Puerto Rico Bound!

Well, I bought myself a carry-on bag per the airline's specs, pulled out the warm-weather clothing I don't need here on the Oregon Coast, and bought a couple of bathing suits I won't wear because I've gained back 20 lbs since BC died in July.  Trust me, 'ruched' bathing suits aren't slimming unless you're slim to begin with.  I'm working on that, and have even started using the clubhouse Nordik Track treadmill.  I can't believe I actually enjoy that kind of exercise, anyone who's known me for awhile will be shocked.  But I enjoy staying nice and warm inside, watching TV while pursuing the quarter-mile mark.

I haven't been on a plane since 2010 and I'm nervous.  I've got socks without holes for when I remove my shoes; elastic waist  (of course) slacks so no belt; and since they don't feed us any longer, researching which snacks I'm allowed to bring on board.  I've got a 4 hour layover in Seattle until my red-eye to JFK and I know one thing:  it's outrageously expensive to eat in an airport.

Things sure have changed since I took my first plane trip in 1969.  My parents shipped me off for 2 weeks to Camp Longacres, an English-style riding camp in East Aurora, NY (permanently closed in 2015).  Sis was an alumni.  Looking at today's photos and description, the camp in my day was much, much simpler.  No optional trips to any mall.  (God, look at those legs!  At the time I complained...)

I'd never been on a horse, except perhaps a pony at the fair, so I was placed in the C ring.  I remember a sway-back looking horse I'd select because I felt sorry for him, should have left him alone; but mostly I practiced my riding skills on other mounts.  I learned how to saddle and unsaddle a horse, and groom them after a ride.  Some day, perhaps, those buried skills might come in handy.

By the end of my stay I won the Blue Ribbon in my ring, 'Most Improved'.  The ribbon is one of my prized possessions, which I carry from RV to RV.  No place to put it except in my box of 'Favorite Things".  

In those days we wrote letters (below), which Mom kept over the years (one nephew collected stamps). Re-reading my 14 yrs-old scrawl is fun, and telling:

"Dear Mom and Dad,

"...The food is good, but don't tell.  Everyone thinks the food is lousy, but I like it."

In later years, when I was a Project Manager for a NYC company, I was flying all the time, checking on the progress of jobs.  The flying got tiring, but the airline food never did.  I LOVE airline food, don't ask why, particularly since I was such a picky eater as a kid.  It must have had something to do with the packaging...all those cutely wrapped individual servings.  I'd eat food in the air I'd never touch on the ground.  One time I devoured date bread with cream cheese, I still can't believe.  With a giggle, fellow passengers passed along their unopened delacacies, once I explained my addiction.

My parents drove me to camp but I flew home, alone.  If I hadn't done that I likely wouldn't have had the nerve to fly to Berlin, alone, at 16, to visit my Aunt and Uncle in the service.  Then I wouldn't have married a service member and then another, stationed and becoming comfortable enough in Europe to later take that job in Holland, where I met 3rd husband, Tino.  I wouldn't have jumped on a trawler sight-unseen following his sudden death and travelled to Puerto Rico with a relative stranger, becoming a creative but Starving Artist until unceremoniously dumped; finding and traveling with BC, and now a managing-alone, thanks, Writer Wannabe (missing: paid). 

There's my life in a nutshell.   So, after Miguel told me of his health issues (read, "Don't Get Off the Bus"), I got off the phone and decided to take a well-deserved vacation to Puerto Rico.  Since I left in 2009, whenever friends asked when I would return for a visit, I'd reply, "Not until BC is no longer with me."

Well, that's not an issue anymore.  I've never wanted to be 10 years down the road, regretting not doing something-or-other, so here I am.  I won't be taking my laptop so no posting while I'm gone, but I promise to return with photos and tales later in March; just before the Spring Whale Watching Week.

"Long-acres, the camp of our dreams
We love every season, as short as it seems
Cannnnn't helllllp
Lovin' that camp of ours"

The things we remember.