The wisp of metal is cold reminding me that I’m 30,000 feet
above the warm earth. It cools my hot irritable hands. When I open it, the
bright white letters and numbers invite me to touch them. The blue screen cooly
awaits my command.
My old diary is gone, relegated to a closet shelf that’s
draped with gauzy swim cover ups, capri pants, summer clothes of every
description that will remain completely useless for many months. The downy
alpaca sweater I knit too loosely lies on the same shelf waiting for a kind,
elderly knitter to help me repair it.
Once again, I’ve overdone it. During the summer, I had to
try to speak at least one word in the language of each country so matter how
fleeting my visit. “Thank you” in
Icelandic is “tak” which means something in Polish as well so I conserved a
scrap of mental energy. But I struggled
in Italy. Something drove me to talk even when the most attentive Italian
couldn’t understand a word. I kept listening to my CD, checking my phrase book.
Practicing alone and on any slightly sympathetic Italian until success was
mine. I asked an elderly resident of Civita di Bagnoregio who spoke no English
whatsoever if one could swim in Bolsena Lake and whether or not it was cold. I
even understood her answer! One could
swim in the warm water of the lake. If one could tolerate swimming with a bunch
of Germans. Giddy with my success, I even quipped that the Germans would speak
English as I ran off to share the good news with my family. In Greece, my
approximation for their good morning put smiles on craggy faces of Olympian
shopkeepers being starved by the dearth of tourists.
Israel was tough too. For at least 5 minutes, I examined a big bright tourist map on a
crowded sidewalk in Holon. I learned absolutely nothing. I couldn’t tell north
from south, where I was, or where I came from. Every street was named after a
person and people have two names. I couldn’t match the last names on the street
signs with the full names on the map. Hebrew letters are familiar to me but not
the faithful servants of our alphabet. Annoyed, I decided Holon was just home base
anyway. I scouted the vicinity for half an hour until I figured out where to
catch the bus to Tel Aviv. I’d be back
with my daughters and we’d have a day at the beach. A long run followed.
Using my very own key, I unlocked the door to my cousins’
home and skimmed through the heavy hot living room. Quietly, I approached my
daughters’ bedroom door. Lauren would be sleeping beneath the quietly efficient
room air conditioner. Summer would be tiptoeing around her sister. She went
running at the same time as I did 2 hours ago but she doesn’t interrupt her run
with silly tourist diversions. Summer
was not there. Lauren stayed half asleep and showed no alarm but her sister was
missing.
Twenty minutes later, Summer walked in brushing right past
her hysterical mother. The language barrier hadn’t been so kind to her either
but she found her way back. Anee rutzah
ledaberet Ivrit does not make it happen.
So in Belgium and France, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut to
let my girls use their French. Meticulously taught by Mme Columb, they can
retrieve grammar and conditionel tense admirably. But my joy at once again
having a language at my command took over. Waiters became penpals. Hotel
clerks, my tour advisors. I asked for directions even as I happily tripped
along the road I had followed as an 8 year old, thrilled to have Lauren and
Summer patiently following behind as we found my old school: L’ecole du Bois de
la Cambre. In Paris, les jardins Tuileries with an amusement park and peaceful
pond were enjoyed along with the exibit of a S. Korean photographer who’s every
photo was taken from the same window. And Summer ran next to me while we biked
to Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower. But I still felt most unfortunate, when
Summer and I had to fly out of Paris less than 24 hours after our arrival
leaving Lauren all alone to find
affordable lodging and brave through her own ambitious itinerary. I stayed with
Lauren in spirit for the entire week until she joined her colleagues in
Amsterdam.
It was enough for at least a year. My week at music camp,
new friend coaxing music out of their instruments from 7 AM to 10 PM when the
pianos had to be quiet was already more than enough to make 2012 a year I’d
always cherish. Camping with Eric
through Camloops, RevelStoke, Lake Le Jeune, Kicking Horse, and finally Lake
Louise Canada and staying in our van
with little dog Fancy in the driving rain with nothing but our books,
flashlights, Cracker jacks and sleep.
The morning sunshine showed us that the clean dignity of northern Idahos hills made us happy to return
to the US even after the majesty of B.C. and Alberta.
So, I’ve had a lot of diversion this year and I’ve really
earned weeks on end of TV, bathrobes, and simple wanderings about the
neighborhood. All my girls are gone to college but Eric is the husband of my
dreams and I am ready for my due. A grand piano in the living room, 2 cabinets with assorted music, a kindle, a
book club…I have it all. Clunk the YMCA and a good job on top of that and
Bellevue is truly a dream come true.
Why then, do I find myself up in the sky? With a computer
that’s now as overheated as I am. It’s due to excesses. I tried the breathing exercises Dr. Andrew Weil
advised. Pin tongue to the ridge behind the teeth. Exhale fully through the
mouth making a loud breathing out sound. Breathe in quietly through the nose to
a count of 4. Hold until a count of 7. Exhale (same loud method) to a count of
8. Repeat x 3. I’ve cut my caffeine to
just a smidge. I tried to dampen my mother Iris’s touristic enthusiasm. She’s
obviously the reason I can’t just see the sights and go home. I assumed that
without caffeine, I’d sleep through half the lectures at the American Academy
of Family Physicians’ 2012 assembly in Philadelphia. Who knew that these
lectures would inspire me to network with fellow physicians! Neither my mother
nor I had ever been to that city. “Filthadelphia,” right? Who cares.
But my mom just had to talk her way into the Barnes museum
where the Renoirs greet you like an out of control rabbit population. Her
friend Joan just had to be a brilliant mediator with cascading blonde hair, a
white cashmere coat and a black and white flared mini skirt over the legs and
high heels that went with it. And Joan had to bring her tragic son who hopes
bourbon will still his ambivalence about using his legal education to help Wall
Street financiers maintain their lifestyles. Iris’ other friend Joyce,had to be
an agreeable and modest pioneer in
inclusive education for disabled Baltimore children. I had to experience the
American Jewish Museum with a movie of Leonard Bernstein as a young man
conducting the classical music that thrilled America before he proceeded to
compose the musicals that that buoy us
effortlessly above our cares. And movies about the Jewish immigrant movie
directors that powerfully wove the American dream which we all share
today. A simple run in Philadelphia
takes you to all the buildings that were frequented by the white wigged geniuses
that wrote our constitution. Why?
Forget that I visited Princeton before Philadelphia. The leaves were turning red and
Summer loves it. I can’t take it anymore.
This plane is bumping around and the stewardess will scream
at me any second. I am going home and putting on a bathrobe.
Goodnight.
