Catching My Breath

From file dated June 29, 1994

At the moment I am luxuriating in the longest uncomplicated stretch of time I have had in 1994. Most of my activities have been happy ones, but the quick sequence was something of a strain.

A few days after Mary and Ellis left, I flew to Costa Rica for an Air France conference. The meeting itself was excellent and gave me a chance to see old friends. Everything else—planes, hotel, shopping—was a fiasco.

Four days after I returned from Costa Rica, the Alex Bryans arrived, four strong, for a ten-day visit.

 

Our nephew Alex Bryan and his wife Marcia lived in Belize for a year and a half in the Seventies, managing a farm Bucher bought. Since then, they have felt like a second son and daughter. This was their first visit back. Their children, Katy, 16, and Will, 13, are as delightful and poised as any teenagers I could imagine. It was a joy having them.

This time, Alex (Scott) and María took over the bulk of the entertaining. The Bryans arrived on Good Friday (April 1st). The next day was rainy in what should be the dry season, so I had them all here for the full day. It gave us a wonderful visit. Then the younger generation went out to the cayes for two days.

Alex Bryan rented a car and his family took off daily on sightseeing expeditions. It left me free to go to the office. I ordered in food most nights, a variety of ethnic offerings. The children were delightful about trying everything. They either adored it or politely did not let it show that they were filling up on tortillas.

The day they were leaving, Alex Bryan came to me, blanched with discomfort, to confess that he and son Will had sat down hard on the edge of my guest bed and had broken it. I thought it was hilarious and tried to soothe him. My immediate thought was, “Thank heavens it happened the last day.” I could not make myself even go into the guest room to check it for weeks after they left. Finally I did and, guess what, Alex was right. The springs had collapsed completely.

 

Before I had time to catch my breath after the Bryans’ departure, I was off to Guatemala for a short Air France workshop. At the Air France conference in Costa Rica, we had been invited to attend this workshop. The “invitation” was as close to arm-twisting as it is possible to get without physical attack.

A group of representatives of the French tourism industry, government and private, had been invited to a four day session. They would have three days of the most wonderful touring to Guatemala’s finest sites, then the workshop with Air France Central American agents on the final day.

Alex didn’t see any point in my going. However, without me, Air France is minus an entire country, which looks bad for them. I did not look forward to another long session in Spanish, or even worse, in French. I enjoyed the workshop, though I was in no mood for airplanes or hotels, much as I normally love them.

 

I came home from Guatemala to get ready for my annual trip to Georgia to see family and doctors. It was a terrible time for me to leave. We finally are moderately successful in promoting Air France in Belize. (Their planes don’t come here; we send passengers by TACA to Miami, where they catch Air France for Paris and beyond.) With the holiday season looming, we had a steady stream of requests for reservations. I have handled most of the Air France work myself, so had to give Alex a crash course before I left. In view of the situation, I cut my trip down to two weeks.

Once I was strapped aboard my plane, the office and my obligations were a thousand miles away. The trip was a huge success as far as I was concerned. I started with a useful visit to our new client, Laser Lines, in Miami. Then, with a certain amount of wear-and-tear on my nerves due to close connections, I enplaned for Atlanta.

Had a wonderful time seeing family and friends. I stayed with Fran and Louis Bondurant in Atlanta. Our visit was perfectly lovely. They made me feel completely at home. All three of us came and went on our own schedules. This was the first time we had been together for more than an evening since the Fifties. It was wonderful.

I visited Becky in Jefferson twice. Despite her current medical problems, she makes a marvelous show of being her old bright, energetic self.

Received the expected good reports from doctors. Did a year’s worth of shopping. By the end of my time I was raging to return.

 

Now I am settled back into my comfortable routine. It was days before I got down to the mahogany of my desk top under the pile of faxes awaiting me. I had to pull the April accounts together, then start on May and closing the books at the end of our fiscal year. The auditors are breathing down my neck.

Ten days ago, Alex and María left for Georgia on their own holidays. I manage quite nicely with my staff of three congenial, competent young people. The house runs smoothly. My two dogs are company at night. My major social activity is biweekly duplicate bridge. Gradually friends disappear for their summer vacations this time of year. For once, I don’t think I will mind. I am too busy luxuriating in the commonplace.

Carli and Tom will be here late in July for her 25th high school reunion. María was in the same class, so both couples will be busy. I admire Tom for letting himself in for this. Culture shock.

 

From file written August 15, 1994

Things are leveling off now. I can sit on my veranda with my two Golden Labs and watch the sailboats waft past on the ever-changing blues of the Caribbean. All I have to worry about is becoming fluent in French before my September trip to Province. Not all the cassette courses in the world could achieve that. However, I am helping the process along by counting in French when I take my daily exercises.

Please don’t think that my life is always a succession on Major Events. This year so far has been a whirlwind. Except for Mary’s broken ankle and a less than restful trip to Costa Rica, it has been marvelous. The only thing is that septuagenarians don’t bounce back like 30-year olds.

 

From letter dated September 4, 1994

The government has just passed a law calling for companies to pay a 1% tax on their gross receipts. Everyone in business is frantic about the new tax and how to handle it. To my delight, early last week we received a letter from our accounting firm saying that they had set up a seminar with the Commissioner of Income Tax to interpret operation of the new Gross Revenue Tax. The letter said that space was limited and urged us to reserve space and pay a $40 fee immediately. I telephoned instantly and sent a check over that afternoon.

Friday I arranged an easily prepared meal for my cook, left the office a little early so I could change clothes, ate quickly, and was off up the highway to the Belize Biltmore Hotel for the 1:00 pm seminar. My dear, I looked very smart and professional. I wore my new olive-green slacks because I would have to use my footstool. Pants are simpler than spending all afternoon tugging a skirt down for modesty. My handsome new blouse complemented the slacks, and my beige jacket tied the outfit together in a businesslike way. Of course, the jacket was punishingly hot on the drive to the hotel, but I knew it would be comfortable in the air-conditioned seminar.

The hotel parking lot was suspiciously empty; the lobby, even more so. Not even an employee in sight. Finally a slim young bellboy in a jacket designed for a 200-pound man arrived to help me. No one knew anything about the seminar. I was certain it was at the Biltmore.

A telephone call to the house fortunately caught Alex. He followed my somewhat scattered directions for locating the letter about the seminar. He reported that, whereas I had read and responded to a date of Friday, September 2nd, the date of the seminar actually was the 23rd. You remember that old one, “All dressed up and no where to go”?

I will miss the seminar. It is the day before I leave for France. Because of my thrombitic leg, I would not dare sit immobilized for five hours on Friday and start a 24-hour trip the next day. I’d end up in a Paris hospital.

I am slightly frazzled about my approaching deadline. Lists are made, but it is too soon to pack. I will never be fluent in French and to hell with it. Let the fun begin.