Visit to the Southland
{{YAWN!}} {{Stretch}}
Downward dog.
Upward dog.
Shavasanah.
Ohm!!!!!!!!!!
There are few things more unpleasant than a first day back to work following a brief respite. More so if the days off consisted of what we Americans refer to as vacation time – time away from all things routine. That is precisely the place I find myself at this time, having spent a few days away from the wretched office and in the big, old state of Texas visiting friends.
And now, as I sit here in the early morning hours of Thursday, staring bleary-eyed at my workplace computer, I wonder aloud how it is that during my days away I managed to neither win the lotto, or secure other means of financial gain, so as to prevent this return all together.
Thus far, the morning has remained rather quiet. Few folks have stumbled out of the elevator. And if I were being completely honest, I would love it if it stayed this way. As far as I am concerned, I should be allowed to sleep at my desk today because I have had a busy week of travel and good times.
My busy week started last Saturday – Valentine’s Day to be exact – when Joe and I headed out to Newark Airport in the wee hours to catch an early flight to St. Louis – the first leg in our trip to Texas. Imagine our surprise when the plane (and I use the term lightly) we were to board was the size and shape of a Matchbox car. I was alarmed at how small and fragile the little plane seemed – not to mention how unsafe it appeared. Our alarm grew to outright concern when the flight attendant took our carry-on bags and tagged them to place beneath the aircraft, stating that the flight had a strict weight restriction. Um…. can I go home now? I felt really fat right away.
Joe and I settled into our two-sizes-too-small seats and held on for the ride. And I do mean HELD on. The size of the aircraft made the blowing winds outside and the sounds of the motors that much louder and more frightening. However, I was nicely medicated on Dramamine and remained, for the most part, unaware. Our crooked mini-plane took off late and arrived very late into St. Louis. Unaware of the time change, Joe and I presumed we were very late for our next flight – the one that would actually bring us to Texas. Turns out that following a mad dash through Lambert Airport in Missouri, a red digital clock above a sign at the airport let us know that were not late, as we assumed, but in fact, over an hour early for the next flight. Now we had to find a way to look cool, not like we just rolled out of the Micro-Plane in a rush to catch a plane that still had some time to sit on the sidelines.
We decided to stroll up and down the corridor of Lambert, lugging our unchecked baggage behind us on plastic wheels. We wouldn’t stop until we encountered something edible that we felt we could trust and agree upon. Things being what they are these days, one can’t depend upon the airlines to which we pay dearly, to provide us with sustenance of any sort. The micro-plane proved itself to be cheaper than most.
Bellies filled and content, we boarded plane 2 on our way to Texas. We were at once relieved and happy to see that it was a good-sized plane capable of carrying a great many folks and their luggage without concerns of tipping over from the weight of it all. We arrived in Texas and headed for the shuttles to the car rental place, bypassing the weary souls needing to fetch their luggage from the roll-around belt.
I was slightly disappointed that Texas didn’t welcome me with the Texas-like weather I expected. Instead, I was treated to temperatures similar to the ones I’d left behind in New Jersey just days before. Pooh! That sort of sucked.
Before long we were in the swing of things, enjoying the sights and sounds of the extremely proud Texans. For example, did you know that they’re so proud that they fly their Texas flag at the same height as they do the American flag? I don’t know where else this would be tolerated, but then this is Texas – they carry guns! I also learned, from my friend’s school-aged kids, that in most Texas schools, children recite the pledge of allegiance followed by a pledge to the Texas flag and the state of Texas. I know this wouldn’t fly elsewhere, but again, this is Texas – they carry guns – they can do what they please.
Well, we went to Texas to visit with friends and that we did. It’s funny how people always say: “Oh, it’s like we were never apart!” Others tend to think – “Yeah, right!” But actually, it was absolutely true for my friend Paula and me. She and I haven’t seen each other in about six or seven years – give or take one. We went for long stretches not being in touch at all, save for some random forwards here and there. Meanwhile, her daughters were growing up and Joe and I were living and everyone was getting by, or surviving, or moving along. And while in the process of living one’s life, time passes and we remain unaware until the next time we see each other and gauge from the size and age of the once small babies just exactly how much time has truly slipped through our fingers.
Not wanting to waste a second, Paula and I engaged in to what can only be called Marathon Speak – an incessant, incoherent to others, fast-forward manner of speech left for those who know that their time is limited, but their subjects are limitless. It’s like reverting back to adolescence, only now there’s no one to monitor our speech, or make us feel bad for saying whatever is on our minds. In the course of speaking online, Paula and I have found that we are more similar than not – actually we are eerily similar. Now, I can’t attest to the reasons for this – could it be our shared history, or difficult teen years, or whatever else. But mostly I can’t help believing that to some extent she and I are alike not because of what we shared, but because of who we are. After all, you can say that we both like “Little House on the Prairie” because of the times in which we were raised, but you can’t say the same about us both loving the same foods and hating the same other foods. You can’t say the same about not being in touch in forever and then discovering we adore the same colors and brands and places and songs. To me it is all too weird. It is all too similar and it is all too inexplicable, except for us to just accept that we are – as we have recently decided – the same person split in two, living separate lives on a similar tightrope.
What I have heard about long-lost friends, or friends who’ve led very different lives is that when they attempt to rekindle a friendship they once depended upon extensively, they learn that things don’t always stay the same, people definitely change and you can’t always bottle your shared history to drink from later on without an expiration date going and spoiling all of the fun!
Thankfully that was and is not the case for Paula and me. We remain, for all that has transpired in the quarter century - of our on-again, off-again relationship - pretty much unchanged and true to our original plan to be friends. I am grateful for that – I am grateful for the friendship that has stood the test of time. I am grateful for all of the free self-therapy she and I provided for each other. I am grateful to have had someone to hold hands with as we navigated the sometimes painful and oftentimes confusing moments of growing up. I am grateful for her presence in my life and for being there when times got really tough and being able to laugh when times were really fun!
As a last little tourist thing before leaving Texas, Joe and I hit up The Sixth Floor Museum in downtown Dallas. It is a museum set up at the very location where Lee Harvey Oswald prostrated himself and became (allegedly) the sole gunman in the assassination of President John F. Kennedy – grassy knoll shooter notwithstanding. Back in 1963 it was called the Texas School Book Depository. I am not sure exactly what purpose it served to have an entire building full of boxes that were full of books – at least not one that size.
I didn’t think I would be as interested in seeing this place, as I ended up being. Turns out they have done an extraordinary job of documenting and preserving the times and the space as it was that awful November 22, 1963 day in Dallas. It was a walking audio tour with displays documenting not only the untimely death of the 35th President of the United States, but some of the history leading up to his election, his brief presidency and his campaign to re-election, which was the purpose of his visit to Dallas.
Aside from the history-making moment, the Sixth Floor Museum also offers insight into the various investigations, the years and books of conspiracy theorists, photographs the world over as everyone mourned the loss of our president, the aftermath of his death, even the place setting, exactly as it lay, waiting for the president to arrive to a luncheon he never made it to.
When I first heard of the museum, I wondered why anyone would want to visit this place. I wondered if it was a little like a Holocaust museum where the actions, outcomes and overall events were dreadful and certainly better left un-recalled, but that were valued for their historical relevance. The truth is that as much as everyone thinks they know about that infamous day, you just don’t know the half of it. It is what I took away from that singular historic landmark in Dallas. It certainly is not what a city wants to be remembered for, but certainly it has done its best to preserve the dignity of all of the players and the sum of all of its parts in a dignified manner.
Jaded as we are today, I cannot imagine who thought it was a good idea for the President and First lady to travel in an open-top convertible through the crowded streets of Dallas. But then again this was 1963, not 2003. Either way, it was so unnerving and kind of wickedly cool to stand at the same spot where Lee Harvey Oswald stood and aimed at the presidential vehicle injuring governor Connolly and fatally wounding the president. Needless to say, that sort of part-of-the-people approach to campaigning is limited now – especially for a sitting president. The last thing we need today is another assassination to drag us down.
All in all, our trip down to Big Old Texas was a great success. We had a great time. We learned a great deal. We left with great respect. And though we loved the time we spent in Texas…it’s that age old saying - It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. ;-)
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