• James Eric Fristad

And then

I think it was April 3 or thereabouts, when we actually slept at home for the first time in two weeks, after our planned adventure began to dissolve in that Miami hotel... and then became dust as the following days unfolded aboard Oceania's Riviera. Discouraged feelings didn't morph into actual depression. It seemed those emotions tried to go south, but there was simply too much to be done, coping with REAL problems. Like...



...Sjogren's Syndrome. A new term and concept for us, surprising to learn it is a genuine fuse that may ignite one's metabolic equanimity. Ka-powie! Aggravates/multiplies any inflammation, especially of joints. Etcetera.


So now we wait for doctors here to become available for further consultations and recommendations. A practical note: until office visits can actually happen, to explain all this misery to the Adjuster, our travel insurance claim justs sits here....


But another plan is perking away, of course, what I am calling "Version S." Much shorter, it shows me going from Rome (4 days) to Orvieto (4) to Levanto (7) to Avignon/Arles (7) to Barcelona (2) and then... onto a 14 day cruise to Ft Lauderdale by way of a few Iberian port stops. Michele, according to this scheme, will join me for those last two land days, to visit the La Sagrada Familia edifice and soak up some Barcelona magic. Then two weeks together, as I say, aboard Oosterdam crossing the Atlantic. Ocean. And if her therapy goes as we desperately hope, maybe we can be together in Avignon. An historic trove as well as an artsy haven for creatives. And, I guess, for lovers of good but not very expensive wine. Here on the third floor of what used to be a 15th century convent, is my apartment for that week.

Herman Melville wrote an unremarkable novel, in the 19th century, whose final sentence nonetheless does fit here: "Something more may come of this."




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