Playing for Time

***

Once in a while, in the middle of an ordinary day, a creative muse joins the chat, a plan is born, and takes on a life of its own. John and I were texting a few weeks ago when we both alluded to the fact that it had been a while since we’d laid eyes and hugs on each other. His life as an oncology RN keeps him either working 12-hour shifts, traveling to conferences, taking much-needed days off, or escaping the country altogether for a few days of decompression. My life as a retiree keeps me doing the usual, as little of it as possible, eating well, and surviving in my own bubble. Time to shake it up a little. He said “Why don’t you come down here for your birthday?” And then, “As it turns out I have the 3rd through the 7th off.” Well, there we go, who could doubt the stars were aligning?

It was all a little spur-of-the-moment, so Kim and I didn’t sweat the details. He bought a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans, shopping done, ready to go. I ordered a few things online, some of which at this point may or may not arrive before Christmas, but no problem.

It’s said that getting there is half the battle, and that’s certainly true of air travel. With things as they currently exist in the greater world, we weren’t entirely cranked about the thought of flying, so we looked into taking Amtrak just for grins. Watch the countryside go by, get up and walk around, all that. Long story to a screeching halt, it’s ten times the cost of two round-trip plane tickets, and that particular trip takes 52 hours because it goes first to Chicago, then Virginia, THEN Atlanta, changing trains at each stop.

We hadn’t flown anywhere since before COVID but we quickly understood that the experience hasn’t evolved upward in that time. We’d done all the preliminaries from home and weren’t checking any bags, so the process in Kansas City’s shiny new airport was seamless. But ah, my sweet summer child, we were just getting started. I walk around with the perpetual sense that I’ve lost ten years somewhere, which turns out to be a true statement, all facts considered, and never have I been so validated in that misperception as when we stepped onto our outbound plane. It seemed half as wide as I remembered, with just enough room to get through the aisle. Every seat was eventually occupied, which may be the only way they fly now, and that long skinny cylinder looked ponderously full of humanity. I don’t recall planes roaring like wind tunnels throughout the flight. On the other hand, there are likely MANY things I don’t recall. It’s a fact, though, that the seats are being evermore squished together from every angle, and on this flight they didn’t recline by so much as an inch. However, there’s always a good side: It’s less than a 2-hour flight.

And then there’s the REALLY happy stuff… the rest of the trip was a little piece of heaven. John was there to meet us at Hartsfield-Jackson at the top of the giant escalator and we picked up where we left off last time we saw him, which was here in Lawrence. His place and his presence are both very soothing and just what this mom needed. And those hugs are lifegiving. We love his neighborhood and Kim enjoys his early-morning walks there. It always feels sweet to be back in the gentle Southern air and eavesdrop a little on the hum of conversation with its softer cadences and easy flow.

John drove us around his part of the metro area to show us what’s new since last time we were there, and he took us to a gigantic farmers market that, counting the parking lot, takes up a city block, with more building expansion planned. The comprehensive variety of foodstuffs is staggering. There isn’t an official accounting of the various ethnic groups represented in the Atlanta Metro area, but they seem to be well-served by the market, which is open seven days a week. It’s housed in an enormous metal building, with people constantly restocking the shelves and long tables with every kind of meat, fish, poultry, seafood, vegetable, fruit, seed, nut, spice, and bread you can imagine from around the world, and many things you couldn’t possibly conjure up on your own. It was an experience that will stay with us for all the reasons, all of them positive.

Since one thing every city has is restaurants, we had fun going with John to a tiny handful of his favorites, including Mellow Mushroom across the street from his place, and his favorite neighborhood Waffle House, staffed by terrific women who call him by name when he comes in. We were able to share food and drink with several different friends, some of whom we’ve known ALmost as long as he has, some new, and each one helped me celebrate my birthday by adding to the goodness of it. To one friend who will likely see this… the soft pink throw saved my life on the flight home. Thx to you I didn’t freeze to death, love you!!

The best day was the one before we came home because the three off us spent the whole day just hanging out in John’s loft, being slugs while we talked about the “trivial” to the momentous and back again. NOTE TO SELF: Always include enough time. Always.

**

**

In a world of Type A’s, be like Kim, who has yet to meet an electric bike he didn’t like…

**

And then it was time to do the whole thing in reverse, which involves goodbyes, of course. John graciously delivered us back to Hartsfield-Jackson before dawn’s butt-crack, thus leaving him the rest of the day to himself. I need to ask him if he went to see his ladies at Waffle House, who, by the way, serve a wicked breakfast and coffee that rivals Kim’s. And they kinda make you feel loved in the process.

Two words: Pre Coffee

I’ll keep this brief. Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport covers 4,700 acres and it’s entirely possible that we walked every one of them, as our gate seemed to be at the farthest end from the center point you could go. Next time I’ll put in a request for one of their spiffy wheelchairs with the warning flag attached. I could have used it. On the other hand, I proved to myself that I’m not done yet, hopefully not by a long shot. Onward.

**

So now we’re home and everything survived without us. It rained enough to keep the plants going and the mourning doves are hatching another pair of chicks. It took 24 hours for word to get around, but the wrens, finches, and sparrows are back in droves, loading up at the feeder. I’ve had a week to let my bones and other parts recover and I’d do it all over again next week… because it seems like a dream!

Since we’re here for the foreseeable, I’m sayin’ …

**

And this is still my mantra all week…

**

A closing thought influenced by our recent Southern sojourn…

***