Western New York by the seat of my pants - Part One - Just Go
At around 11PM-ish last Saturday I began composing a dreary three-paragraph Opus of Regret to much missed friends regarding homecoming weekend. Exchanging Facebook fuzzies had strengthened our ties and the pull was strong this year. Mom had also unleashed her guilt-fu regarding my failure to visit my new niece and cousin. OK. Ya got me. To lessen the chances that I'd bail out, I posted on the reunion page that I'd be there, but stopped short of even hinting to Mom that I might come in case something came up or I was too wrung out to handle the trip.
[Speaking of dreary, feel free to skip this paragraph.] Meanwhile it's been a hell of a summer. I mean, one Hell. Of a summer. Gavin graduating moving and back in at the end of May with his adorable dog and the Endless Hair that comes with him .... Rohan moving into my home office, my sanctum sanctorum, the only area of the house over which I had complete control .... finding room in the house for everyones' stuff .... the water heater flooding the downstairs hallways and closets and dealing with three sets of contractors (don't get me started) .... Gary's insistence on not delaying the welcome back party ....normal relationship stress, and a relentless series of audits at work on top of the normal maxed-out load .... And now, to contemplate a trip to Western New York....
I was on the fence right up to the final day. The excited posts began to pop up in my newsfeed. My Mom was hosting my brother and my cousin and their families that weekend, less than ten miles from the homecoming epicentre. This is where Bill Engval says "Here's your sign." ::: sigh ::: So around 11-ish PM on Thursday I took a peek at airfares. Ouch. I began composing The Opus ... Then consulted with Gary (bless him), who said, "Go." After a half hour of wrestling with Kayak.com I clicked "buy tickets." Lock and load. I printed itinerary and boarding passes, put in a load of laundry and hit the hay with no other preparation, alarm set for 4:30 AM.
Note: The washing machine works a lot better when one remembers to press "start."
The pre-dawn hour found me cramming a dufflebag willy-nilly full of tier two wardrobe. A few more hours would have pared it down, but it was either less prep or no sleep. It is, by the way, well beyond time for me to get a decent set of rolling luggage. I can haul ass carrying quite a bit of weight, but hoofing a gym bag, purse, laptop and a loose armload of coat and sweaters falls firmly under the heading of stupid. Classy! Amazed that I didn't wreck my back.
My connecting flight from Atlanta landed me in Buffalo before 2PM. Now in possession of a sweet red Chevy Cruze, my shameful mish-mash of luggage stowed out of sight and feeling like an Actual Grownup, I fired up my phone's GPS, which failed to grab a signal, but the signs outside the parking garage pointed me to the Thruway. Easy.
My unsuspecting Mom entertained me over the phone on the drive while she ironed table linens for the party. Lovely Western New York scenery rolling by, I was painfully aware that my phone was draining the battery in search of a decent internet signal.
I wound a loop through town and came to rest at Forest Lawn Cemetery, one of the two most beautiful cemeteries I've ever seen, second only to Sleepy Hollow. I took a walk among its peaceful lawns, trees and stones to distance myself from the stress of the past few months and to focus on being there. The moment my head cleared, a doe and two fawns appeared among the tombstones about five metres away. She stared at me, alert, but calm. One of the fawns sank down on its knees and plopped its butt down, unconcerned. The three of them grazed, wiggling their ears. I grabbed a few seconds of video on my dying phone and headed to Cassadaga Lake...