TheBanyanTree: Just Not Fun Enough, Part 2

[Linda DeMerle]

Tuesday dawns, Day 3 of our much-anticipated visit. The guys were cooking breakfast and laughing, while I was operating in slo-mo due to lack of sleep and agitating pain. I’m not sure, clouded by vicodine, but, I may have managed to spend most of the day in jammies, since Kevin marched me back to bed after breakfast, which I may or may not have eaten.  Responsible adult that he is, and every home should have at least one, in my opinion, Kevin entertained out guests by taking them to visit our neighborhood meromictic lake, which may interest you enough to Google.  

Sometimes I slept, sometimes I did not, depending on how much pain broke through my narcotics, but, in either case, I was still unaware of the danger of becoming Just Not Fun Enough, but, then, perhaps I am kidding myself. Monique tells me that no one is harder on myself than I am, which is a great reality check for me when I am treading water in the sea of self-doubt. Under the circumstances, on the very conscious level, I don’t think I was giving it much thought, since most of vicodine-enhanced thoughts have to do with fairies, driving flying cars off of mountain roads into the clouds and Adam Levine trying to convince me that we are perfect for one another. So, no, I probably was not openly entertaining thoughts of being a dud, but just having as fine a time in my flying car as anyone in my situation. I’m easy.

Taking into consideration my hand-wringing nature, usually under control these days, but probably impaired by medications, I am sure some anxiety over my inability began to emerge, because I began eating things. Normlly, when I am medicated, food is of no interest, but with the occasional bout of anxiety, I eat. Little things, like cashews. Non-stop, or, at least repeatedly.

I should rewind a bit and say that prior to their arrival, we did have some conversations = more than ONE for those reading fast, about what they wanted to do, travel times, etc. 

The first thing on the agenda, was finding Grandma Anna’s and Grandpa Murphy’s house on Tipperary Hill. This was miraculously achieved when finally approaching the correct block from the standard 1940s direction. Paydirt. I could never find the house on my own, having never been there and being told the wrong house number, but Marilyn, in her brilliant memory found, not one, but TWO family houses, without numbers. Impressive!

Other things on the list were meeting up with a favorite cousin, driving to Albany to visit the grave of an aunt, visiting local vineyards, visiting Niagara Falls and squeezing in a visit with Marilyn’s God-daughter, here from Arizona at her camp in the Adirondacks.

Many people, correction, anyone not familiar with New York pictures, apparently, a gigantic city.  If they have any brains at all, they might consider that there is a pathetic border of non-citified land. One never fully realizes just how damned big NYcity-free NY is until one has to drive across it, and if one wishes to take side dips down into the Finger Lakes? I hate doing math, so, down between lakes, back up from between lakes. Down, up. Etc. 

So on our agenda for 5 days was

1. Tipperary Hill
2. Niagara Falls
3. Albany, which is in the other direction
4. The Adirondacks, in yet another direction

No. One cannot go both to Albany and the part of the Adirondacks the Goddaughter is in in one day, and come home, neither can this happen for Niagara Falls unless you are young, carefree and energetic, since this equals eight hours of driving overall, per destination and we have an elderly, easily-fatigued lady with us, as well as unpredictable neurological chick, myself. Staying overnight at places was not a happy option for some people. I don’t know if this is because of the amount of time sleeping takes up, or?

In the meantime, the trip to Albany to visit Aunt Elizabeth (Sister Mary Alvera) at her resting place took an interesting turn. Goddaughter in the Adirondacks, Kathleen, said to me, “On Wednesday, the nuns are coming.”

I remembered that Kathleen’s husband, Mike’s aunt, Anne, was also a Sister of St. Joseph, as had been Aunt Elizabeth, so I suggested going to camp on that day, because maybe Sr. Anne and company KNEW Aunt Elizabeth and there could be reminiscing.  Everyone thought this was an even better idea that trying to kill Marilyn by making her go to Albany and camp and then home on the same day. We planned our trip, and with 
Marilyn’s 79th birthday now a couple of days away, Kevin baked a lovely, tasty, gluten-free cake. 



Need more tea...