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End of the Rainbow

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I’ve always been a “nervous traveler.”

That’s peculiar when you realize I made a living traveling the country, delivering speeches, workshops, and presentations. One might think I’d be used to travel; it would be second nature.

So, let me clarify.

I’m not “nervous” in the sense that I’m afraid the plane will fall from the sky. I mean, sure, turbulence gives me a bit of the willies, but, overall, I feel safe in the air. I’m more anxious about the logistics. For example, will the flight be canceled and I’ll be stuck? Will I be re-directed due to fog? If I’m stuck in the airport, where will I sleep? (In fairness to me, these all happened and I ended up missing engagements.)

To assuage those dreads, I inspect weather reports of the departing and arriving airports days in advance, tracing where my plane will be coming from so I can monitor its weather – as well as the airport before that, and sometimes even the one prior. I set up numerous phone alarms and am familiar with every flight-tracking app on this side of the stratosphere. Not surprisingly, I arrive at the airport three days early (slight exaggeration) and prefer long layovers to avoid missed connections when flights are inevitably delayed.

None of this helps guarantee the trip will go as expected, and, to be honest, I’m not sure it doesn’t feed my anxiety, but, what can I say? It’s my thing.

I feel more in control when driving, but up here on the rugged Northcoast of California, that’s no guarantee either. We have skinny, twisty, mountain roads so inclement weather, accidents, and all manner of fallen objects close the main thoroughfares more often than I like.

With that as backstory, my wife and I were heading to a cabin in the mountains amid a predicted “Bomb Cyclone” that was set to soak Northern California the day we were planning to leave. (Cue nervousness and me checking weather apps.)

The good news was – as is usually the case – worrying was wasted energy. The sun broke through the clouds as we were leaving, and it was going to be an easy drive. Better yet, one of the most brilliant rainbows ever appeared as we pulled from the curb. Everyone likes rainbows. I mean, how can you not? From the time of Noah, the colorful arc that spans the firmament signifies hope, peace, and beauty. For my family, rainbows also signify a message from our departed cat, Tiger, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year.

What made this even more affecting was that the kaleidoscopic arc remained to our west for the first hour of our drive. Each time we took a curve, there it was; peering over the mountaintops, shining through the trees, hovering always to our side; watching and protecting us.

Here’s the amazing part. As we rounded a bend, the end of the rainbow was immediately to our left, culminating a few dozen feet off the road. (No, there wasn’t a pot of gold.) We only viewed it for an instant as the highway turned again, but the rainbow was enormous; its colors brighter and more vibrant than anything I’ve witnessed in my almost-seventy years; almost blinding. Upon witnessing the breadth, scope, and beauty of the rainbow, both my wife and I let out a simultaneous gasp. If we both hadn’t seen it together, at the same time, I’d be convinced it was my imagination.

But it wasn’t. [Read more…]

Seeing Clearly

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I am nearsighted.

Not your everyday, run-of-the-mill, I-can’t-see-the-bottom-line-on-the-eye-chart nearsighted; I instead am referring to objects further than six inches away appearing as a blurry mass. From the moment I rise until the last second before I go to bed, I must wear glasses. Should they fall and I can’t immediately find them, panic crushes me until I recover them. Without them, I am virtually blind. They feel as much a part of me as — quite literally — the nose on my face. I am fortunate however that my prescription allows correction to near perfection.

So, I became concerned when, of late, looking at light on dark, I have been experiencing “halos.”

Two examples: When the subtitles on the movie are white against black, the text is blurry. More problematic, when driving at night, although I can see clearly cars, roads, and signs; taillights and street lights lack the same crispness. It’s unnerving enough that I stopped going out after dark.

My father was a hypochondriac’s hypochondriac; he would solicit a second medical opinion when the doctor told him he was healthy. I don’t mean to make light of it; I point it out to somewhat explain my resistance to going to doctors; an irrational backlash to not being my dad. Therefore, for me to visit an eye specialist over my symptoms will shed some light (um, no pun intended) on how seriously I took this change in my vision and resultant alteration to my lifestyle.

If this scenario sounds familiar, you know where I’m going. If not, the cause of my optical degradation is cataracts. According to the Mayo Clinic, “A cataract is a clouding of the normally clear lens of your eye. For people who have cataracts, seeing through cloudy lenses is a bit like looking through a frosty or fogged-up window. Clouded vision caused by cataracts can make it more difficult to read, drive a car (especially at night) or see the expression on a friend’s face.” Approximately 200,000 people per year in the U.S. suffer from them.

This week was my pre-op appointment.

[Read more…]

Embarrassed

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Next week, I’m receiving my second injection.

Soon after, I’ll be “safe” (in whatever level that word implies). Being a responsible, patriotic citizen, I will continue to mask up and engage in protected behaviors until given the green light. At that point, be forewarned, I plan to hug strangers – simply to get back to the quota of hugs that have been so depleted during the pandemic. That said, I’m planning a road trip for fall. The excitement of visiting friends, seeing new locations, as well as actually going into restaurants has me eagerly anticipating the end of summer.

I used to travel a great deal; not always ending up in the manner I assumed.

On an important business trip to meet two potential clients in San Francisco, I wanted to look my spiffiest, so I purchased a suit and black leather, dress, wing-tip shoes. I distinctly remember they were stiff as new shoes can be — and had slippery soles — causing me to consistently walk with a light, self-conscious gait as if always avoiding stepping on something fragile. Mostly, however, the odd way in which I moved was due to the discomfort of the shoes while attempting to maintain my balance, and project an aura of confidence in my meetings; all the while continuously on the verge of having my feet slip out from under me.

Meeting number one was in a building at a higher elevation of one of San Francisco’s steeper streets, the type where they don’t parallel park due to the angle. Afterward, I exited the structure to go downhill. It had been previously drizzling; the sidewalk had a slick wetness. This, as one might expect, made walking in my leather-soled, brand-new, slippy-slidey shoes even more precarious.

I stepped out of the building, planting both feet on the pavement, and – voip! – my well-clad behind hits the sidewalk, gravity kicks in, and I embark rolling side over side down the hillside like a bowling ball zeroing in on pins.

Aside from being embarrassing, it was frightening; I couldn’t stop, eventually running out of inertia halfway down the block, where a couple of women, seemingly on their lunch breaks, witnessed what happened and darted down the hill to offer assistance. (Of course, they were smart enough to take off their shoes and run in stockings.)

“Are you OK?” they asked.

“Yes,” I said, humiliated beyond words. “I’m fine, just embarrassed,” I attempted to look dignified while wiping off bits of debris from my clothing and sitting in a suit on a wet sidewalk.

“We’ve all been there,” was the response.

I’m not sure I believed that; nonetheless, I thanked them generously and wished them well. They continued on their way down the hill.

After further dusting myself off, I stood up from sitting on the wet pavement, collected my wits, shook myself off, stepped forward, and – Gablam! – did it again! [Read more…]

Letting Go of Old Baggage

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When I was 12 years old, I bought my very first major electronic purchase: an AM clock radio.

At that time, it was the high-tech equivalent of today’s driver-less cars. (Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration…) Until then, my alarm clock woke me to a concert of cacophony: a clanging, banging, rattling, ear-splitting blare. Now, due to this marvel of 1966 technology, I began my morning to “Boss Radio’s” Robert W. Morgan playing hits like Monday Monday and Ain’t Too Proud to Beg. If that wasn’t enough, another new-fangled benefit of this novel invention was the introduction of the snooze alarm. Life couldn’t get better than this.

How things change.

Arising late or missing an appointment these days is pret-near impossible due to the combination of alarms and text alerts omnipresent on anything that plugs into a wall or possesses a battery. If you overlooked your appointment, you just didn’t care.

To that end, while traveling, I utilize alerts with an addictive fervor, establishing reminders on my computer, which sync with my mobile device and watch. Not only I am aware of the status of my airplane, but also should the previous leg of the flight be canceled or delayed, I know that too. What can I say? I like to be prepared.

Last weekend I flew from Hartford to San Francisco, with a transfer in Denver scheduled to depart at 11:31.

[Read more…]

The Ceremony

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wedding-invitation

From its dawn through the mid-twentieth century, 90 percent of all gloves sold in the United States were manufactured in Gloversville, New York; making it one of the most appropriately named cities on the continent.

Originally known as “Stump City” because of all the trees that had been cut down it was incorporated in 1890. Having spent three weeks there, I can tell you firsthand that the sidewalks have probably not been repaired since that date. In many places, taking a walk was akin to scaling miniature cement mountains, circumventing canyons, crevices, and summits that substituted for a walkway.

Yet, it surpassed Augusta, Maine’s sidewalks, which were non-existent.

Trying to navigate the roadway to the shopping center, a distance of about one half mile, was analogous to open field running in a war zone. One scouts oncoming traffic waiting for a break, upon a clear patch, dash hurriedly down the road to the next safe haven, pause again for traffic, and repeat the process. (If more communities had decent sidewalks, it sure would help solve our obesity problem. However, that’s another topic.)

In the previous 94 days, I traveled 18,594.6 miles (give or take), from Anchorage to Augusta, Rutland to Redding.

While on the road, I visited a 20-foot tall chocolate fountain in Alaska. I resisted the urge to climb in, but succumbed to sampling real honest-to-goodness Vermont-made maple syrup while in Burlington. If you have not this pleasure, imagine the taste of a warm sunrise lightly brushed with natural honey gliding over your tongue, evaporating into airy nothingness.

Although mostly work-related, my journeys were book-ended by highly personal, deeply emotional events.

[Read more…]

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Scott "Q" Marcus
707 834.4090
scottq@thistimeimeanit.com
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