Winding Down

Early this year I tried to retire when Alex and I sold the major interest in our shipping agency, Marine & Services. I realized that a week full of eight-hour working days no longer was fun. However, José Gallego, the delightful young man who took over from us, insisted on my keeping the Air France agency as my own fiefdom. He said he could see how much I enjoyed it.

The idea was that the young man who has been helping me with Air France would continue so I would have the best of both worlds—enough work to keep me entertained and hours flexible enough to dispel the stress and allow for afternoon bridge if I choose.

Guess what—that has meant full time so far.

Alex is custom designing a bookkeeping system for me that does certain regular reports automatically, providing I have sense enough and discipline enough to put tons of information into the necessary forms in the computer. Once there, everything percolates quite nicely. However, Alex did not realize that the business does not run as precisely as he would have it do. For example, we write cash tickets, enter the information, then the passenger decides to pay by credit card. No problem as far as I am concerned, but it throws the computer into hysteria. Alex sorted that one out easily enough and expanded the program to cope in the future. He keeps asking me if there will be other exceptions to orderly procedures, and usually I can’t think of any until they occur. Alex is vexed, and I’m amused. He doesn’t have any trouble allowing for anomalies, but would appreciate knowing about them in advance.

 

May and June were busy, trying to wrap up the company books for the auditors. I was determined to turn them in before I left for Georgia to visit friends and family. The week before I was to leave, everything balanced.

I finished all the supporting schedules during the week. At 3:30 pm on the Friday afternoon before my departure on Saturday, I learned to my horror that a major component of the accounts that I thought had been balanced had not. That threw everything off. I was frantic. I knew what had happened and how to correct it, but it would take half a day. Just before I spun out, Alex told me to simply call the auditor, tell him what had happened, and say that I would turn in the accounts when I returned. I replied, “Oh no, you call him—on Monday.”

I did not have the expected glow of smug satisfaction I expected to have when I took off for Georgia at the end of June, but I survived.

I had been most concerned about Bucher’s sister Becky. She has had a succession of serious problems for the past five years. To my delight, she was stronger than I expected and in fine spirits. It was wonderful being with her. In Atlanta, I stayed with my dear friends Fran and Louis Bondurant. They both look ten years younger than their ages and are gratifyingly happy.

I came home to correct my books and finally turn them in to the auditors. Then I had about a week to get ready for Carli and Tom’s arrival.

 

In late July, Carli and Tom were here for a lovely two-plus-week visit. They came for Carli’s 30th high school reunion. Tom had a wonderful time using his new digital camera and showing the resulting pictures on the laptop computer he brought along with him for just that purpose.

Things were more quiet for the rest of C&T’s visit.

The middle of the week following the reunion, the three of us drove up to Cayo to see Callie Young. She had insisted that we come because she wanted to give Carli and me something. It was her mother’s antique amber beads, beautiful faceted things that catch the light unlike any amber I ever have seen. Callie said that their mother had the long string made into two shorter strands that could be worn separately or together. She and her sister Liz had the beads appraised but decided they did not want to sell them. Liz has only one son, unmarried, and Callie has no children. They wanted to give the beads to someone who would appreciate their loveliness and would cherish the amber the way they themselves had done. Callie told Liz she knew exactly who should have the beads. Carli and I were deeply touched. Each of us has one of the strings, and I will leave mine to Carli so that eventually she will have both.

When we dressed for dinner the night before C&T left, we planned our outfits to show off the beads. I had a beige dress that was a perfect background. Carli had to borrow an off-white blouse to show off her amber. Tom took pictures of the beads against a plain background, then took pictures of us in all our glory with them. He will have them printed when he gets home and will send Callie two sets so that she can forward pictures to Liz.

The next weekend Alex, María, Carli, and Tom drove down to Gales Point, about two hours south of Belize City by road. It is an old-fashioned fishing village on a tiny sand spit jutting out into a lagoon. The resort was simple but comfortable, and they had a gorgeous time.

Tom took us all out to dinner one evening. I suggested a new restaurant operated by Debbie (Tattersfield) and David Gegg. A small covered area is open on two sides to a luxuriantly planted patio set with tables here and there. The weather was unstable. I was delighted when Tom and Carli opted for a table in the sheltered area.

Not ten minutes later a ferocious storm blew in, whipping the foliage around and dumping water as if by the bucket rather than by the drop. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed frighteningly close. Waiters moved tables and guests out of the deluge. Waitresses balanced trays of drinks in one hand while protecting themselves by an enormous golf umbrella in the other. We had about fifteen shatteringly picturesque minutes, and then the storm passed.

Dinner would have been an anti-climax, had it not been the best restaurant food I ever have found in Belize.

Carli and Tom took one of the water taxis out to St. George’s Caye one day to see Sissy (Tattersfield) Plihal and her family. They had a delightful time after not having seen each other since the Seventies.

 

I have, as we say in Belize, “punished” with increasingly severe sciatica since I was in Japan a year ago September. I saw half the doctors in Atlanta when I was there. Diagnosis just what I expected—an incurable case of not being thirty years old. I came away deeply depressed about both my present and my future.

When Carli was here in July, she commented that I have managed to reach my 77th year without falling apart and shouldn’t get excited if time starts to catch up with me.