The Joy of Rambling

I say this is the last trip we’ll ever take by plane, but I have said that the last three times we’ve traveled. This time Jim’s level of anxiety and confusion were such that I feel it would be cruel to ever do this again. The trouble is, he doesn’t remember how awful he felt.

7/31/23

We are home. We got back this morning after boarding our plane last night from Minnesota at eight o’clock. We flew into Asheville, NC and Ubered to the Wingate Hotel to check in. It was almost midnight, so the hotel was part of the plan, rather than make the hour drive home through construction on Hwy. 26 in the dark.

Laura picked us up around 9:00 this morning. She took the non-highway route through the mountains to avoid the traffic. It was harrowing for Jim, as was most of our previous 3-day trip. Anxiety and confusion were his constant companions.

Yet, tonight he sits outside with me, unaware, content, enjoying his cigar, beer and favorite classical radio station, WFMT. 

The horror of the trip—wanting only to go home, not wanting to see friends, old haunts, or beautiful sites—forgotten. The stress I went through trying to sneak out to see my daughter sing and act a lead part in a beautiful production of Tuck Everlasting, without bringing Jim, now passed. 

I went. It was wonderful. He didn’t remember I was gone. 

Here’s how it went down:

Prior to leaving for the show, we’re sitting in the bedroom that has been graciously offered in the home of our MN friends, Vera and Larry, arguing many times over about the plan. “Why can’t I go?” “You said you didn’t want to, (true) so I didn’t buy you a ticket (false—it was free of charge and open to the public. Amanda just didn’t want him there. Another story for another time.) “OK but I don’t want to stay here. Can’t you find a bar or restaurant where I can sit and wait for you?” “No. There is nothing nearby.” I say. “OK.”

Five minutes pass

“I need to get ready to go” I say. “Where are you going?” “Amanda’s show”. “I want to come with you” “You can’t because…” and then I lie again and again and again about the ticket. Each time it kills me. The argument is on an endless loop until finally I have to walk out the door. And I do.

I text Vera every hour while at the show. He’s OK. Eating pizza, drinking beer and watching Funniest Home Videos, continually asking when I’ll be back. 

Eleven o’clock I walk in and sit down next to him on the couch. “I want to go home” he says.  

The next morning, all is forgotten. Even the fact that we’re on a trip. I remind him where we are and he becomes visibly agitated. He just wants to go home. “Tonight” I say. Which was last night.

Here we are now sitting by our lovely pool again, playing with the dogs. All is well.

“I feel like I haven’t showered forever” he says as he swims around me in the pool. “You did yesterday at Vera’s.” “Oh really? When are we going to see Vera again?” he asks. “We just got back from her house” I say.

“Oh really?”