Its like the days of King Arthur when the valiant knight, after a lifetime of heroics can see the prize in front of him, tantalizingly close, but must endure the final gauntlet of terrors before claiming the damsel. The final week is our gauntlet. Here’s what happens…
First, there are the unending lists. There’s stuff to pack, stuff to get ready, stuff to plan, stuff to purchase, stuff to prepare. Generally speaking, Pam is the Chief Executive Officer of Stuff around here. It is her pain-staking planning work that insures a successful trip. My jobs are more in the area of manual labor, finance and logistics. I take my orders from the CEO.
Then there’s the whole issue of health. In the era of COVID, we have become rather paranoid about personal health in the week leading up to go time. We suddenly become fastidious about hand washing. We tend to avoid large crowds. We also avoid small crowds in small places. I had an opportunity to have lunch this week with the fabulously entertaining Tom Allen, but I turned him down. He had just returned from a family reunion in New Jersey, an entire brood of Allen’s all together in…New Jersey. I said, “You’re kidding, right? Although he promised he would take his weekly shower before he came, he seemed to understand my hesitance to expose myself to whatever madness might still be clinging to him after a weekend of Allen family Tomfoolery.
We will probably not attend church services this Sunday, our last large crowd exposure before Maine. No offense, fellow Hope Church folks, but we’re not taking any chances.
Don’t get the impression that we’ve locked ourselves away inside the house all week or anything. Besides, there are still a million errands to run. Just yesterday Pam had to head over to the mall for some shopping…
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