@TravelEsquire I’m taking the Amtrak Mardi Gras run from Mobile AL to New Orleans and then on to LA next week.
Not inexpensive but I guarantee it will be much more enjoyable than flying. So much more could be done in this country.
@eliz_blackstock I was traveling in Europe with plans to go to Cesate for a few weeks. Happened to check the F1 calendar and saw Monza would have their race while I was in Cesate. A local 45 minute cab ride and pickup post race. Best moves I’ve ever made.
@BoardingArea@garyleff I travel full time and always carry a digital scale and check my bags’ religiously. Rarely has the airports’ scale matched mine. They are usually 1.5 to 2 kilos heavier. Never been an issue but now I know.
Happy birthday to Lowell George, whose wandering spirit and slanted and enchanted imagination seems to enliven us more and more with each passing day, even as we lament his absence. A few years back I wrote about Lowell and Little Feat for Oxford American. https://t.co/yKhNPAsRzq
@paranoiacs Very enjoyable essay. I came late to the Feat party in 1977. Been a huge fan ever since. Own more vinyl, cassettes and cds of them than I care to mention. Used to follow the festival circuit and live Feat is amazing. Blackberry Smoke gets some play as well. Thank you
@haugejostein I had a bag of snacks myself so I knocked on their now closed door and thrust my offering through the barely open door with a huge smile. He repeated with a different snack a few minutes later. I had one more to offer so when i he opened his door yet again I gave him an “Aha “
@haugejostein I took the Istanbul to Sophia train solo last year and when I poked my head out of my cabin, the couple next to me were having a snack party and before I could answer they put a cup half full of nuts in my hand. I was caught unawares and sheepishly offered a Teşekkürler.
If your parent is 75, I need you to stop and really sit with that number for a moment.
75 is not old in the way we used to think of old, but it is a number that carries weight, a number that asks something of you, a number that quietly changes the rules of the relationship without announcing itself.
At 75 they move a little slower, they repeat stories you have already heard, sometimes twice in the same sitting, and you smile and listen because somewhere inside you already know that one day you will beg God for just one more telling.
They sleep earlier now, tire faster, and some days the body that once seemed invincible reminds both of you that it is only human after all.
But watch their eyes when you walk into the room, watch what happens to their entire face, because that is not nothing, that is everything.
At 75 your parent has buried friends, survived things they never told you about, swallowed fears they did not want to pass on, and still asks how you are doing before they ever mention how they are feeling, not out of weakness, but because their love has become instinct.
The reversal is happening whether you acknowledge it or not, and sometimes it shows up not in grand gestures but in a phone call that lasts longer than necessary, a visit with no agenda, a moment of sitting beside them and letting the silence mean something.
So go, call, visit, sit with them, listen to the story you have heard before as if it is the first time, because one day it will be the last time and you will not know it until it is already gone.
At 75 they do not need your pity, they need you to show up, fully, presently, as the person they spent their whole life building.
Give them that, while you still can.