I Am The Ouroboros, goo goo g' joob

It’s like this – I’m aggravated, worn out, and just generally annoyed as hell with this demi-invalid shit. I mean, it sort of feels like I’ve gone a bit Ouroboros-y.

That is, the less I go out because:

1. eww, people
    a. what if they accidentally bump into me and knock me over?
    b. what if they cough deadly germs on my immunocompromised self?
    c. what if they’re assholes?
2. staying upright is hard with all that wind coming off the water!
3. walking up hills is exhausting!

...the less inclined I am to go out.

So then, it's time for me to snap the fuck outta this funk! What’s the first step? Book a trip to Iceland. Of course. 

I know I talked about Jen and I possibly visiting her nephew in Helsinki next spring but I think I need something closer in time. My thought being, if the trip’s a year off, I’ll procrastinate prepping for it.

What’s involved in prep? I need to get out of the house and walk – work on my leg strength, endurance, balance, gait, and confidence. Right now, my exercise is primarily cardio, done on my recumbent elliptical. While this strengthens muscles and helps me build stamina, it’s not weight bearing and does nothing for my wonk-ass balance. I want to walk around as much as I can in Iceland – not be confined to a wheelchair.

So, Iceland is booked for November – right after the mid-term elections. Hopefully this will be a celebratory trip. I haven’t traveled in six or seven years so I’m not entirely sure what to expect. Things have changed for me. As I mentioned above, I'm in the demi-invalid ranks now.

I’ve got to bring a pill box with a dozen meds to be taken daily. Do I need to travel with my pills in their original bottles and packaging so it’s clear that I’m not not smuggling illicit shit? On quick googling, yes. That and much more. This could be quite problematic.

I need to:

Check Destination Laws: Contact the foreign embassy of your destination and any transit countries to ensure your medications are permitted.

Original Packaging: Keep all medications in their original containers, clearly labeled with your name, doctor’s name, and pharmacy information.

Carry Documentation: Bring a signed letter from your doctor listing all medications (generic names), dosage, and the conditions being treated. (THIS is going to be difficult to say the very least. There are more than a few doctors in the mix here.)

Carry-On Only: Pack all medications in your carry-on bag to avoid loss, and ensure you have enough for the trip plus a few extra days.

Declare Items: Declare all medications at customs upon arrival.

Good thing I'm the type to think way ahead – always looking for hurdles and potential roadblocks. It's gonna take me more than a wee bit of time and organizing to put together all the paperwork I'll need. 

Frankly, even with all the documentation, I'll be fearful that my meds will be confiscated. One of my pills keeps me from having nasty seizures. We're going to be in the middle of nowhere in ultra rural Iceland. Without that pill, I'm pretty much fucked. I'd truly hate to spend all this money just to have to turn around and come home because some customs official has decided to play officious asshole.

Of course, we'll be flying into Iceland NOT the US so odds are in my favor.

Next – how do I pack my rollator so it doesn’t get destroyed by the baggage handlers who stow it in the cargo hold? A quick googling turns up this info:

Walkers and rollators are typically transported as free checked baggage, usually through “gate checking,” where they are used up to the boarding gate or plane door and returned immediately upon landing

Booking & Notification: Inform the airline at least 48 hours in advance to pre-book assistance.

Gate Check Process: Upon reaching the gate, inform the agent you need to gate-check your walker. They will attach a tag, and you can use it down the jetway.

Preparation: Fold the frame and lower handgrips to the lowest position before turning it over to staff at the plane door.

Storage: If the device is small and the plane has space, it might be stored in the cabin closet, but typically it will be stored in the cargo hold.

Security: Walkers can go through security; if you cannot walk through the metal detector without it, request a manual pat-down. (Joy!)

Damage Protection: Use a padded bag to prevent damage from handling.

Where do I buy I padded bag for my rollator? Once again, google is my friend but this will take some investigation to make sure I get a padded bag that's the right size. Shopping online is convenient but also annoying as hell. I'd rather go into a shop and speak with a nice, knowledgeable salesperson. 

Do they exist anymore – shops and salespersons? I know, I know. If I ever left the damn house I would maybe know the answer to that.

Alligator Wrestling with Taxes in Helsinki?

Goddamn, it’s Friday. Hallelujah! 

Don’t know ‘bout you but I’ll put off an onerous task like tax prep, folding and putting away my laundry, Marie Kondo-ing my closets for-fucking-EVAH. And then there’s dental procedures. The dental surgery I had just a couple weeks ago was the final of a trio had over this past year. I put this last one off for months. I had Jen reschedule it three different times. 

Jesus Novocaine Christ, I was dreading it. The hour or two in the chair as the surgeon wrestled my face like they were Florida alligator wrestlers and I was the poor reptile – i.e. NOT gently. OH, the pain I anticipated – the days upon weeks of only being able to drink broth and eat mashed food! Life would be misery!

How’d it turn out? The whole shebang took less than 15 minutes. I was dazed and fuzzy afterward but, amazingly, in zilcho pain AND there was very little blood. I was eating regular food a day later.

Did I feel like a big, chickenhearted, whiny, baby-ass, scaredy cat? Big time!

Similarly, I’ve put off doing my taxes for a few years. I've never owed – the government always owes me. So WHAT was my problem? All the damn paperwork. Collecting and collating all my receipts and shit for my deductions. Dotting every last "i" and crossing every single "t." In putting off something so, ultimately – when taken step by step, easy and uncomplicated, I made SO much more work for myself.

It’s done though. How’d it go? Obscenely smoothly. Embarrassingly so. 

I spent ridiculous amounts of emotional energy this winter with dread and anxiety as my roommates. What a fucking waste of headspace. 

The last thing weighing on me is my last round of MRIs which I’ll have tomorrow morning. I’ll review the results with Doc Plotkin on May 7th. I’m not really expecting any horror-show news. I read the the lab’s write up of my first two scans and it doesn’t look like there’s been much critical growth but what do I know? I’m not a neurologist.   

So then, MRIs tomorrow BUT at least I’ve the insanely overdue tax prep is off to the accounting wizards.

Ya know what having the tax weight off my bean does? It frees me up to dream and scheme. Fer instance – Jen’s nephew just got into grad school for geology. How wicked awesome is that?! Even better, he got into the University of Helsinki! 

Obviously my first thought was WE HAVE TO GO VISIT HIM THERE! We’ve never been to Finland and now I am ALL kinds of curious. I want to know everything about Finland!

Yeah wait…hold those damn horses:
Q:  How psyched is a 24-year-old kid gonna be about his aunt and her elderly, sweary, disabled, deaf, bestie coming to visit him at college?

A:  I’m sure he’d be 199 kinds of thrilled to have one of his fave aunties visit. Me? I’m not as much fun as I once was. Advanced age and NF2 will do that for ya. Still, Jen and Seamus could go out and hit the clubs (or whatev). I can sit at our hotel bar sipping my Lonkero or Ville Vallaton and then head up to our room to read and otherwise enjoy the view of Helsinki (i.e. NOT America).

I will have to research how to travel as a less than fully able human.  I know I’ll need to be in a wheelchair for airport navigation but once we’re in Finland, I want to be uprightly mobile.

If Seamus is down with us visiting, I’m figuring we’ll go next spring. This will give me a year to build up my leg strength and endurance. Riding my recumbent elliptical is good cardio but it’s not weight bearing. I need to walk and just stand for that.

Having this potential trip on the horizon is giving me extra incentive, more motivation to brave the windy outdoors and walk, walk, walk.

Landlocked

I don’t think I could live in a landlocked state or country. I imagine this’ll come as no surprise if you’re a long time reader of this here blog. I’m kind of big on proximity to the water. I could do a  lake maybe but I really prefer to be on the coast – closer the better.

Here in Valhalla we’re one house back from the seawall. That’s about as far as I’m willing to go.

When my friend Susan, who grew up across the street from a beach on the Cape, moved to Minneapolis, I was stunned. HOW could she possibly live so far from the water!!!

Well, as it turns out Minneapolis contains 22, count ‘em, 22 lakes. 13 of those babies cover at least five acres too. So, Susan’s not on an ocean but she’s definitely not far from water. 

There are 27 landlocked U.S. states. Seven of these border the Great Lakes though. Nebraska is most landlocked of all the states as one must pass through four states, minimum, to reach an ocean. Sheesh.

Kansas, by the by, is the only US state without any natural lakes. Any that you do see, should you find yourself there for some strange, unfortunate reason, are man-made. Kansas has three rivers though. Whoopee.

Oklahoma has some small oxbow type natural lakes but any others you might come across there are man-made. 

Utah, Wyoming, Iowa, Montana, Missouri, and West Virginia are pretty damn dry and far from oceans too. I wonder if that’s a contributing factor to MAGAtism. Wouldn't be surprised.

Texas has just one natural lake but the state's on the Gulf on Mexico so, for all it’s myriad sins, at least it’s not landlocked.

I realize I’m one of those folks who’s just innately tied to the ocean. Well, the shoreline anyway – I'm not a boat person. Some people are bound to mountains or forests or desertscapes. To each their own and shit.

Here’s the thing though, being far away from the ocean can be inconvenient. You’re not close to major ports. Very little is manufactured in the U.S. at this point so if you’re in Bumfuck Iowa, your iPhone, car parts, lobster tails, real Champagne, viagra and ozempic all come into coastal ports and are put on a plane or truck before they make the journey to your landlocked state. The cost for the extra miles of transportation is added to your bill. Also, how fresh and tasty do you think that frozen seafood is compared to what I can get down the street at my local pub? (That is, IF I ate shellfish which I do NOT. They look like giant bugs, fer gawds sake!)

I was looking at a map of Africa yesterday, as one does, and realized that the continent has a LOT of landlocked countries – 16 in total. Burkina Faso, Zimbabwe, and Eswatini to name just three.

There are 16 landlocked countries in Europe as well. Switzerland, Czechia, and Belarus fer instance.

15 in Asia, including Azerbaijan, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Mongolia, and Nepal. All these names spark up my wanderlust. If I had the money and was physically robust, I’d love to take a year and do a slow tour through all these countries.

South America has just two landlocked countries – Bolivia, Paraguay.

Of all the places I’ve visited, and I’ve not been to nearly enough different lands, the most beautiful, diverse and perfect for me has been the Isle of Skye. It’s on the ocean, there’s woodland, the craggy mountains of the Black Cuillin are brilliantly majestic. The Quiraing has to be seen, hiked, embraced to be believed.

What would make it absolutely ideal would be:

A)  If it were more remote so there were fewer (less?) tourists.
B)  If Doc Plotkin and the rest of my NF2 pit crew (surgeons and other assorted neuro specialists) were located there too. Hey, I’m sure they’d love the place! Alternatively, maybe they could install a Star Trekian transporter beam and just beam me back and forth from Skye to MGH every couple of weeks.

Medicare will cover that, right? RIGHT?!!!

And Now For Something Completely Different

While we Valhallans are here in the snow packed wilds of suburban Boston, Hillel and his lovely wife are visiting friends in Bangkok. Yep, Thailand where it’s currently a “cool” 85º. Cool as compared to March – June, which is considered the hot season. 

While 85º is too damn toasty for me (I wilt in temps above 78. Hey, what do you expect? I’m a New Englander!) I can’t say I’m overly fond of our current -5º with two feet of snow on the ground.

The 10 day forecast for Bangkok is for sunny weather with daytime temps in the low 90s. YIKES! I’d be an immobile puddle of stinky sweat. 10 day forecast for the Boston area? Daytime temps in the teens to mid 20s, clouds and sun with another snowstorm due at the weekend. Eh. Whatevs. It’s winter and, luckily, I don’t need to go outside until this next Monday.

Ten, Jen, and Oni did all the shoveling which was quite the epic task this time around. Apparently, for some unknown reason, the city hired out-of-towners to plow the very skinny streets of our neighborhood. Instead of depositing all the collected snow on the long, wide grassy area along the seawall, the snowplows just pushed the snow to the side and into people’s driveways. The result? Everyone was blocked in and the barely two lane roads were down to one.

 Someone called our newly elected councilman, who we Vahallans voted for. He came out, walked the streets and had a look see. Plows were sent in again. Yea!

Okay, maybe Hillel could bring home some of that Thai heat. Ya know, just enough to melt the snow and ice off the sidewalks and streets. It can stay on the yards, in the forests, on the beaches and mountains and shit. I bet it's real pretty on the shoreline right now.

Now then, I’m taking a mental health day. No news. No doomscrolling. No fussing about. I’m gonna dive into my new book, Kills Well with Others by Deanna Raybourn and probably, just generally, annoy the fuck out of Cake and Ten all day. Hey, everybody’s gotta have a talent and, apparently, that’s mine.

I’m gonna assume that someone will give me a heads up if the powers that fuel the universe join together, come down to this little planet and take out this administration full of malevolently barbaric, greedheaded, power-mad idiots.

An old babe can dream and hope…ya know.

Who’re the Worst

Came across this while I was braindeadedly scrolling yesterday – a list of the  countries exporting the worst tourists. The source? Travel Magazine US. Never heard of 'em.

What surprised me, at first, was that US tourists weren’t at the tippy top of the list – that we aren’t considered THE absolute worst. I mean, I’ve traveled abroad a bit and we ARE an embarrassing lot. Truly.

I’m remembering the time Jen and I were sitting at a café in Venice. She and I were making every attempt to be good little tourists – ordering our wine and pizza in halting, broken Italian, and always remembering to say please and thank you (in Italian).

We saw a couple approaching from across the piazza and just knew trouble was coming. They weren’t so much walking as swaggering, like they owned the whole damn square.

Their outfits SCREAMED I’m American and buy all my clothes at DICK'S Sporting Goods. I'm never seen without a baseball cap and giant-ass white leather basketball shoes. They sat down, ordered a pizza with bacon (who the fuck puts bacon on a pizza?) and then had a complete nuclear meltdown when the bacon didn’t look the same as it does in the US. (n.b. of course it didn’t – it was pancetta. We were in Venice, Italy NOT Venice, Florida!)

That list, the ranking though:

1)  China
Their behavior has gotten so bad, that even their own government has commented on it, calling it “uncivilized” and claiming that it damages their “national image.”

Travelers from China are also notorious for refusing to wait in lines and follow simple rules, as well as entering private property to take photos, earning the nickname “selfie stick conquerors.”

2)  France
They’re seen as “most likely to engage in rude or scandalous behaviors” and also being the “least generous,” which is another way of saying the French are penny-pinchers or poor tippers.

3)  UK
British citizens are infamous for their loud, rowdy, and drunken behavior worldwide, especially during “stag parties,” which are their country’s equivalent of American bachelor parties. 

4)  US
Stereotyped as “The Ugly American,” tourists from the United States are criticized for a handful of bad habits: talking too loudly, being oblivious to everyone and their personal space, and complaining about everything—from cigarette smoke to burger sizes and coffee temperature.

American tourists are also known for making some pretty questionable fashion choices.

5)  Russia 
Russians have a reputation for being rude and rambunctious tourists, their behavior usually fueled by their love of alcohol. In a survey by Triposo, they were considered the most difficult travelers. 

It’s hard to get them to leave after they’re drunk and have overstayed their welcome.

6)  India 
Everybody loves a good bargain, but Indian travelers tend to go a bit too far when haggling overseas, which is one of many reasons they’re often branded the world’s worst tourists. 

7)  Israel
Hospitality industry workers frequently describe them as guests who are entitled, demanding, impatient, and won’t take no for an answer—sounds like a server’s worst nightmare!

8)  Australia
Australians are among the highest spenders in the world when it comes to travel and nightlife. Unfortunately, it’s having one too many drinks that usually causes their manners and morals to go down the drain, leading them to disrespect locals and drive while intoxicated.

9)  Germany
Much like the Americans, German holidaymakers bring their high expectations with them when traveling to other countries, and are very vocal when their ideal destination falls short. 

10)  Italy
There’s a well-known quote that humorously describes Italian tourists: “Italians love traveling to other countries, ordering Italian food, and then complaining that it’s not as good as it is in Italy.” (source) 

How do other sources rate us and other top nasty visitors?

Escape.com from Australia doesn’t give a specific rating. They do note that there are legends and dickheads in every country. How generous, mature, and realistic of them.

The Brits are apparently not so popular in Spain where many go in the warmer months.
British tourists are polite, friendly and considerate. But ply them with a few drinks and they’ll be running naked through the streets in no time.

Emmm, this kind of sounds like fun, eh? 

Chinese
Chinese tourists were fairly unpopular in the survey, particularly in parts of Asia. They were named as the worst tourists in Australia, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. One poster on Reddit wrote "the Chinese are the new 'Rude Americans’

Russians
According to the YouGov survey, Russians are particularly unpopular among Europeans, particularly in Denmark, Sweden, Finland and Norway. The general consensus seems to be that they think rules don't apply to them. 

Australians
Like the Brits, we have a reputation for letting our hair down a little too much when we travel. We can be particularly rubbish in Bali, where there have been instances of us getting too boozy and being disrespectful of the culture.

Germans
According to a poster on a thread on Quora, "they have a reputation for being a bit selfish ... “reserving” a poolside lounger every morning by getting up at 6am to put a towel on it”.

(strikes me as rather minor)

Americans
There are a couple of things that Americans are known for. Speaking loudly is one. Expecting everyone to understand English is another one. Speaking loudly to someone who doesn't understand English and expecting that person to understand better because they're yelling is one of the worst.

Italians
Italians and the French both represented on the list of unpopular tourists ... with the Italians just gaining the edge. (source) 

Japanese tourists come out on top as best, most well received tourists everywhere.

Finally, Business Insider reported on a survey where Americans were, in fact, considered the worst tourists of all. Yeah! USA, USA, USA! WE'RE NUMBER ONE, WE'RE NUMBER ONE, WE'RE NUMBER ONE!!!

1)  US
2)  UK
3)  Russia
4)  China
5)  Australia
6)  Germany
7)  India
8)  France
9)  Italy
10)  Brazil

Continuing Efforts at Distractifiction

The other day I mentioned the book The Worst Gig: From Psycho Fans to Stage Riots, Famous Musicians Tell All by Jon Niccum. I expected witty takes from, as billed, famous musicians on particularly unfortunate shows. Yeah, there were a few of those but mostly the featured bands were ones I’d never heard of.

You might be thinking, ’but you’ve been deaf for nearly 20 years—OF COURSE you don’t know these musicians.' I certainly see your point but:

• The indie bands he highlighted were all out before my hearing went south.

• Before the old sound system took the last train for the coast, my listening tastes were omnivorous—I was more apt to pay attention to and go to the shows by unknown musicians rather than the top sellers. Why? When your weekly paycheck makes a night out at the movies a major splurge, going to a mega high priced Rolling Stones or Pink Floyd stadium show is an absurdly spendy choice. Why pay $100 or so for a big event where you’re in the nose bleed seats, only able to see the band via Jumbotron? Instead, I chose The Rat, T.T.’s, The Middle East, Jack’s, The Inn Square Men's Bar, The Channel, Jonathan Swift’s, etc. I could afford them AND get up close—actually see the damn musicians perform. 

The point—I’ve seen tons of indie groups play and I’d not heard of at least half of his featured groups. 

Some of the anecdotes Niccum relayed were engaging but overall the collection was a sad disappointment. There are only so many tales of blown speakers and mics I can read before I just feel bummed for the dudes and dudettes. Also bored. I mostly skimmed and skipped through the second half of the book.

I just started Sloane Crosley’s How Did You Get This Number. It’s a collection of essays which begin with her solo vacation, at age 30, to Lisbon. I was very much reminded of my own first solo trips (which also began when I hit 30).

Why did I travel solo? I wanted adventure, to meet new, fascinating people, see wondrous art, landscapes, and cities. I wanted to hear different music in weird, dank pubs and people-watch. I wanted to be a stranger in a strange land. 

I wanted a lot of things and was tired of waiting for a boyfriend or bestie with whom I could experience them.

I got all that I was hunting for—so did Sloane. We both also experienced the loneliness and the occasional dangers of solo travel.

Crosley is witty and relatable. I’m looking forward to more, more, more.

You don’t notice the time line of your own metamorphosis. Until you do. Every once in a while, time dissolves and you remember what you liked as a kid. You jump on your hotel bed, order dessert first, decide to put every piece of jewelry you own on your body and leave the house. Why? Because you can. Because you’re the boss.
~ Sloane Crosley, How Did You Get This Number: Essays

Fringing, Biking and Hillel

Hillel is in Scotland right now. Primarily, he and his wife went for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

For three weeks in August, the city of Edinburgh welcomes an explosion of creative energy from around the globe. Artists and performers take to hundreds of stages all over the city, presenting shows for every taste. Venues can be anywhere, from existing theatres and concert halls to repurposed spaces like bars, parks, buses and shipping containers. The Fringe street events bring colour, excitement and vibrancy to outdoor areas, free of charge. (source)

Given that we’re talking about Hillel, he also took a bike tour along with friends from here at home. Along the route they saw the National Wallace Monument. William Wallace, in case you didn’t know, was a knight and leader in the resistance of English rule. He’s known for his courageous part in the First Scottish War of Independence. By the by, the movie Braveheart, the tale of Wallace’s heroics, is heavily fictionalized—not historically accurate.

I’m deeply envious of Hillel’s trip BUT:

• I can’t stand crowds so the Fringe Fest, as appealing as it sounds, has always been a no-go for me. Also, deaf here, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy or appreciate all the theater and musical performances.

• I can’t ride a bike (rat bastard Nf2 surgeries have, nearly completely, obliterated my ability to maintain stay upright).

• I’d rather tour the wild archeological digs. If I ever regain enough strength and agility, I’d like to head to the Shetland Islands to see all their ancient sites.

In any case, here are some of the awesome pics which Hillel has texted so far.

Pining for Stromness

Know what I like about Threads? Every now and again I have a nice exchange with another human WHO I’VE NEVER MET IN REAL LIFE! This ultra neato keen shit never gets old. Over at the dead bird site, I saw and experienced so much angry drama—I expected it from Threads (and now Bluesky). Luckily, the angry mansplainers have only come for me once (and were summarily blockedy, blocked, blocked).

Anyway, my cool convo was with a woman living on the Orkney mainland. Yeah, one of my favorite places on the planet. My fellow Threader asked me why Stromness, a small town, was so significant to me. I relayed a snippet from when I was there for the annual folk festival (yes, this was back in my hearing days):

There were two bands in particular that I was immensely keen to see. The Iron Horse, a speeding freight train of trad/rock/Gaelic/punk and Blackeyed Biddy, more straight up Scottish folk but they play tunes of their own, with an emphasis on social justice. They were both playing at the concert on the final evening. This was held in an old, creeky Victorian church/meeting hall/theater kind of a structure -- the sort of place with balconies and upper balconies and way upper, SRO, nose bleed balconies. Late in buying my ticket, as usual, this is where I was along with a group of young backpacking punks kitted out in sweatshirts, huge unlaced sneakers, floppy athletic socks and kilts. We were all moving to the music, enjoying the tunes and then Iron Horse came on and it was as though a wild tornado of sound and musical fury hit the joint. Don’t know about the folks on the mezzanine level but those of us in nose bleed-ville were ignited and pogoing as though our blood had been replaced with high volt current. I wondered, albeit briefly, if the balcony would collapse from our collective stomping, spinning and salmon-headed-upstream dancing. (more here)

This was a transporting, phenomenal experience. The best music, as I'm sure I've said before, is the sort that you can feel in your sternum.

Turns out that my Thread friend lives five miles outside Stromness, is a musician and will be playing at this year’s festival! I’m desperately wistful. I would love to be there even though I can no longer hear the amazing music or brill story telling. The festival runs from May 23rd to the 26th. Two days later, wicked early on the 28th I’ll be at MGH for, yes, more brain surgery fun.

The up side to all these surgeries? I know for a fact that there are no dead worms in my bean. They would've been found by now. Right? Apparently, despite his wealth and fame (and my distinct lack thereof), I’ve got one up on RFK Junior. 

Sweet!

Big Day for Donna

 I’m having two MRIs this morning. One for my brain—specifically focusing on that mondo motherfucker that Dr. Curry (AKA Barack Obama’s twin) will be trimming down next month (on April 9th to be all precise and shit). The second MRI is for the Cthulu-esque mother on my thoracic spine. I don’t believe that one’s currently acting up but the fucker’s gotta be looked in on regularly.

Whoopee!
I’ve taken my calm me down pills but, as yet, do not feel particularly stoned. I’ll have one more tab before they load me into the machine. Maybe a wee weed gummy too.

Joy.

After these scans are in the rear view mirror I’ll, hopefully, regain some of my ability to concentrate and focus. If so, I can smoothly get back to my tax prep work. I also need to find a new supplemental health care plan. I only discovered that the plan I’ve had for years, stopped covering me sometime this past fall with NO notice. I’ve got Medicare but need something else to fill in the gaps.  

All the paperwork that comes with being a goddamned adult? HATE IT!

What I’d really love to do is ditch this Neurofibromatosis Type 2 shit, pack a bag and hop a flight to the Shetland Islands. I want to check out the wicked cool archeological digs, bird watch and hang in some old rustic pubs. Maybe zip over to Iceland next, take a long spin around the island before easing myself into the geothermic pool at the Silica Hotel. I’d like to check out what all that hot lava has done to the landscape. Anything? Next I’ll hit Greenland. I’ve never been there before. I’d def check out the Nuuk Art Museum, some glaciers, icebergs, hot springs, polar bears, whales and reindeer.

I need to be able to walk better before I do this (or get a walker with mountain bike tires). Also, renewing my goddamn passport is key. What languages are spoken in Greenland? Does my voice to text translation app carry it?

This morning here in Valhalla

Two Words

Cèilidh
[ kay-lee ]
     noun
a party, gathering, or the like, at which dancing, singing, and storytelling are the usual forms of entertainment.

Apart from parties that Jen, Oni and I held when we, (including TAB) lived in Cambridge (TAB and I on the 2nd floor of a triple decker, Jen and Oni on the 3rd), I’ve never cared much for big hullabaloos. I feel a ridiculous pressure to chat entertainingly—to be a regular Dorothy Parker or Fran Leibowitz.

Before TAB and I moved in together, I had a few themed gatherings in my tiny studio apartment—pumpkin carving, Easter egg painting, movie watching (on my microscopic black and white teevee)—activity focused events. If no one had anything to say, well, we could talk about what we were painting on our eggs or what expression, scenes or patterns should appear on our pumpkins. Watching a movie? No need to talk.

In my solo travels around Scotland and Ireland, I went to a few cèilidhs. The best one was in a small pub on the Aran island of Inis Mór. What made this one glorious was that everyone in the joint knew or knew of each other and they welcomed me to join in. They were buskers on holiday before the big tourist season kicked in. I didn’t need to start conversations, introduce myself, make awkward chit chat—the musicians, artists, storytellers, puppeteers and others were all already on it. I was subsumed by this happy party beast made up of so many fascinating people. We asked each other questions, told tales of our respective travels. I’d just met these folk but felt utterly comfortable. Singers would stand and sing a tune a capella. Someone would get up and spin a yarn or two. The whole crowd would break into song. Brilliant!

Deafness was years away at that point.

The Cambridge parties were always a gas with friends from all different corners of our lives. There was big (recorded) music, dancing, convos and wondrous eatable’s courtesy of Jen and Oni (Cook? Me? Oh my no, that’s inadvisable). These shindigs weren’t like the Inis Mór cèilidh—they held a different sort of unbridled joy.

TAB did NOT enjoy parties and that was okay. After coming up to greet guests he would saunter back downstairs to read, watch teevee and chat with friends who sought him out.

Quaere
[ kweer-ee ]
     verb
ask; inquire (an imperative used to introduce or suggest a question).

Used in a sentence?

Quaere, will the insanely negligent parents of the Michigan 15 year old (now 16) who shot and killed four of his fellow students (injuring six other kids and a teacher) with his daddy’s semi-automatic be held accountable for their role in the slaughter?

Used in another sentence?

My wonky left eye is red this morning; quaere, does this mean I'm now in for the orb shutting surgery I'd so narrowly escaped just four months ago?