retirement – Hello All from Suzi

Pieces of Me

The coronavirus pandemic has curtailed my travels and landed me in a new short-term career as a child minder. Four days a week I take care of our two youngest granddaughters. That’s the basis of the first installment of what I’m calling “Pieces of Me,” snippets from various times in my life. Please enjoy these while we await a vaccine and I am ready to board a hermetically sealed tin can again.

Child Minding, March 2020

“I’m getting my butt wiped.”

Thus spake two-year-old Callie. This is the level of discussion in my life during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Four days a week I take care of our two youngest granddaughters while their mom and dad do essential work. Today I had some essential work of my own — an international conference call of a nonprofit board that I sit on, and their grandfather filled in for me during the call. He had a day off from his duties with our oldest granddaughter who turns eight tomorrow. Her parents also do essential work.

Glenn and I have both been retired for several years and until this, had enjoyed the freedom that comes with that stage of life. We had already planned our semi-annual trip to Poland for my board meeting with a month in Italy afterwards. The calendar also showed my planned May trips to Atlanta (college graduation) and DC (staying with a friend’s teenage son during her business trip), and Glenn’s car trip to the Indy 500 with his 90-year-old uncle. That’s all gone by the wayside already.

The other day Glenn said it felt like we were back at work. And when that alarm clock goes off at 6 am, it sure does. The alarm clock actually awakens me. For most of my life the internal alarm clock that I inherited from Mom and Granny has awakened me 10 minutes or so before my bedside unit. Perhaps it’s my age — almost 75. Add to that, the daily challenge of two pre-schoolers adjusting to something they have no idea is happening. They just know day care/pre-school is closed, and they get Gramma Suzi instead (for better or worse). Oh, and there is the underlying stress of a pandemic that’s being so ill managed. Even before my usual 11 pm bedtime, I’m exhausted.

Almost daily Glenn tells me how much he appreciates me, and I appreciate that though I’ve told him it’s unnecessary. This is what happens when you’ve taken up with a mature man who had his own children “late in life.” And those children are now two 30-something daughters, married with three daughters between them. And then a pandemic strikes. These adorable little girls have accepted me as their other grandmother, and I have embraced them as my granddaughters. They’ve given me what I never expected to have since my only child died in his 20s without children or a wife.

Diaper changed, the shrieking dynamo has now destroyed her sister’s Lego fort, and that means whining and tears from the kindergartner. Thus is the level of conflict in my life these days. And some days I am amazed that it’s not worse. Callie has gone to daycare five days a week at the same place almost her whole short life. Now it’s fruit basket upset.

The privately-owned daycare center that Callie and Emma, 5, attend has a structured learning and play program, caring, thoughtful teachers, and different rooms for different age groups (no toddlers on the second floor). If this were a normal time, Callie would move to a new room shortly, and the daycare teachers would start her on potty training. (How’s that for full service?) My efforts at that have failed dismally. Oh, she’ll say she has to poop, which can mean anything … then sits on the toilet and does nothing while I dispose of her dirty diaper. She loves pulling off a yard of valuable toilet paper, flushing the toilet and “washing” her hands (playing in the running water).

Glenn picked up Emma’s packets of review material at the daycare center and was pleased at the safety precautions in place. So now, when Callie naps, Emma goes to school. We work on a few math pages — the meaning of each number, what it looks like as a numeral and a word, tracing and writing each number, then finding that number of something — window panes, fingers, cupboard doors, hand claps. And we are working our way through the alphabet — identifying letters and words beginning with them, tracing the capital and lower case print versions, practicing writing them. We do at least two letters a day. Next comes learning her address and parents’ telephone numbers. Gone are the days of a single landline number to memorize.

More recently, we’ve added an occasional story time from a local library to our morning. Many libraries now have online versions of what they ordinarily offer in their libraries — stories and activities for children. This week we’re also going to try a session offered by Phipps Conservatory, a tribute to Earth Day. The story will be “On the Day You Were Born” plus singing and “a themed activity.”

The sun is out and the ground is reasonably dry after the weekend’s rain. Hurray. We can go outdoors and run and swing, blow bubbles and have a treasure hunt. I think I enjoy this time more than the girls do. I’m such a fresh-air fiend. I’d really go crazy if I couldn’t go outside in this pandemic — coffee on my deck in Squirrel Hill, reading a book on Glenn’s porch while he fixes dinner, running around in a huge yard with my granddaughters. That is what is keeping me sane during this insane, chaotic time.

Time inches on …

Over the weekend Callie actually used the toilet for its intended purpose. Jen texted a video clip with a largish mock diamond flashing over Callie’s lower body. From her wet hair, it seemed she had just had her bath. Now we’re using pull-ups instead of daytime diapers. About every fourth trip to the bathroom produces a good result. I hold the toilet paper roll to minimize waste, but she gets to flush the toilet. Since she loves to play under the water, hand washing is the easiest part of this exercise. For two, she’s pretty thorough. Getting her to stop is when the tantrum starts — thrashing, squealing, fighting against me trying to dry her hands and remove her from the bathroom. Throwing herself onto the hallway floor, the outburst continues until I suggest we find Minnie (any of her several Minnie Mouse dolls). Up she jumps, off she runs to the toy box and the day goes on. Callie has no dimmer switch — she’s off, then on.

By contrast, Emma is the Drama Queen. She shrieks and cries at the drop of the proverbial hat. When told she can’t watch TV until she’s cleaned up her toys or finished her lunch, she puckers up and cries real tears. Callie bumps her in a game of tag, and she screams as if she’d been run over by a bulldozer. Or just tell her “no” for some reasonable reason, and you get her full range of emotions. Unlike Callie, her emotions don’t turn around quite so quickly. After the logic of the situation is carefully explained, she still needs some cajoling. But she’s intent on being a good “big sister,” protecting Callie, explaining Callie, offering to play with Callie … until Callie wants the same doll she does or makes a mess and she’s required to help with clean up, then the drama begins anew.

For two kids with a three-year age difference, Emma and Callie do play pretty well together. Right now, they are batting red balloons around the living room. Smiles and squeals of delight dominate as Blue Pappy bats away any balloon that enters his recliner’s air space.

Aside: Pappy is a common term for a grandfather around these parts. Because she has two, Emma needed to differentiate. So she dubbed Glenn her “Blue Pappy” because he often wears blue sweatshirts and sports shirts. Her dad’s father is “Orange Pappy” because he frequently wears orange tee-shirts. Kid logic.

This morning the girls played with PlayDoh — Emma making “cookies” from the PlayDoh lid as well as a butterfly cookie cutter. Callie actually asked for my help, so I patted small batches of colorful PlayDoh into flat pancakes and she cut out stars. “I did it,” she’d squeal with delight after each star, then smash the PlayDoh into a lump and toss it at me, commanding, “Again.” When Emma decided it was time to make greeting cards, Callie dutifully put away her PlayDoh and joined in. Later they decided to play hide and seek, a favorite indoor game for days like today when the sky is ugly gray. The hiding places are limited — Emma’s closet, under Callie’s crib, the pop-up castle are the most frequently used. Instructed to count to 20, I do a “Words With Friends” puzzle or three on my phone, then loudly call, “18, 19, 20, here I come,” and set out to find them by loudly searching closets and beds and corners. Twice today they were giggling in the overturned castle, once I saw Callie’s head sticking up from under the scores of stuffed animals in Emma’s bed. The last time I found them lying side by side under Callie’s crib and refusing to get out. I returned to my station in the living room, assuming they’d call out, “Come and find us” as they usually do. Silence. More silence. Their mom usually comes up from her makeshift home office in the basement to have lunch with them. She arrived today just as I realized how long the quiet had lasted. When she asked where they were, I explained and she went to check under the crib. There she found her two little girls sound asleep. Nap time came early. That also keeps me sane during this insane, chaotic time.

The end is in sight … sigh …

Jen told me the other day that the girls will return to the day care facility the second week of June. It’s the old double-edged sword. I look forward to spending more time in my apartment — it desperately needs a good “mom-style” spring cleaning. But I will miss the daily interactions with Emma and Callie, the chance to watch them mature and grow close up, the little things that make me laugh: Callie running away half naked and getting “butt cooties” in the swimming pool of plastic balls. Emma leading us on a treasure hunt around the front yard. Watching Callie eat the grits Blue Pappy made for breakfast. Sharing an apple with Emma while Callie, who’s allergic, naps. Ever-curious Callie poking my amble breast and asking, “What’s that?” Emma explaining to Callie, “I’m the big girl, you’re the little girl,” and pointing to me, “she’s old.” Depends on your perspective, Emma. Today you make me feel young.

Sorry, No Pix

17 December 2019, Amsterdam Schiphol Airport (AMS), Holland

Here I am at the end of the earth — Gate E-17 — in an area that’s being renovated but definitely not completed and not on the D concourse where I usually await return trips. Ah, well. Nothing about this trip has been very ordinary.

It started on Sunday, 1 December, with a flight to Detroit (DTW), a long layover and no Internet access. I sunk $29 to enter/use the Delta lounge thinking I might log on there. Not.

Since I have a MacBook Air, I’m used to this happening when wi-fi is free and not secure, as it is in most airports and many hotels. And although I appreciate all of Apple’s security precautions on my behalf, it is still frustrating, very frustrating at times (just ask Glenn). My laptop remembers passwords for friends’ wi-fi systems despite long periods between visits … but it takes hours or sometimes a day before it’ll accept free access. Sigh.

Uneventful flight to AMS and my friend Ana was waiting for me as she’d promised. I arrived at a fairly reasonable time, 8 am, and not the 6 am arrival time of my usual Minneapolis flight. Going through DTW was less expensive, so …

Had a lovely visit with Ana and husband Art. They made a delicious baked salmon dinner the first night, and we went to dinner at Cafe Amsterdam the second. In between I wandered their neighborhood, then took a taxi to the new showroom, office and warehouse for their women’s apparel business. What an improvement over the previous space; it was a nice waterfront location but minimal light and small showroom. This large open showroom was surrounded by huge plate glass windows on three sides allowing lots of light. Their samples are so much easier to peruse — I kind of pine for working when I see the gorgeous suits in their showroom. After closing up, we went to the cafe, and Art found parking with a nice walk of the place.

In an old industrial building, the Cafe Amsterdam is a huge open plan and had a Christmas tree to match its ceiling height of at least three or four floors. The cafe buzzed with good vibes. Unfortunately the food was less than stellar. Ana and Art both had chewy, over-cooked venison. My lamb chops had good flavor but were more medium than medium rare, not worth a complaint. Desserts and wine … and the removal of two entrees from the check … improved the experience.

We took a closed canal boat to see the annual Amsterdam holiday light festival. Some extraordinary lighting pieces sited all over the center city and done by artists from around the world. This year’s theme was DISRUPT. Hard to say which was my favorite, and of course I didn’t take any photos. “Icebreaker” gave the illusion of a frozen canal ready for skating but also warning of the hazard of the ice breaks more common with global warming, a common sub-theme. The disruption of a flood was depicted as cars, trees, poles and such were partially submerged in a canal, and in another the colorful, high rise buildings of a major metropolis were partially submerged.. Near the Amsterdam Zoo, luminous eyes of various colors flashed among the “darkest of dark” trees and bushes, and elsewhere seven bright blue butterflies rose and fell with the water illustrating the Butterfly Effect.

The next morning Ana graciously drove me to the airport for my flight to Warsaw (WAW) which was uneventful. Steve (board member of long standing), Jim (board member candidate) and I grouped at the Marriott Courtyard across the driveways from the airport. We were to meet Piotr, our driver there. However, someone new greeted us, and it took a few seconds to recognize Grzegorz, the Center’s new president and our designated driver that day.

Since we decided to forego our traditional stop in Piaczeno, we took the newish motorway to Radom, then worked our way through that city to the roadway toward Sandomierz. If Polish pottery was going to be purchased, it would have to be done in Sandomierz. We interrupted the trip for obiad (dinner) at a restaurant familiar to Grzegorz. A chance to chat informally and get to know each other better over good Polish food — źurek (sour rye soup with hard boiled egg halves and kiełbasa bits) for me. Steve, Jim and I were having dinner with Hala and family that night. ‘Nuff said about not overeating at lunch.

Weather was Polish winter, mostly overcast, chilly and damp — and dark by 3:30 in the afternoon. Dinner at Hala’s was typical Hala — delicious and too much. Of course, we sampled her husband Michał’s newest liqueurs. All quite tasty although I declined to taste the one made from green walnuts; it smelled awful but Steve said the taste was okay. Because I knew the Center would load me down with “stuff” (candy, books, meeting papers), I tried to decline to bring some home. Michał’s surprising reply was, “What about Glenn? Maybe he would like something.” I think he’s finally accepted Glenn. I graciously accepted a bottle of raspberry liqueur that I’d enjoyed and Michał had filled into the moonshine jug I’d brought him.

Marcin, Hala and Michał’s son, and his wife and toddler daughter joined us. Poor Zusia got the scare of her life when Steve leaned on the empty chair next to him, it collapsed and he fell to the floor. No injuries but one screaming child and one embarrassed man. In his defense, Hala showed us how the back chair legs are closer together than the front, making the chair somewhat unstable. This wasn’t the first to break.

As previously arranged, Steve, Jim and I met with Grzegorz on Thursday afternoon to discuss the state of the transition to a new leader. Grzegorz took over in August, an outsider and a man after 25 years of Hala and the last couple, Anna. First, we drove to a new facility for persons who are mentally challenged, and sometimes physically too. The facility provides day activities, counseling, art classes, training in cooking, budgets and more as well as some housing. The aim is to prepare people for their future lives as many are dependent on their parents now. It’s a marvelous facility, and the area and country could use many more like it.

We drove to Grezgorz’s parents house where his father served us lunch. The meeting went well, and I was impressed with how open Grzegorz was about the issues he’s facing and his willingness to accept our assessments and help. We hired him to challenge the staff, to push them from their “business as usual” rut and chart a path for the future. Although the road has been a bit bumpy so far, our confidence in Grzegorz was in tact.

That evening board members gathered for dinner and catching up before the actual board meetings started. The morning session of Day One (Friday, 6 December) was quite a surprise — Grzegorz had arranged with the leaders of three municipalities to attend and sign an agreement to work together on future programs and projects. It was quite an unexpected extravaganza of slide shows and speeches and explained a lot about why Grzegorz was so busy. The afternoon saw the usual staff reports. I decided it was too difficult to try to hear the new translator who was sitting between Steve and Jim, and relied on my minimal Polish language skills and the written word.

At dinner that evening, we had three honored guests, Anna, Hala and Ewa, our former translator. Thank yous and toasts abounded as we said good bye to long-term colleagues — Anna and Hala to retirement and Ewa to her ever-growing translation business.

As is my custom in Sandomierz, I only ate half of most foods that were served. Portions are always too big and when it comes to the Friday banquet, I know that 10 minutes after coffee is served, kolacja (supper) will come out. That means a delightful and vast array of prepared salads, cold cuts and cheeses, herring, breads, cakes and vodka. I didn’t stay long after kolacja was put out as I was beat and I didn’t need more food.

The formal board meeting saw the professor’s official departure from the board. Czesław, a tenured professor at the Kraków agricultural university, and I sparred frequently, but as with other differences of opinion on the board, we all supported the final solution or decision. I’m going to miss him; he was a worthy opponent. Jim joined us as his replacement. Steve will complete his service in June, and Barbara (an ag professor recommended by Czesław) will replace him. We had met her and agreed she is a good choice, but I was floored that the professor nominated a woman. That’s an area we often debated. I told Ryszard J., our chair, that I have three potential candidates for my spot next December, and board member Krystyna has a woman she suggested to take Ryszard M.’s place in December. OMG, the Center Board could have three female members out of seven.

Usually whenever I get a chance, I go outside for a walk, to get some fresh air and to shop. I buy for and mail KinderEggs to Spike and Jonah in Boston, get postcards and stamps for my “kids’ list,” and buy undies at a little shop that carries a brand I like. For whatever reason, I barely left Hotel Basztowy this trip. In addition to being chilly, it was very windy — maybe that’s why. Or maybe I decided that I shouldn’t spend money. Who knows?

I made up for that over the weekend in Puławy where I stayed at Ewa’s. The walking, not the shopping. We went to the nearby spa town of Nałęczów on Sunday and walked and talked and walked and talked — and had lunch at Wedel, the Polish candy company cafe. I overcame my desire for a hot chocolate, a Wedel specialty that I look forward too. See, I told you this whole trip was weird. Me, foregoing rich dark chocolate. Go figure.

Took a bus — well, actually an over-sized but comfortable van — from Puławy to Warsaw on Monday afternoon. The van’s terminus was near Pałac Kultury i Nauki (Palace of Culture and Science), Warsaw’s ugliest building, and from there I caught a taxi to Dorota’s. Rush hour in Warsaw rivals that in any big US city — bumper to bumper cars, buses, vans all vying for the “fast lane,” whatever that is.

Later but still 17 December 2019 (gotta love west-east travel), Detroit-Wayne International Airport (DTW), Detroit, Michigan, USA

Relatively uneventful transatlantic flight after a good night’s sleep at the hotel. I flew from Warsaw yesterday and treated myself to the Sheraton that is right across the streets from the airport. Got to my room and tried to check in with my flight, but my Mac didn’t like the hotel’s free wi-fi. So I hustled back to the airport and used one of their self-service machines to check in and get my boarding passes. Also tried to pay close attention to how I worked my way to Departures 2 Sky Priority through the huge shopping area that I have to navigate from where I’d entered the terminal. Got in some good, long walks.

Now, back to my story …

Story-wise, it’s Monday, 9 December. I have the codes to enter Dorota’s building, just not a key to the flat. I’d sent her a text from Puławy, and she’d told me that Franek, their son, would be home when I arrived. I think she wanted him to practice his English. He was and we did. “How was school today?” I asked. “So so,” he replied.

One of my favorite Polish foods is dill pickle soup. I can see your eyes rolling, but it’s delicious and Dorota makes a fantastic version. She left me a pot of that to heat and enjoy, which I did, along with some good Polish chleb (bread). I was in hog heaven. Doubly so as I had a new bed. I generally sleep on a mattress on the floor in Dorota’s husband Jacek’s office. A perfectly fine arrangement. But Franek had donated his bed which was moved into my spot. Made getting out of bed in the morning much, much easier.

A bit of background. Dorota was my first Polish teacher in Peace Corps training, and Małgościa was head of the language training program. They started IKO to teach Polish to foreigners more than 20 years ago. Besides individual and group classes in and around their central Warsaw office, they provide Polish to students at the newish university started by some Turkish investors. Dorota does much of the work on the university program, including teaching occasionally. Right now she’s teaching in a town more than an hour away. She arrived home tired and hungry and worried.

Just before I arrived, Dorota had tried to arrange dinner with a mutual American friend who prefers to remain unnamed. And said friend informed Dorota that she had just been diagnosed with some form of lung cancer that had already metastasized. Dorota didn’t totally understand, but our friend was awaiting a call back from the doctor about when she’d go to the hospital for more tests. Oh, Dorota also told me that our friend had reconnected with her high school boyfriend, and he’d acquired his very first passport and was in Warsaw with her. Wedding talk was in the air.

Between texts and calls, we got a little more information, offered to go to the hospital with our friend and waited. I asked about getting a second opinion at Mayo, and she agreed. The hardest part of that day was waiting seven hours until the work day started in Minnesota. I called my contact there, provided details and gave him my email address. Later he emailed info and instructions for getting an appointment, which I passed on to my friend. I also contacted my friend/translator Ewa who now has a specialty in medical translation; she’s available when needed.

In the midst of this, on Tuesday I made quick trip to the big shopping mall near Dorota’s to buy KinderEggs for Jonah and Spike, two of my “adopted” grandsons (their dad and I were Peace Corps volunteers together). Also got a few for my two older granddaughters, Sara and Emma. Callie is way too young for something as small as the prize inside the egg.

And I got together for dinner with my Peace Corps counterpart Krzysztof whom I haven’t seen in almost 20 years! He and my late son Peter had become friends when Peter stayed with me for five months in 1995-96. We spent a couple of hours talking, and I learned about his marriage, divorce (shocker), teenaged daughter (bigger shock), girlfriend and several long-term jobs. Last time I saw him he was with a mobile phone provider, now he’s in the automotive parts business, both a long way from our days at a regional chamber of commerce in Nowy Sacz. Krzysztof looks much the same and has the same smile and way about him that I remember. We’ll definitely get together again.

On Wednesday I returned to the mall to meet my former business partner Lynn. We walked to a nearby Italian cafe for lunch. Lynn, her husband and their two younger kids are back living in Warsaw; the older son is in college in the US. They divide their time between Poland and Florida. It was fun to touch base and catch up. Lynn is still Lynn, which is good.

I spent much of Thursday with my friend at the hospital. She’d checked into the best hospital for lung diseases. Instead of the biopsy that was scheduled, they removed a small lymph node. I had a chance to meet her local doc, a pulmonologist with excellent English language skills AND great bedside manner. He was straightforward, answering questions honestly and with compassion, reminding her the final diagnosis wasn’t in yet. I liked him a lot; reminded me of my son Peter’s ophthalmic surgeon at Mayo.

Friday morning I touched base with my no-name-please friend. She would leave the hospital later in the day, diagnosis would be given on Tuesday. She was still hoping to return to the US for the holidays on 19th as planned and booked. Lest you think this was the only bad news of my trip, I learned that another friend’s alcohol problem has escalated so seriously that it’s affecting her work. And another friend had been hospitalized twice earlier in the year with no clear diagnosis yet. Did I say this trip was more downer than upper? Anyway …

Halinka, formerly of the Center in Sandomierz, knows how much I love Śliwki Czekoladowy (chocolate covered prunes) and gave me a half kilo for Christmas, way too much for me. So I packed three each into small padded envelopes addressed to US friends who also enjoy this Polish sweet. I also boxed the boys’ KinderEggs and mailed the box in a padded envelope. (Using these envelopes means I don’t have to fill out customs form!) It’s our semi-annual challenge to see if the KinderEggs are delivered (they’re illegal in the US). For mailing, I decided to use the post office nearest to Dorota’s, rather than schlepp to the main Poczta in the center of town. I’d passed the PO directional sign many times and decided to follow it. The tiny post office had a helpful clerk and no line. What more could I ask? Dispatched everything and parted with about $30 in postage.

That done, I walked to the taxi rank and caught a cab to Iza’s place. Soon we were off to Nowy Sacz in her snazzy new red car. With an influx of EU money, Poland has upgraded its roadway infrastructure tremendously. We were on four-lane divided freeway from Warsaw to Kraków, and the roadway through the mountains to Nowy Sacz was waaaaay better than when I lived there.

27 December 2019, Pittsburgh PA USA

As you can see, my relaxed (read: lazy) blogging habit hasn’t improved with the new site. I’ve been home, celebrated Christmas Eve at Glenn’s younger daughter’s and Christmas Day at his older daughter’s and basked in the joy of children’s glee as they rip into Christmas presents. These holidays are so much more fun with kids around!

Back to my Poland trip … it’s the weekend of 13-15 December

I’ve known Iza since Peace Corps, but only a few years ago learned that her mother’s family was from Nowy Sacz where I was a PCV. We’d visited back then and she reconnected with some cousins. We spent this weekend with one, Bozena, a widow with adult children. The weekend was perfect in many ways — Bozena was such a gracious hostess and so forgiving of my poor Polish. Since she doesn’t speak English, I spent the weekend using my limited vocabulary, even more limited grammar and paying close attention when Iza and Bozena were talking … and I went to bed exhausted each night. We ate, of course, because this is Poland and guests must be well fed. Bozena made fresh whole trout for obiad before we walked on Saturday. I had forgotten how wonderful trout from the local streams can be.

We had great walking weather, crisp but mostly sunny dry, and we did a lot of walking. On Saturday we walked all the way from the town square to where I used to live to a mall across the river and back to where we’d parked the car — more than two hours in all. Sunday, before driving back to Warsaw, we walked along the river levee for almost an hour. It might be December and it might get dark too early, but I’ll take this kind of weather anytime.

Back in Warsaw, I checked into the MDM, an updated old hotel that I’ve stayed in many times over the years. In the old days I’d find a bunch of mimeographed business cards under my door, as did every other hotel guest.

Short aside for funny story. Jim, board candidate who was my original project manager on the Center project, and I were in Warsaw on business and stayed at the MDM. We agreed that I’d knock on his door when I was ready to go to dinner. But I knocked on the wrong door, and a highly cologned man answered and was completely flummoxed to see almost 50, ordinary me and not his young, svelte hire-a-date. Oops.

Back on track … I walked to a nearby restaurant for dinner, then settled into reorganizing my luggage for the overnight in AMS and trip home. I wasn’t going to schlepp a carryon in DTW. My flight wasn’t until noonish the next day so no need for a wake up call. I had a leisurely breakfast with lots of the MDM’s good coffee, then taxied to the airport.

Uneventful flight to AMS, overnight at Sheraton and flight to DTW. Long layover again. Walked the length of the airport three times but couldn’t manager more. I was too pooped since I hadn’t slept all night. Uneventful flight to PIT and a grinning Glenn was waiting for me and already had my suitcases. Big hugs, many kisses. I was home.

And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, as my late mom used to say. (I think she stole it from an old song.)

I’m back … and here we go again.

That’s me in Greenock, Scotland. Our (Glenn’s and my) hometown was named for this seaport on the Clyde River not far from Glasgow. William Black, a sea captain we were told, emigrated to Elizabeth Township PA and named a small village after what we were told was his hometown. NOT. Glenn did a pretty extensive ancestry search and could find no evidence Mr. Black had lived in Greenock nor that he had been a sea captain. Like so many others in the area, he’d been a coal miner. But he is buried in the original Greenock Cemetery.

My favorite travel partner and photographer Glenn took this … and most of the photos you’ll see in the blog.