ran about 15 minutes and turned around to start back.  On my way back, I noticed a street that went up a hill into a nice residential area.  I decided to take a detour and walk.  I walked up a very steep hill on a sidewalk through a lovely neighborhood.  The homes were all small one story ranch style houses that looked to have been built in the 60’s.  The yards were beautifully landscaped and well maintained.  Tasteful, subtle fall and Halloween decorations were out, none of the obnoxious 12 foot tall blow up shit from Walmart.  I enjoyed my walk and decided right then that if I ever had to relocate to Kansas City for my job, I would not be too mad.

The sun was going down and I still had a ways to go to get back to my hotel, so when I topped the hill I turned around to walk back.  Straight west.  Into the setting sun.  ARGH!  I was blinded.  Yes, there were trees that shaded most of my walk, but there were frequent spots where the blinding sun went through the trees to burn my corneas.  It was in one of these blinding areas that it happened.

I stepped on a freaking gumball, twisted my right ankle and fell flat on my ass on a strange sidewalk in a strange town where I knew no one.  ARGH.  ARGH.  ARGH.

I sat there for a few seconds completely stunned that it happened.  Now what?  The good news is that I knew immediately it was not hurt as badly as the pine cone ankle.  I took a few deep breaths and got up.  I could limp.  Great.  I limped my crippled ass all the way to my hotel, and that was long limp back.

I nursed the ankle a bit once in my room.  I spent the rest of my evening in a comfy chair watching mindless television.   I am relieved to report the gumball ankle is fine.  Can’t tell anything happened.  The pine cone ankle, however, is another story.  It still hurts.  I guess that’s OK as I need something to complain about or I will be disqualified as a chronic hypochondria patient.

Yes, it is Fall all around.  And I am doing my part to actively participate.

My Grandfather

My grandfather is still alive.  I believe that is unusual for someone my age.  Just last month, my first bio grandchild was born.  I have four step grandchildren that I call plain ole grandchildren, but the baby born to my daughter is actually my first.  Now there are 5 living generations in my family.  This is not the first time I have been one of five generations alive at the same time.  When my daughter was born in 1980, my great grandmother was still alive and well.  We have pictures that ran in the local papers.

Both of my maternal grandparents are still alive, but today I want to talk about my grandfather.

I have many good memories of him and just a couple of not-so-good memories.  The not-so-good ones can be attributed to my own misbehavior as a child.  My grandfather dropped out of school after the 5th grade to work on the farm.  He was the son of sharecroppers and went on to be a sharecropper himself until 1969 when he got hired at the brand new Tupperware factory as a dock worker.  From there, he slowly moved up in the ranks to Assistant Shipping Supervisor,  a position he held until he retired.

My grandparents lived in a different era and in today’s world, their ways and lifestyle are out of date.  My grandmother took care of everything.  She waited on him hand and foot.  She cooked every meal he ate, except when she was in the hospital, and then other relatives came to help him with the kids and cook his meals. 

He has never washed his own clothes, made his own bed or cleaned up the kitchen.  He can’t even boil water for his cup of instant coffee. 

Even when my grandmother has been sick herself, she managed to get up and take care of him, even when he is healthier than she is.

Four years ago, my beloved aunt passed away.  She was my grandparent’s daughter-in-law, but she loved them like parents and in returned, they loved her.  She retired several years ago and spent many days helping my grandparents do things around their house and transporting them to doctor’s appointments.  When she passed away after a battle that cancer won, my grandfather sunk deep into a depression that he still has today. 

He wants to die.  He tries to die.  He would be so happy if he could just die.  If he gets one itty bitty thing wrong with him, he plays it out as a fatal.  He decided he couldn’t walk on his own and procured a walker.  He doesn’t need it and seldom uses it. 

My grandmother had a stroke last month that has left her physcially unable to walk or get up and down on her own.  Her mind is still sharp, her spirits are high.  She is happy and she laughs and talks.  She is in a nursing home where she is happy and becoming well adjusted.  In the meantime, my grandfather is at home, being beligerent and mean to everyone around him.  He wants to be in control of my grandmother and barks out orders that are not necessarily the best for her.  His children are having a difficult and frustrating time reigning him in.  My mom put it the best “he has become an asshole.”

I had the pleasure NOT of taking him home from a family function last Sunday.  It is the first time I’ve been alone with him in a very long time.  The family event was a happy occassion, and my grandmother had a pass from the nursing home to attend so she was there also.  My grandfather did not want her there, he was pissed that the arrangements were made against his wishes.  My grandmother wanted to be there and we wanted her there so his assholedness was overruled.  He threatened not to come to the event himself and no one argued with him about it.

On the ride home, I turned the radio station to the NASCAR race.  My grandfather has always liked NASCAR and he and I have had fun conversations about races.  I tried to engage him in conversation about the race and he would not talk back.  He sat in the passengar seat just heaving and breathing as heavy as he could.  He does not have breathing issues so there is no reason he should be heaving like that other than for attention.  I kept asking NASCAR questions and he continued to ignore me.

When he finally spoke, it was to bitch about my grandmother being out of the nursing home for the afternoon.  I ignored his smartass tone of voice and happily told him she had a great time and it was fairly simple to get her out for an afternoon and we would be doing that more often.  He gave me all kinds of reasons she could not do that again and every time I countered him, he started gasping for breath. 

Come on, even my 3 year old granddaughter drama queen can do that without being so obvious.

Next I commented on the paper bark birch trees in a neighbor’s yard.  He and I have talked about those trees in the past.  He told me where I could find them growing wild and gave me lots of information about the trees.  But this time he ignored my comment and kept breathing heavily.

When we got to his house, I went in to see if I could do anything for him.  He asked me to make him a pitcher of sweet tea and I did.  While I was doing that, he went to the cabinet and pulled out medications.  He told me he had to take 6 pills a day.  I asked him what the pills were for just as a way to engage him in conversation.  Most people who want to die like to talk about all that is wrong with them so I thought I had just found something to make him talk.  Wrong.

He looked at me and with a very hateful tone of voice, one I have never heard before from him, he said, “HON.  I’VE HAD A STROKE.” 

Oh, lord yes, I know.  Seven months ago he had a mild stroke.  Was hospitalized.  Is fine now.  No issues really other than deeper depression that he is not dead. 

I think he is jealous that my grandmother is “sicker” than he is.  He is mad because she is happy.  He wants her to get better and come home so she can resume taking care of him.  It is not about her at all really.

I remember my grandfather as a happy person with a great sense of humor.  He and I talked about many things over the last 48 years.  He taught me to say my first word “backwater.”  He and my grandmother borrowed money for train tickets to come to Chicago when I was born.  I was the first grandchild.  When I was 6, I had to have a cup of coffee in a cup with a saucer in the mornings, just like him.  I guess he is the person who taught me to drink coffee. 

I want to remember him the way he was, not the way he is now.  I want to look at a paper bark birch tree and remember him telling me all about it.  I don’t want to remember the awkward ride home and his heavy fake breathing and refusal to talk to me.

I want to remember the light in his eyes when he talked about NASCAR races.  I want to remember him holding my kids when they were little.  The patio out back where the men sat to fry fish in big homemade cookers, with my grandfather supervising.

We all believe he could get better IF the depression was diagnosed and treated.  But he doesn’t want to be better.  He wants to die and until he does, he is going to kill our fond and loving memories of him as the leader of our family.