My Current Delinquency

I know! I Know! I KNOW!

I haven't been writing very often lately. Lots of excuses. About a dozen, but three will serve for now.

First, I'm an aging lamebrain. I can't seem to adjust to doing intelligent things for myself these days. Part of that's because Nancy always did clerical stuff for me in the good-times. She had this easy competent manner. She was so absolutely adult and unflappable. Simple chores that irritated and confused me just smoothed out gently under her hands like soft, sweet symphonic passages from Brahms.

So she protected me from my incompetence: "Booby, Booby, Booby. Lemme do that. I like being in charge!" (a soothing smile, warm hug, two or three smacky kisses on my embarrassed cheeks.) I suppose you could say that she was the mother I missed when I was growing up. Looking back, I can't begin to understand WHY if I pitched in to help her with tasks I had just abandoned in frustration, the irritation vaporized and I did quite well. Even became fun. Hard work turned into play.

Carve it on some prominent and unshakable tree:

Cherished Friendship Soothes the Weary Heart And Fixes Everything!

So that's EXCUSE #1: Been drowning under preparations for my Romania-Rome trip. Been too discombobulated to focus my mind enough to write.

The second thing is maybe more serious. The past two weeks I've been suffering a massive onset of allergies. NO!no!NO! How dare you even suggest it's a psychosomatic disorder. (Not that I do NOT at times consider myself a blithering idiot.)

For some time I've been growing increasingly sensitive to Gatsby-kitty's fur and dander. Usually after I give him a really good rub, or brush him down, my nose runs, and I start sneezing and coughing. And if I should absent-mindedly rub my eye, it turns all red and irritated. So the allergy has been there for years. But with aging, it's really become serious for me.

Thing is, too: Gatz knows some change is coming. He sees all the running around, trying to get stuff done. One result is that whenever I sit down, he latches onto me. My butt hits the couch, he's in my lap -- or stretched out luxuriously at my feet awaiting a rub-down. I lie down, he's on my chest with his nose up my snoot. And whenever I fall asleep -- in bed, or cat-napping anywhere in the house -- here he comes, up onto my pillow, his nose shoved up under my chin nuzzling away, or even worse: shoving his damp nose into my eye-sockets. Then it's a quick shower and scrub; and a second Claritan pill, and a plastic bag with ice-cubes across my eye-sockets.

Middle of last month I began experiencing what I guess I can call: a clogged voice-box and related irritation that had me constantly clearing my throat and harrumphing. Frequent coughing and throat-clearing irritated me, and had people around me in the grocery store (or wherever) exchanging troubled glances and shrinking away. . . . (Frequently got me first in line, however. Frequently got me irritated glances, too, however.)

This past Wednesday I woke up feeling clogged up. I had complete laryngitis. Couldn't utter a word -- still can't. Went to the doctor yesterday at my daughter's insistence. His nurse-practitioner examined me first: no fever, no redness in throat or ears, blood-pressure 106 over 60. . . . The doctor came in and told me (what I had told my daughter he would tell me): "You have laryngitis. We don't prescribe medicine for what you've got. It will last a indeterminate period, then go away. DON'T TALK."

I thought that final two-word phrase a brilliant prescription. But I'm a nice person. I just nodded affirmatively -- and quietly shuffled on home. (I haven't even told my lovely daughter I told her so.)

Consequently, my trip preparations this week have all been in person, using a plethora of brief written notes. And lotsa smiles.

I get home with a list of accomplished preparations, each with a triumphant line drawn through it. . .and a large OKAY which expresses my delight in having one less thing to do.

And you should've witnessed my weekly Skype exchange with my Peace-Corps grandchildren: incoherent sign language, quickly contrived bold-print messages, accompanied by apelike grunts and reassuring smiles.

Did I say three excuses? If so, half my carefully constructed flight arrangements have been canceled and restructured. I now arrive at the airport at 6:45am tomorrow (unless more changes materialize), board soon after, and arrive in the Chicago hub just in time for a NINE-HOUR LAYOVER. Best they could do. On the way home I have an eighteen-hour layover. But I made a virtue of that. I arranged a hotel room at the airport, called my southern Wisconsin kids, and we'll spend some waking hours having fun in Chicago.

I have to conclude United Airlines is experiencing financial difficulties. I made all these flight arrangements early February. Three changes this past week.

BUT! I am determined to enjoy this visit with my grand-kids in Romania and Rome. I hate travel and its related difficulties. But I adore the kids! I know we'll have fun.

OH! One more thing: My intention is to spend a half-hour or so reporting daily (or frequently) our adventures.

Unless Mat's laptop gets stolen!