I hopped a plane to Florida, and I decided to be unencumbered. I took only my I Pad, and a few clothes to counter my museum quality attire that resides in the Sunshine State. I fit right in with my old school safari pants and neon tees. I think Steve purges the worst offenders when he is here alone. Some undergarments have lived in Pompano Beach so long that the elastic has turned crunchy. I will not be going commando any time soon, though. Too many pacemakers would malfunction.
The most daring move for me was to untether from my lap top. The fake knee can cause a bit of a hold up in screening, and I decided to forego the additional responsibility of freeing a computer into a bin. Steve is a force of nature at the airport, and I did not wish to alter his hasty pace.
Turns out, the back scatter was working, no groping was required, and I over-worried. It also turns out that I am not very adept at blogging on the I Pad.
I have started and lost quite a few words. My screen is glommed over with grease from sunscreen, and I was unable to figure out how to change the punctuation of my blog’s name in response to a head’s up from a Latin expert. Who knew “et al.” was a Latin abbreviation requiring precise punctuation? Not I. I picked it because it rhymed with Dahl. Not too deep or academic, but Janet’s Planet was taken by a science teacher. Boo! At any rate, when I return home, I will have to beg to have this travesty of elucidation corrected. For now, I am challenged typing on a membrane and keeping my stubby fingers from accidentally deleting my work product.
This will function as a test entry. I have passed through the melancholic stage where I miss my Dad and cannot believe he is not here. I now live in the sentimental stage. Both take a toll on my heart. That Steve is here, and that we have grown closer in the last decade is great comfort. He won my Mom over down here when he was furloughed from MVP. He watched over Dad during his last days, and drove him to the hospital, where he died. He gave me the gift of time with them by buying into a building that only grudgingly had dropped its “seniors only” prohibition. Now, 17 years later, we are the seniors, albeit the youngest ones in residence. And I am grateful to have this familiar spot to count my blessings, of birth and marriage. If I can master the transfer of pictures to this site, I will take you on a little tour. This is a dollop of space- perfect for enforced togetherness. It is not a faux Italian villa, but a sunshine suite. I love my doll house, and being here is a tonic for Steve, me, and Steve and me.
Now I will test this thing to see if I can save, tag and publish JDEA from this device. I am off to Mass, my most daunting emotional challenge, since my last day with Dad started at St. Gabriel’s church. Dad was a staunch Catholic. I am a Catholic by history, but the Cardinal and Pope have given me continual reminders that they do not abide my type of Catholics. Fortunately, Father Tony is not burdened by dicta and protocol. He welcomes me with a smile and a story, focuses on doing good and being good, offers Communion, and sends us all off to live a kind life. Dad loved him, loved the comfort his faith gave him, and worried about my black sheep’s soul. So in his honor, I, who am lost, will be found. We’ll talk later.