Georgia on My Mind
Travel is becoming an issue as I age (gracefully, I hope). I can no longer sleep on a sofa bed or blow-up mattress in someone’s guest room because of lower back pain. I need at least nine hours of uninterrupted sleep to be alert and mobile the following day, and I’ve become picky when it comes to cleanliness. Hair in the sink and dust bunnies in the corners are no-nos. My tummy also prefers my cooking, and it lets me know when the food is too greasy or too rich. So, imagine my hesitancy when my friend Pam’s husband offered a trip anywhere Pam and I wanted to go. “You girls work harder than anyone I know,” he said. “You deserve a vacation.”
We deserve a week alone in our respective homes eating cereal for dinner and watching Netflix from our beds with just our animals to keep us company, I thought, but it was a wonderful gesture, and I enjoy Pam’s company. There was, however, the knowledge from years of traveling with friends and family that a trip could strain our friendship. My sister Kelli and I travel great together and love road trips. Then there was the trip from hell years ago with a friend who slept all day and drank herself stupid every night. Most vacations have landed somewhere in between, but I admittedly am no longer the affable Labrador who can sleep anywhere, instead, I am the finicky Siamese who purrs only when her environment is just so. Pam and I are the same age, so I expected she would have travel concerns and expectations of her own.
We had planned to go somewhere tropical until the dermatologist reminded me that it would be a waste of money. “You can never expose your skin to the sun again,” she said. “Sandy beaches and sunshine are out of the question.”
Pam had some health concerns as well and thought it best we stay in the United States in case either of us required medical care. We both love the South and chose a five-day getaway to Georgia in May. We booked airfare, a Victorian Inn, and dinner reservations at celebrated restaurants. And when I say we, I mean Pam. After I purchased my ticket and the inn was booked, we learned Ron’s hip revision surgery was scheduled three days before my trip. For insane reasons I can no longer fathom, I thought I could get everything in order at home so that Ron’s brother Kiko could be here at the house to take care of Ron and the animals while I was gone. I was too frantic to think about a vacation as I cleaned the house, grocery-shopped, and cooked meals I could freeze. There were appointments to reschedule, bills to pay, and lists to write for Kiko. The closer it got to the surgery date, the more manic I became.
In pre-op, on the morning of surgery, Ron’s doctor came in. “Stop! Don’t do the spinal yet. I need to check on something,” he said, before fleeing the room.
When he returned, we learned his team couldn’t locate the surgical tray. “It’s here somewhere in the hospital,” he said. “But we can’t find it. I can’t believe this is happening.”
I could. Maybe there was a chance to reschedule the surgery, which we did. All that worry and guilt disappeared with a new surgery date and three days to plan before the trip. “This is divine intervention,” I told Ron on our way home.
I met Pam in Dallas where a nice guy traded seats so Pam and I could sit together. It was the first kind gesture that made what Pam and I now call our magical adventure.
If this were a travel log, you would learn of all the places we visited and the best restaurant for shrimp and grits, but instead, this is a tale of two friends who had time away from their busy lives to simply relax in each other’s company. We ate well, slept like the dead, and laughed our fannies off. We learned that we both love to listen to the stories people share when they have an interested audience and that we are pretty good at sharing tall tales ourselves. We both like to shop, but just a little bit. We enjoy afternoon naps, dressing up for dinner, and fine dining after the sun sets. We get fidgety simply sitting around doing nothing or waiting on anything.
We hated the ancient, sticky floor in our room and loved everyone who made us feel like family at the inn including the other guests. We were concerned for a woman staying at the inn whose appendix ruptured and hailed her friend a hero for taking care of her. We giggled when people asked if were sisters, or simply assumed so, and we were confused when a man from Washington State asked us if we were the twins from that reality show Naked and Afraid. When we looked up the sisters, we were flattered he thought such a thing. After five days together, I believe that Pam and I could carve out a memorable experience even if we were stuck at an airport hotel in Detroit during a blizzard, and I think she would agree.
All my finickiness disappeared while we walked and ate our way through city streets. Neither of us felt like women of a certain age, rather more like the girls we once were who craved adventure. Thanks to Pam and our shared love of people, places, and each other, I am filing this memorable trip under friendship instead of vacation.
