Is That Too Much ?

BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN. After two weeks in Texas I’m back in Terre Haute (That’s French for “There is nothing in the fridge.”) and trying to sleep through the night again after being in a strange bed.

The luggage hasn’t had the chance to cool off and plans are underway for the next test of my ability to digest the food and water of another part of the globe. This time the passports are aimed at Ireland for a five to six week stay.

Do I enjoy Ireland? Very much. Do I enjoy being away from comfortable and familiar surroundings? Not so much anymore. Somehow I have suddenly become an old man and my adventuresome spirit has dimmed. There was a time when I would go anywhere at any time with less than a moment’s notice. Now I have a need to sit in a chair that knows my shape and sleep in a bed where I can be warm and where I can find my way to the bathroom in the dark.

Maybe my reluctance stems from the idea of going so soon after returning from Texas. The plan as I have learned is: Ireland from late September to early November, then back to Texas in late November, and yet again at Christmas. That’s a lot of luggage dragging and my butt is in one of those bags.

I have come to realize that, at least for me, Travel is like running a series of 100 yard sprints. You have to stop and catch your breath every once in awhile. I’m no Marathon runner. I need to stop and sit on a regular schedule. Actually, at my age and physical condition I’m more like a 10 ft. runner. There are carpet runners that go longer than me.

After a busy day (Definition of “busy day” is a day when I have to get up to reach the remote.) I could pass as a statue. I’m not moving and I look like I am made of clay. There was one Christmas with the Family a few years ago when some of the little kids decorated me along with the tree while I was napping. When I woke up I had on a shiny red garland and two strings of lights. I admit that I was festive looking, but I could only go as far as the extension cord let me.

My biggest travel concern now is trying to figure out a way to haul my carcass south and out of Winter’s reach. I do not, cannot, care to handle another freezing cold Winter. I’m afraid that I might shatter like a dropped light bulb. If I can get somewhere with a more temperate clime I’ll be able to make it through until Spring. If I am trapped like Frosty the Snowgeezer I doubt that I’ll make it past the Macy’s Parade.

I know that my grousing like this about the weather and my aching bones is an indication that I am just one more old man. Well… I am part of that first year crop of the “Baby Boom” that started in 1946.

That was when the soldiers had returned home at the war’s end. My father was never in the military, but, Hey! When there’s a party going on – get up and dance! He danced and here I am 73 years later complaining about the weather.

“Grumble…Grumble…Mutiny…Mutiny”

Even Pitcairn Island is warmer than Indiana in December. Sure, it’s a bit isolated and it is hard to get a decent cable TV Package, but it doesn’t snow there!

And that’s all I’m asking for. Is that too much?

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