Ups and Downs

I think I told you about my quandary regarding our mid-day meals now that María is living downstairs with Alex and working just down the street. I recently suggested that she have mid-day dinner with us on the days she does not go to her parents’ home, and that she plan and cook one meal herself each week.

That may have been the best thing I could do for María. She has all the instincts of a good cook and does things beautifully, but she doesn’t get much practice. I think the idea terrified her at first; however, she has surrounded herself with cookbooks and is having the most glorious time planning meals.

Every Wednesday morning, Alex arrives proudly bearing a large, interesting-looking casserole, usually the largest of a beautiful set of classic white, fluted, covered casseroles he gave María last Christmas. My cook Glenda heats it according to instructions and does the rest of the meal.

María has had a series of successes: Sweet and Sour Chicken, Chicken Provençal, Mexican Meatloaf, Chili, Beef Bourguignon, a wonderful sort of Shepherd’s Pie made of well-seasoned ground beef topped with fluffy mashed potatoes. Alex works with her when they are fixing things, helping with the chopping and stirring. I am utterly charmed. They both are proud of what they are accomplishing and I am satisfied at the arrangement after months of agonizing.

 

More than half of this year was a dead loss to me when I had a recurrence of thrombophlebitis. I was in hospital in Atlanta, then stayed with Bucher’s sisters for about ten days, recuperating, before returning to a circumscribed life in Belize. I finally am back where I should be now. I have lived with this foolishness for sixteen years, and can cope a while longer.

One interesting note: In recent conversation with a visiting friend, I learned something that I should have figured out earlier and that I find highly amusing.

She had insisted on hearing full details about my illness and remained so concerned about me that I told her that my doctor had decided to install a Greenfield Filter to prevent clots in my legs from moving to critical locations farther north. I ended by saying that the hospital staff had made a great point of giving me a card saying that I was the proud owner of said filter.

My friend asked why and I told her I hadn’t a clue. Then she asked what the filter was made of…titanium…and she brightened up and said that I would set off the security alarms in airports.

Actually, I did on the way home, and it didn’t register with me. I think it was in the Atlanta airport. The guard asked if I could get out of the wheel chair and walk through, so I did. There was the briefest ping. I remarked that it never had happened before, pointed to the metal buttons on my suit, and asked if she wanted me to go back through. She said not to bother, so I returned to my wheel chair and proceeded on my way.

In Miami, they used the hand-held scanner without asking me to stand and it obviously missed my midriff. I think the whole thing is very funny, but am getting the card both copied and plasticized, since obviously I am going to need to carry it.

 

The last Sunday in July, I was up early, eager to do all the little goodies that I leave for weekends. The dogs refused to go out after I fed them, which is fairly usual. Around 9:00, Amber looked a little uneasy, so I asked her if she wanted to go outdoors.

That was a mistake.

We were in my back hall. Amber bolted past me just as I was taking a step and I crashed down on my face, as rigid as a felled tree. After leaping wildly out of the way, Amber returned to kiss me in guilty sympathy. I lay still for a moment to make sure all the parts were intact.

My glasses had flown off but had not broken. I pulled myself erect slowly and found no permanent damage. My left knee was bruised and swollen. My left hand hurt slightly on the pad at the base of the thumb. And my left jaw was distinctly swollen and painful. I used ice briefly, but it was too much of a nuisance, so I decided to thank my stars for another escape from harm and get back to work.

I have lectured myself about this sort of thing. The odds are against me, at my age. I have given up ladders (reluctantly). But what to do about dogs?

 

In October, a week after Alex and María returned from a delayed holiday (postponed in deference to my weakened condition), I took off for one of my cherished little R&Rs—five days in Florida for combined business and shopping, with the pleasure of luxuriating in an hotel, dining by Room Service, and enjoying being off on my own. This trip was also a celebration of my return to full strength.

For some time now I have indulged myself in the odd spree of this sort in Miami; however, the stores there have been an increasing disappointment on recent trips. I had to paw through racks of clothes in the gaudiest of prints and shiniest of materials to find anything suitable for a shirtwaist-type like me.

Alex and María took a similar quick business trip in July and returned raving about a huge discount shopping mall they had found near the Fort Lauderdale airport that had everything in the world available at wonderful prices. So, I made reservations at a nearby Holiday Inn. I picked up a car at the Miami International Airport and drove from there.

Choosing Fort Lauderdale was the best thing I could have done. The discount mall was glorious and I spent two full and happy days there, saving money as I spent it. I did not even have to feel guilty. My office wardrobe had become scruffy; shopping was a necessity, not an indulgence. There were two other good malls in the same general area, so I had access to just about everything I needed.

My Holiday Inn was not as close as I had expected, but I enjoy driving. The problem was that the hotel was nestled almost under a major overpass and there was only one obscure little way to get to it. I managed twice by passing the hotel on the wrong side of the highway, going over the overpass, and making my way slowly onto the opposite side of the six-lane highway to get back to the hotel.

And then came Saturday. On my way back to the hotel after an exhausting (stimulating) day of shopping, somehow I found myself in the wrong lane at the wrong time, and before I could do anything about it, I had passed my hotel, off to the side on its inaccessible street, and was whizzing north on a major expressway.

I got off at the first available exit, and in making a series of graceful loops on the interchange, found myself whizzing south past the hotel on a second major expressway. This time I exited and drove through a staid neighborhood where I was not threatened with traffic and interchanges. I knew exactly where I was and where I was going…I just couldn’t figure out how.

I took a third expressway back to my original highway, passed the hotel for a third time, eventually made a U-turn, and found my way back to home-and-hearth shortly before dark. That was the evening that my traditional twilight glass of iced coffee had a healthy shot of Scotch in it.

Next morning, I had sense enough to ask the front-desk man how to get to the hotel from my shopping direction and he showed me a neat little bypass that looped under the overpass and back to the hotel door. I would never have found it in a million years because it was an unmarked leg of a Y-split on the entrance ramp leading to I-95 South, the one expressway I was determined to avoid.

Life was simpler thereafter, though my returns never were as relaxed as my morning departures.

In the course of my driving to find various malls, I located another Holiday Inn close to all of them. I may try that on my next visit, though it doesn’t offer me the opportunity to speed thrillingly back and forth on unfamiliar expressways forever, like a motoring Charlie-on-the-MTA.

All in all, it was a successful shopping trip, especially just before Christmas, and made a pleasant break for me just before the cruise ship we are agents for returns for the season.

 

My best news is that Carli and Tom are coming for Christmas. I called her two or three weeks ago, when I knew they were back from their trip to Australia.

“Now, Mom, I have a proposal, but you must be sure to tell me if it isn’t convenient…”

All these years I have never even hinted about their possibly spending Christmas in Belize, both because Tom’s children all live close to them and because they plan holiday activities with their friends. To have them ask to come—and in a year when they already have visited—is joy untold. Scratch that last word. Joy shouted.

My initial reaction was, “I’ll have to paint the kitchen,” but sanity returned. That’s a major project I will tackle some time, but I am not about to give myself a nervous breakdown just before C&T arrive.

I talked to Carli again a week ago when I was in Florida, and when she told me the dates of their visit, it confirmed my unspoken suspicion. Alex and I had assumed it would be just a four- or five-day visit because they were here in March and just have had a lovely (and expensive) trip to Australia. However, Carli said that they would arrive on the 22nd and stay until the 6th. That keeps them here over my Seventieth birthday. She is being coy and not mentioning it, and I am doing the same…which is probably nonsense.

Now I am trying to do all my December chores in November so that I will be relaxed and carefree when Carli and Tom arrive. Who’s dreaming? No matter how well I plan, I’ll be on the edge of a nervous collapse, but will rally to have a glorious time with them.