Life

Maggie in the Way

Sally4 Comments

“Maggie,” I said, “you’ve got to move. I’m doing my stretches.”

I’m trying to ready for my upcoming trip to Croatia and Bosnia so I went for a walk-run this morning.

When I sat on the floor to stretch, though, Maggie plopped herself right in the middle.

Look at that face. I think she was peeved that I didn’t take her with me, but walking with Maggie means stopping at every woodchuck hole along the way, and I wanted to push myself a little.

I finally shoved her away and stretched, reaching toward my left toes, and feeling every bit of tightness that comes from not stretching regularly.

As I shifted around, folding my left leg and stretching out my right, Maggie quickly got up and plopped herself in the middle of things again.

Then she feigned hearing loss when I tried to encourage her to move.

This getting buff thing is going to be harder than I thought.

 

Life

Memorial Day

Sally3 Comments

 

In 1943, Antoine de Saint-Exupery traveled with an American convoy to North Africa.

He later wrote this “Letter to an American” which is fitting for Memorial Day.

at the Musée du débarquement Utah Beach

… If your soldiers had gone to war only for the defense of American interests, the propaganda would have emphasized your oil fields, your plantations, and your threatened commercial markets. Instead, it scarcely touched on such subjects. If other things were being spoken of, it is because your boys wanted to hear something different.

And what were they told that could motivate them to sacrifice their lives? They were told of hostages hanged in Poland. They were told of prisoners shot in France. They were told that a new form of slavery threatened to extinguish a part of Humanity. They were told not about themselves, but of others. That gave them a sense of solidarity with all mankind.

The fifty thousand soldiers in my convoy went to war not to save American citizens, but rather for Man himself, respect for Mankind, liberty for all men, the greatness of Man…

poetry

Stress Relief

Sally5 Comments

This is for all my fellow game-players.

The more I stress, the more I play
Like games can wash my stress away

The more I play and squander time
The more I feel that it’s a crime

And so I leave to get stuff done
But, then, I also need some fun

Such a dilemma, such a quandary
Play a game, or do the laundry

Play a game, or clean the floor
Play a game, or go to the store

Play a game, or walk the dog
Play a game, or write this blog

Play a game, or pay some bills
One depletes, the other refills

The more that I pursue distraction
The less gets done, the more inaction

The more I stomp distraction down
The less I smile, the more I frown

The more I frown, the more I stress
I need an exit from this mess

I know — I think I’ll play a game
To clear my mind, to keep me sane

And so I’ll play and then I’ll stress
Get something done and then regress

Travel

The Villa Lara

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Traveling with a mobility-challenged person limited our choice in accommodations. We knew we needed a hotel with a “lift” (an elevator).

(Side-note: Sometimes having a lift doesn’t mean it can accommodate a wheelchair, as we learned at our hotel in Paris. The elevator was so tiny that my father had to leave his wheelchair in the lobby and use his walker to get to the elevator and then to his room.)

Through a series of missteps and sheer luck, we ended up at the Villa Lara. I cannot imagine a better place to stay.

(Second side-note: I initially booked at a place just outside Bayeux that looked lovely. I emailed them to ask if they had a lift or rooms on the first floor. “All our rooms are on the first floor,” they replied. Then our guide told us that the first floor in France is what we consider the second floor in the US. I cancelled our rooms at the lift-less, second-floor room place, and, thankfully, the Villa Lara still had three rooms available.)

When we first arrived, and our driver pulled up right in front, Louis greeted us before we were even out of the car. I hesitate to call Louis a bellhop because he was so much more. He was the first ambassador for a pleasant stay, doing everything in his power to make us feel welcome and comfortable.

My brother and sister planning their geocaching for the day — Louis is in the background

I don’t remember who was at the front desk to check us in that day. The weariness of travel blurred my memory.

But I do know that every single person that sat behind that desk was cheerful and helpful. They made reservations for us for dinner every night, taking into account that we needed a place that was wheelchair friendly. They helped us with our French. They got us the all-important coffee tray in the morning.

Laura was my favorite. She was from a small nearby town and obviously loved where she lived. I know that feeling. It’s infectious.

The rooms at the Villa Lara were spacious and comfortable. My sister and her husband had a room with a sitting area off the bedroom. It had gorgeous views of the cathedral.

The evening view of the cathedral

While we didn’t eat our breakfasts at the hotel — we’re a coffee and a pastry kind of family — we did visit the hotel bar one evening for Calvados, the local apple brandy. My sister, her husband, Bud, and I sat in the lounge sipping our brandy — a first for me — and relishing the experience.

New York Times always available so we could keep up with the news from home — the hotel bar is in the background

If I’m gushing about the Villa Lara, it’s because that’s exactly how I feel. It’s a place infused with hospitality. If I ever have the opportunity to visit Normandy again, I would plan my trip around their availability because for me, now, there is nowhere I would rather stay.

elderly · family · Travel

Ominous Beginning — Part 2

Sally5 Comments

Traveling is a weary business. Especially when traipsing across time zones.

When you start in a rural area and end in a rural area, travel time is extended by the road time at either end.

We left Cooperstown around 12:30 PM and arrived in Bayeux around 1 PM the following day — which would have been 7 AM New York time.

A little walk, a little food, a little wine — and I was refreshed. When it got to be dinner time, my father didn’t join us because he wasn’t hungry. My sister stayed with him while the rest of us got some crepes.

The next day was to be our first day touring the Normandy beaches. I had gotten up early and been served a lovely tray of coffee in the lounge area downstairs. My sister joined me and we walked to a patisserie to buy some pastries. So far, everything was absolutely wonderful.

But…

an hour or two later…

I was in our room when my brother pounded on the door.

“I need you,” he said, and we hastily followed him back to the room he shared with my father.

My father was laying on the bathroom floor, his face roughly the same color as his t-shirt — white — and damp.

“I saw him hanging onto the counter,” Peter said, “like he was going to pass out, so I helped him lie down and got you.”

Bud quickly sat on the only available seat — the stool — and elevated my father’s legs.

We got a pillow for under his head.

And we discussed what to do.

Last year, right about this time, my sister stayed with my father, heard a crash, and found him on the bathroom floor.

My brother had gotten more than one call from Lifeline after my father had fallen.

I had seen him near-collapse and called the nursing service we use for home care.

Each of us had seen our father like this before —

And therein lies the blessing.

While it was scary, it was not unfamiliar.

“I think it’s a syncopal episode,” one of us said.

I remembered the nurse telling me that one of the causes can be dehydration. Had he drank enough while we traveled? Probably not.

I ran downstairs and got a glass of orange juice. By the time I got back upstairs, his color was much improved. My father felt like he could sit up, so my husband and brother lifted him to a chair.

Orange juice and pain au chocolat work magic

The episode passed. We had a reprieve. The rest of the trip went without incident.

He had a cardiology appointment when we got home. They interrogated his pacemaker and could tell that it hadn’t been a cardiac event. We had been correct in our assessment.

For one moment, I had visions of getting to know the French health care system — but because of my brother’s quick thinking to prevent a fall and our collective experiences with his syncopal episodes, we weathered that storm.

Sometimes, in the midst of a terrible situation, it’s hard to see the good.

And maybe the good is never really good, but becomes a relative goodness — one where you’re able to say a little thank you for a terrible thing that previously happened.

Life · Travel

Ominous Beginning

Sally9 Comments

The man seated ahead of us on our Newark to Paris flight was large and loud.

I missed the beginning of the “discussion” because we were getting situated in our seats, stowing my pack in the overhead compartment, turning my phone to airplane mode, finding both ends of the seatbelt.

My ears tuned in at — “NO! You listen to me!”

His angry voice rose above the murmur of the other passengers who were doing the same things I had been doing.

The flight attendant, a neatly-groomed small-framed man who spoke excellent English with only a trace of a French accent, remained calm. “Sir,” he said, “I’m trying to explain.”

The passenger interrupted. “I’m paying your salary,” he bellowed. “You need to do what I say.”

“Please listen to me,” the flight attendant said. I was amazed at how unrattled he was by the confrontation. “I cannot give you two pillows right now –”

“I need to be comfortable on this flight!” the man interrupted with another bellow.

“Sir,” the flight attendant began again, “if you will listen, I will explain.”

I looked out the window at the raining pouring down outside, wishing I could be almost anywhere but there, where the groundwork was being laid for the next ugly airline confrontation. Getting my phone out to record it didn’t cross my mind.

“As long as your explanation includes a second pillow — ” the man said, interrupting again.

“Yes, sir, I have to wait until everyone is seated. We have only enough pillowcases for the passengers on board,” the flight attendant said.

“Well, what’re THOSE?!” the man asked, pointing to a small pile of pillows in an overhead compartment across the aisle.

“Those are pillows without pillowcases,” the attendant said.

“Gimme one of ’em,” grumpy man demanded.

The flight attendant complied, repeating the fact that it did not have a pillowcase on it.

“See?” the man said snidely. “We found a peaceful solution.” His sarcasm cut rudely through his words.

As he plumped his pillows and settled into his seat, the flight attendant moved down the aisle to assist other passengers.

I sighed. It’s no wonder Americans have a bad name.

The plane was quickly prepared for take-off and didn’t linger long on the runway.

Once in the air, the man ahead of me signaled the flight attendant as he walked past. He beckoned him to lean close, so he wouldn’t have to yell, but I could still hear.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you,” he said. “I was out of line.”

“No problem, sir,” said the flight attendant.

Above the clouds, the rain was gone. The sun truly looked like a silver lining.

And the angry words were washed away in one man’s humility.

I more than survived the experience. In an unexpected twist, I was blessed by it.

 

 

 

photography · Travel

A Brief Recounting of Our Trip to France

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I confess — I had to look up the meaning of evanescent, this week’s photography challenge. It means “soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing.”

That’s describes my trip to France, I thought.

Life is already crowding out the moments I thought I would savor for a long time.

To hold onto the memories a little longer, I put together a two picture per day summary.

May 13 — Travel day

British Airways took very good care of us. At the urging of a friend, I upgraded both my father and my brother to each have a “Biz Bed”. Because we were traveling with someone who needed assistance (my father was in a wheelchair), we also got special treatment. I’m not exactly sure what all the little dots meant, but they were good. My brother and father got to eat in the British Airways lounge before the flight, while Bud and I had a quiet dinner in a little airport restaurant. 

It was pouring when we left Newark. This was my view out the window.

May 14 Arrive in France, make our way to Normandy

My sister and her husband met us at the airport.

When we finally arrived at Bayeux, we were tired and hungry. I had Croque Monsieur for the first time in my life at a little cafe a stone’s throw from our hotel.

May 15 Normandy

We loved everything about our hotel in Bayeux, the Villa Lara. This rabbit guarded the stairway door.

For our first day with our guide, he brought us to the Pegasus Bridge and the Canadian cemetery. Colin had so many stories to tell, but I think my favorite of all of them was here, of the bagpiper who played for the British troops.

May 16 Normandy

We had coffee every morning in a little sitting area off my sister’s room. I loved seeing the cathedral.

Among the places we visited this day was Sainte-Mère-Église where a paratrooper had gotten caught on the church steeple.

May 17 Normandy — then travel to Paris

The craters from the shelling at Omaha Beach were very impressive.

 

The view from a German bunker at Omaha Beach.

Then we drove to Paris.

May 18 Paris

We walked around Paris. Old and new stand side by side.

Dinner cruise on the Seine. The Eiffel Tower is pretty spectacular.

May 19 Paris

LaDuree — the macaroons are amazing.

Impressive art at the Petit Palais.

May 20 Travel day

The return trip. Waiting at the airport.

 

I’m easily amused. I thought “Salad Sauce” was funny. The flight home felt a thousand times longer — I looked for entertainment where I could find it.

May 21 Collapse

This was how we all felt the next day.

 

family · Travel

Anniversary

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Today marks 35 years of marriage.

As Bud would say, “Holy Cow-ser!”

My sister asked at the beginning of the trip if there was anything special we wanted to do, I said, “Bud and I would like a dinner together, just the two of us.”

It happens so rarely. Still.

On our last night in Paris, we had that just-the-two-of-us time. We talked about asking the concierge to recommend a nice restaurant. We talked about riding on the top of a double-decker bus and touring Paris. In the end, however, we went for a walk.

If I had to pick a metaphor for my life, it would be a walk. One foot in front of the other, over and over and over — sometimes stopping to savor a moment, sometimes ducking and running as a storm blows through, but mostly just walking.

I’m so glad I have a companion for the walk.

If I had to choose a metaphor for Bud’s life, it would be a car. On one of our first dates, we went to see “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” The line was long to get in, and wound out along the sidewalk. As we stood outside trying to make get-to-know-you small talk, Bud started talking about a car. I can still hear him — “It wasn’t really a car — it was a work of art.” He described its leather seats and fancy wheels, and I had barely any idea what he was talking about.

For Bud, automobiles are a combination of utility and beauty. Bud embodies that combination — he is the hardest working person I know but he also pauses to appreciate beauty.

That night in Paris, Bud and I walked down the Champs-Elysées. We stopped at the Peugeot store — yes, there were car storefronts — and while I admired the beautiful ocean-y color of the car, he looked at the specs.

Then we continued walking down. Down, down, down — past the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais.

Earlier in the day we had walked there with my family and toured the fine arts museum in the Petit Palais. The Louvre seemed overwhelming to get to and tour with my father, but this museum was perfect for us.

As Bud and I continued our walk, we found a large event occupying the space between us and Les Invalides. They were preparing for the Paris ePrix, a Formula-1 type race using electric cars.

We walked down pit road. Clusters of people spoke with drivers and I wondered which of these was the Dale Earnhart Jr of eFormula. Bud studied the cars.

Years ago, as our metaphors clashed and life’s bumpy road put stresses on us, we went to see a counselor.

“You two approach life very differently,” she observed, “but you make it work.”

And we do. Both. Approach life differently AND make it work.

Because marriage IS a lot of work.

But walking or driving — it’s worth it.

35 years ago I could not have imagined being in Paris with Bud, but this walk through Paris, admiring the beauty of cars, was the perfect way for us was to celebrate our anniversary.

Then…
… and now

 

Travel

O Canada

Sally5 Comments

On our first day of touring Normandy, our guide ended the day at the Canadian cemetery.

I can’t tell you how many times over the course of the day, as Colin told us stories of the D-Day invasion, focusing that first day on what the British and the Canadians were doing, I said, “Really?! I had no idea that the Canadians were here!”

I confess, I did NOT do my prep for this trip. I was so focused on getting my father there and thinking about the details of that, that I didn’t finish any reading on it. In all truth, I barely began the reading.

“Did you watch ‘Band of Brothers’?” Colin asked more than once.

Nope.

“Have you seen ‘The Longest Day’?” he asked.

Nope.

I probably made a pretty tough audience.

“Just focus on him,” I told Colin, indicating my father. The rest of us — we were just filler.

Colin, my father, Bud

But yes, our lovable neighbor to the north — the most kind, friendly, big-brotherly people — the ones who, in the course of our vitriolic election, let us know that they think we’re great  — those guys fought in World War II for the Allies. They took Juno Beach on D Day.

While I was still trying to wrap my mind around that, Colin brought us to the Canadian cemetery.

Military cemeteries are sobering places. France donated the land to all the countries for their cemeteries, even the Germans.

I heard a couple discussing that fact — and the husband said, “The French don’t hold grudges.”

But Canada’s was the first we visited — and I watched my sister wipe tears from her eyes. I watched through the fogginess of my own.

The Canadian cemetery

Rows of stones with names and ranks and divisions and dates of death etched below the maple leaf that decorated each one. Some families had other words, often about self-sacrifice, engraved as well. The Canadian government made the provision for families to do that.

The grounds were so beautifully tended. Wisteria climbed the arches near the entrance. A variety of flowers  bloomed between the stones.

Wisteria

Visitors left small tokens. Pebbles on the tops of Jewish soldiers graves – to signify the permanence of their memories. Loonies and other coins on the tops of others. Paper poppies and wreaths at the center cross.

Someone’s small remembrance

Our heritage, our freedom, rested on the backs of these brave young men.

It’s a debt that can never be repaid.

All we can do is remember.

And whisper a little “thank you.”

Traffic
Travel

Traffic

Sally1 Comment

Four or five semi-concentric lanes of traffic circle the Arc de Triomphe. Messy circles. With vehicles moving in and out of these undefined lanes with alacrity.

It’s a roundabout on steroids.​

​The first time we drove through it, I was utterly terrified. I was ready to take back every nice thing I ever said about French drivers.

Walking around it, I looked at the maze of vehicles and thought it looked like an impossible knot. Yet, cars weave in and out, threading their way through, with motorcycles zooming past into ridiculously tight space, and buses zooming right along with them.

It’s a crazy place.

Last night my brother asked our driver what the record was for number of times around the Arc de Triomphe without an accident. The driver didn’t answer. My brother-in-law began making up rules for such a contest.

“You’d have to change lanes each time around,” he said.

When they were talking later about the Tour de France ending at the Arc de Triomphe, I thought they were kidding. Shows how much I know.

But I guess it wouldn’t be such a bad place if you removed all the cars.

Paris, your drivers are amazing to navigate such a place! 

But give me Normandy — with its cows and fields and lush greenery and slow pace of life — and I will quite content.