Extra Baggage

Why was I so surprised? I should have figured that after being folded in half then fitted tightly into a jet and barely able to move during a six hour flight from the East Coast home that I might arrive back in Oregon with something I didn't want.   During the flight I developed a persistent pain that felt as if angry elves were pounding relentlessly on both sides of my skull.  My eyeballs started to feel like poached eggs. And then the very next day my throat started itching.  Soon The Incredible Hulk arrived to body slam me several times and I began to feel chilled and then too hot as if he was also alternating the placement of heating pads and then ice packs all over my body.  Next=a woozy and blah feeling.  Here's what made me know absolutely that I was beyond all sense of good health--I lost my appetite. My thinking fuzzed out.  I had just enough energy to start coughing in a manner that would be appropriate sounds for Halloween zombies to make.

I began cancelling appointments and rearranging my schedule so that I could continue to lie back on the couch and think about how awful I felt. Nights were exercises in agony as I tried to arrange my sore body in some sort of comfortable sleeping pose.  I awoke nearly every hour to begin another round of the zombie howling cough.  I started watching junk cable TV during the daytime saving only my favorite trashy program "Duck Dynasty" for evening entertainment.  When you're as sick as I was, you begin to think the whole lifestyle of this bearded Louisiana clan has some sort of charm and meaning.

Still, I managed to babysit my grands and fill the refrigerator and pantry with fresh food.  Not much else went on, though. I continued to suffer, zombie cough and wonder what it must have been like to feel well.  When I was young, I just stuffed myself with Dayquil, told everyone I was fine and kept up my schedule of work and home as usual.  When asked how I was feeling, I would declare firmly, "I"m just fine." HA. The bottom line was that I sick then and I'm sick now.  Who cares if it's the flu or a cold?  My doctor even told me to ride it out with Tylenol, fluids and maybe some Claritin.  I'm still "riding it out" and it's been a week.

Far East

My recent trip to New England was an experience of stepping into post card scenery and walking onto what appeared to be movie sets of small towns.  The country roads were bordered in all six states with golden leaved trees and topped with deep blue skies all basking in spicy fresh autumn air. The houses and buildings along the tour route were of Cape Cod or colonial style and most of them featured pumpkins placed on steps, fence railings or along wooden roof gutters.  The display of unbelievable wealth at Martha's Vineyard and the 70 room palace at the Vanderbilt mansion in Newport, Rhode Island offered me little or no connection to the lifestyle of people with names like Kennedy or Bush or Bouvier.  But I easily enjoyed peeping into how their lives were dictated by their fortunes.  The Norman Rockwell Museum overwhelmed me with the art work of a painting genius whose studio looked out to the autumn beauty of the Berkshire Mountains. We saw the fascinating birthplace and village of President Calvin Coolidge, took a harbor cruise in Portland, Maine and enjoyed an authentic lobster dinner in Kennebunkport.  One of my favorite spots was Mystic, Connecticut where we wandered around a preserved whaling village which presented a sharp contrast to the wealthy vacation villages of the famous.  I recognized my own hard work ethic here and loved seeing the many examples of the practical mindset of our early colonists.  You can't swing a Halloween black cat in Boston without hitting a Paul Revere this or a Freedom Trail that or a church steeple where you can almost see "two if by sea" lights glowing in warning to the early freedom fighters.  I saw the history lessons of my early education in action on this wondrous trip and sensed a warm welcome everywhere we went.