Brain Fog at the Beach

So I was moseying around the ocean surf not exactly on top of my game.  A day earlier, while letting my mind float to the upper stratosphere, I mistakenly walked into the women’s room at the airport.  It took about two seconds to sense something wasn’t right - much too clean, then another very long second to realize my gaff and make a beeline for the exit.  In my defense, the two entry doors were side by side, could’ve happened to anyone.  My non-professional opinion is that either I have long covid fog, or it could be that my mind is still grappling with the fact that I’m now eligible for Medicare.  Lately whenever any part of my anatomy doesn’t work the way it used to I curse the aging process as well as my pitiful attempts to hold off the tide.

Back at the beach, I decide I’ve had enough exercise and head back up to the comfy lounge chairs and the protection of an umbrella…for my ever-increasing dome.  The hotel owns a small section of the beach and it’s their furniture that’s lining the beach.  It’s not too crowded people-wise, but from the surf staring back, everything looks the same.  This is not a problem as I walked directly from our chairs down to the surf.  And my wife is sitting in one of the lounge chairs closest to the ocean.  What could go wrong?

So I’m walking back up to the chairs, my mind securely planted in an alternate universe.  I sit down on the edge of the lounge chair.  The next enlightening sequence of events happened in about two seconds.  (Two seconds seems to be a common denominator when it comes to my ability to grasp embarrassing situations.) Somewhere in the back of my mind I’m hearing hands clapping.  It’s coming from down the beach.  It’s like background noise.  (Very similar to an experience I had when a judo teacher choked me into blacking out.  To get me to wake up, he was smacking me on the back.  I could first hear it as background noise in my subconscious.  The clapping noise had the same feeling.  In the judo case the teacher looked at me when I came to and said, “Now you are a judo student.”)  As I look toward the noise, I notice that the woman sitting next to me is NOT my wife.  For a split second I find it odd, as I can’t imagine why my wife would give up her seat.  Things begin to crystalize for me when the woman says, “I think you sat down in the wrong seat.”  There is a part of my mind that won’t accept the fact that I just sat next to a strange woman, when my wife was twenty feet away clapping like a maniac.

Next, I turn about four shades of purple, apologize and introduce my new friend to my wife.  I assure her I don’t do this on a regular basis…Not sure if she thought I was trying to make her feel special.  Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other in the airport bathroom on the way home.  In any case, Thinking this was a set up for divorce court, I ask my wife why she decided to try clapping to get my attention when I was about to sit next to another woman.  She said, “I was screaming at you, but you couldn’t hear me!”  (Of course I wear hearing aids, but decided that wearing them into the ocean was not optimal.  I do have moments of clarity.)  Then in an unusual moment of common sense I decided that I should shut my mouth and count my blessings, as things could have been a lot worse.  You see as I was walking back up to the chairs, while having my out of body experience, I had the brilliant thought that when I get to the chairs, I should suggest to my wife that we head back to our hotel room, sharpen our pencils and see about solving some complex math problems.  Always remember: Have Gratitude!

Problem with the Main Landing Gear

I had an interesting flight last quarter.  I arrived at Newark airport unscathed and sailed through security – Thank You “Clear”. (The best travel investment my wife has ever forced me to purchase.)   I was on my way down to Florida, hopefully for the last time, to close down my Mom’s condo and sort through centuries of her possessions.  I had just read Matt Paxton’s latest book, “Keep the Memories, Lose the Stuff” on decluttering and downsizing.  I’m ready to drain my soul of all emotion and ruthlessly execute my five-day mission at hand.  The first meeting I have is with a real estate person in the early afternoon.  She works within the condo community, so getting this contact cemented is going to be critical to the success of the overall mission.  

Back in Newark I look at the big board listing of flights to confirm the gate for my 8:15AM flight.  My flight’s not there.  Not delayed, not canceled, just not there.  I rub my eyes and reconfirm that I haven’t lost my mind…yet.  Immediately that all too familiar sinking, soul-crushing feeling consumes my body.  It’s similar to that feeling you get when the IRS sends you a letter in July.  I try to invoke the positive of positive thinking, do some deep breathing but it’s like trying to fight off Godzilla with a peashooter.   There is a 7AM flight that’s boarding but it’s due to take off soon.  I crank up the gray matter and determine that I’ll never get on that flight.  But at the same time, I fight off the overwhelming desire to make a run for it.  There’s also an 11AM, which will not arrive on time for my critical meeting.  In desperation, I decide there has to be a glitch in the system and the big board is wrong.  As I race to my supposed gate, the next two big boards I come across also have to be wrong.  I feel like I’m in one of those nightmares where you’re trying to escape the boogieman, but as luck would have it, you happen to be running in a shallow river of molasses.  I soldier on fighting off dark, anxiety-ridden thoughts.  I get to the gate that my “App” says the 8:15AM will fly out of.  Low and behold, there is an agent behind the counter.  I collect myself and as sweat streams down my temples, I calmly cruise up and ask the agent to confirm that we do have an 8:15AM flight.  She responds in the affirmative – Yahoo, I’ve outrun the Boogieman!  I explain to her the reason for my concern, the concern that almost cost me a heart attack.  She looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language and outside of our politicians, she does the best job I’ve seen in a long while of not providing a clear or acceptable response. 

No matter, we board the plane on time – All is well!  After about 20 minutes the captain comes on the airwaves and says they have some issues and it’ll be another 30 minutes before we take off.  Fine, I’m sitting in my seat and I’m one of two people on the whole plane with nobody sitting in the middle seat next to them - take your time.  Then the captain comes back on and says we’ve just been informed that this fix will take more than an hour, so get off the plane.  Not so fine, we file off the plane and they let us know that there is a problem with the Main Landing Gear.  I’m pretty ticked off because I can see that I’m probably going to miss my first meeting, flummoxing the overall mission.  And that I’m even entertaining the thoughts rolling around my noggin, that are: “What the hell, let’s give it a shot.  What are the chances that something catastrophic will happen?” tells you where my head is at.

After I calm myself down, I did think to myself, “Main Landing Gear?  How are they going to "test out" that what they did, actually fixed the “Main Landing Gear?”  Will they bring a large crane out and bounce the plane to ensure the landing gear holds?  Or are we all going to become United’s crash dummies for the day.  I’d like to at least see myself on one of those pre-take off videos where they tell and show you how United is making investments in their people and doing better every day.  Ultimately, I had to assume they knew what they were doing, because at that point unless I saw flames shooting out of the fuselage, I was getting back on that plane.  Long story short, we all survived.  

Fast Forward - With the mission completed I land back at Newark Airport.  I get my car from the daily parking lot…pay an obscene amount of money which for some reason is always a surprise to me.  I quickly validate that post covid Friday night rush hour traffic is back!  Some higher power must have determined that I needed one more test before getting home.  I’m envisioning some of my relatives who have recently passed looking down on me, trying to determine how thick my skull is, and betting on when my head will explode.

Some background that will help end this story - I turned Medicare enabled a couple of months ago.  And without employment, I came to the realization that “I don’t care what people think of me.”  I write whatever is on my mind even if my family has fits.  My choice of clothing has always been less than stylish, eclectic at best.  Now occasionally I’ll walk past a mirror and even I get startled.  But it’s all very freeing, I sometimes imagine what life would have been like if I had always lived it this way.

So on the drive home from the airport, I stopped in at my local liquor store.  They know me as the guy who comes in occasionally and each time buys one oversized beer.  (I’m an animal.) At this point I was both physically and mentally toast and knew I’d need that one beer to preserve my marriage.  After paying, the guy behind the counter asked me if I wanted a small brown paper bag to put it in.  I thought for a split second, turned down his offer and announced my new mantra as I walked out the door, with beer in hand.  Of course I had to go just a little too far and crack the can open as I walked across the parking lot to my car, where I was promptly arrested – Joking, but doesn’t it sound about right?