If you recall, I wrote about the unanticipated responsibilities of the cancer patient a few weeks back. To summarize for those of you who may not have committed my posts to memory, I learned the hard way that I had to arrive reliably when expected or people would think I had died, or perhaps they’d worry about where I was, but you get my drift.
With this in mind, I am writing to assure you that I am not dead. I missed yoga Thursday, which is highly atypical, and I haven’t been spotted at my usual haunts (the grocery store, the library, the dog park) over the past few days, but I am indeed alive, just far from home.
On Wednesday, J and I had no trouble at all crossing the U.S. border, even as a gay married couple. I guess we don’t look like terrorists to President Idiot. (On that note, did you hear a two-year-old potential terrorist in need of brain surgery was allowed entry into the U.S. even before the courts lifted the travel ban? Turns out not all preschool Muslims are terrorists after all.)
Of course I feel guilty being here when others are fearing they will not be allowed into the country, but our trip was planned before (some call him POTUS, I call him) President Putz started undoing everything his predecessor had worked so hard to accomplish. We would have lost a lot of money had we cancelled. No travel insurance for the cancerous, remember?
So here we are, far south of the 49th parallel, escaping a brutally cold spell back home and taking a break from real life. J. is learning to forego marrying people for a week, which is a challenge given how much harder she’s been working since retiring. (I realize that last sentence is oxymoronic, yet consider who we’re talking about here.) Retirement, my tuchus, I say. Meanwhile, I am learning how to take a break from volunteering since I too have been biting off a bit more than I can chew (and I don’t mean food here) of late.
How perfect is this trip? Friendly customs agent, flight arrived on time, and the rented red VW Beetle practically drove itself to our well-situated and well-appointed apartment. I am thoroughly enjoying the gas stove I’ve always wanted, and, to J.’s amazement, I haven’t yet burned the place down! Sure I forgot toothpaste, but that problem was quickly remedied. Turns out Americans brush their teeth too.
We can walk to everything we need. We’ll easily score a gift for Jelly while we’re here in one of the fancy pet stores. Who am I kidding? We never bring home gifts for Jelly. She doesn’t realize we should since she’s a dog. If I do see a squeaky President Putz dog toy, though, I may not be able to help myself.
When I get back home, I’ll have real life to contend with, but for now, I’m enjoying my short-lived fantasy of no responsibilities, no obligations, and no cancer.
So if you were worried about my absence, worry no more. I’m busy living every vacation day like it is my last. Time to head out in search of that dog toy.