Dear Friends and Followers.

On June 29th, after a grueling travel day, Britton and I landed in Kansas City and fell into the embraces of Christine, Renee’ and Britton’s siblings. It is quite possible that this one day was the highlight of Britton’s trip.

We flew First Class aboard Air France, as a Delta Airline partner, from Barcellona to Paris. Although seating was 3 seats on each side of the isle throughout the plane, in the small allocated “First-Class” section the center seats were left empty. We were afforded complimentary beverages, mine of the adult variety, and an excellent light meal. In these days of “enhanced security” it is a wonder that table service in First Class includes real metal utensils, including a knife. I guess that terrorists are relegated to Economy. The flight was unremarkable at just under 2 hours. The best was yet to come.

Our bags had been checked through to Minneapolis. So, except for the lingering uncertainty of another “rouge backpack” incident as was experienced at the start of our trip, we were unencumbered.

Non-European Union citizens were required to submit to passport verification, but otherwise proceeding to our next gate was seamless. With our First-Class tickets (one more time, yeah Christine!!) we qualified for entry into any one of the many exclusive Air France lounges which were located throughout the sprawling expanse of Charles De Gaulle Airport. Unfortunately, our layover was too short to take advantage of that perk.

The plane, this time operated by Delta, was being readied for the cross-Atlantic flight away from the terminals. We traveled by shuttle to the wide body plane’s remote location and boarded up a mobile stairway much as was done in the 1960’s and is still done for some dignitaries. Delta One customers (that was us) turned left upon entry, and the rest of the passengers, including “ordinary” First Class passengers went stage right.

Instead of seats, Delta One provides each passenger with a private “suite”.

There are real noise cancelling headphones, a comforter and pillow, slippers, a hand stitched (ours to keep) travel pouch containing toiletries and other small items to enhance comfort, a large screen (by airplane standards) television, and best of all a seat with power controls that adjust all the way from full upright to a fully extended bed. Our Airbus A330 had a total passenger capacity of 281. We were among the 29 who enjoyed the premium level of Delta One comfort and service. In surveying the other 27 passengers I wondered which might be celebrities, retired sports icons, or captains of industry. There were two that caught my eye, one with the eerily familiar face of a character actor and the other an older Black gentleman who was well over 6’6”.

As far as I was concerned, Michael was the real star of the flight. He was our personal assistant. Michael and his partner exclusively served the needs of the 29 Delta One passengers. He was polished in his manners and attentiveness much as one might expect the valet of royalty. “Another cocktail Sir?”… “Was the lamb prepared to your satisfaction?”… (I really ordered lamb)

Britton was in travel heaven! I remarked that he might not have a repeat of this travel experience for many, many years. “Yeah, like maybe never!” was his reply.

As special as all this was, we were still confined in a long metal tube along with 300+ passengers and crew, speeding across the Atlantic Ocean at over 500 miles per hour and nearly 8 miles over the surface of the Earth. If God had meant humans to fly… oh, never mind. I just wanted to get home to my wife and orthopedic physician, in that order.

The greeting at the airport was hurried but loving and welcome. Renee and her crew were heading to Florida in the morning by car. Within 24 hours Britton was transitioning from travel heaven to its equivalent in purgatory. He would have less than 8 hours of down time in over 48 hours of being “on the road”.  Poor guy!

My doctor’s appointment was accommodatingly scheduled for Monday. It went well. I now have appointments for an MRI, followed immediately by an epidural injection. These are the next steps in a conservative exploration of options. Additionally, I will be seeing my chiropractor and massage therapist this week.

In the next week I hope to put my thoughts and “pen” to work on writing a reflection of this extraordinary experience. I repeat, I am not disappointed with the outcome. Britton has repeatedly voiced his intention to return and finish what he and I started. He intends to include his mother and one or more siblings. They seem just as excited to be a part of his continuing pilgrimage as he is. In a Newtonian sense I have put Britton in motion, and an object in motion will remain in motion until otherwise acted upon. I can only hope that life does not interfere with his spirt of pilgrimage. That is out of my hands.

Love to you all. Peace. Pete

 

Dear Christine and Renee.

Day 1 is in the books. Cold, occasional drizzle, 3 hours and 2,000 feet of elevation gain. I’m so glad we made this a short day… I’m beat!

I will let my pictures and captions speak for themselves.

Departure!
Angry clouds threatened throughout the day. 
Four pilgrims from Japan.
Wonderful countryside! 
Two women pilgrims from Brazil. The struggled mightily but ultimately had to call for transport.
I took over 40 pictures today and it was hell trying to figure out which ones to post. 
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t this point I look much happier than I feel!
We heard bells, but knew there was no church. Look who walked around the corner!
ARRIVED!
The view from the Orisson Refuge.
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Britton checking out his bunk.
Two of our roommates, Abbey from Texas and Erica from Ohio.
Our table at dinner.
The gathering. 37 pilgrims.

We are waiting for dinner and I am looking forward to introducing Britton to the other pilgrims. Our room has 6 beds and seems to have been assigned to English speakers. Lou and her partner Gary from New Zealand, Erica and Abbey are teachers from the States, and us.

The room is COLD. The shower (limited to 5 minutes) is tepid but welcome. Let’s hope the food is hot!

Tomorrow is another climb. My fingers are crossed that the weather favors us.

Love to you both, and thank you for sharing your “late night I can’t sleep thoughts, Renee. They brought me to tears and mean so much to me. Love. Dad

From my daughter Renee to Britton on our 1st Day:

“My late night I can’t sleep thoughts:

Ya know it’s funny how so much changes and yet stays so solidly the same. When dad was just my dad, long before he became anyone’s grandpa, I thought his turtle-like tendencies were insane (let’s be real, I still might). Who the heck wants to carry their house on their back for weeks at a time?!?! But he did, and he drug me kicking and screaming along with him as we descended into the woods. No cell phone, no AirPods, nothing but what we could carry for a couple weeks at a time. And as evidenced by my face in all the pictures – I was not amused. And here we are and life has come full circle. Except now it’s my youngest son lugging his worldly possessions along side his grandpa. And while the idea of carrying an emergency roll of toilet paper and wearing the same socks for three days in a row wasn’t my speed, it seems to be his. Perhaps if my destination had been as exotic, the oatmeal became chocolate croissants, and the tang was a nice glass of wine at the end of the day, I would have felt different. But somehow I doubt it. I guess those turtle like tendencies must skip a generation. Because it seems that if you’re patient enough to wait a few decades, you’ll find your perfect backpack buddy. I’m so dang happy for you both that you can be turtles together. Be safe and walk proudly. Love, Mom”

Dear Christine and Renee.

I expected to enjoy my time on this journey with Britton but I can’t say that I expected him to be such a delightful traveling companion. Kind, thoughtful, and patient. He is beyond his years. I know that we are barely into this trip but I think that I am seeing Britton at his core, the person he is and will be.

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The flight from Kansas City to Atlanta was nondescript but pleasant. The trip from Atlanta to Paris was excellent as we were treated to high class accommodations.

 

There was plenty of room to stretch out, real food, real silverware, and real wine for me, Sprite for Britton. I fear that I may have spoiled him to the point that he will no longer be satisfied flying economy coach.

 

The “fly in the ointment” was discovered when I looked on my Delta App and saw that my bag was happily onboard, traveling with us across the Atlantic. Britton‘s bag took an unscheduled detour. I felt my anxiety rise and expressed my concern to Britton. He merely shrugged his shoulders and said that since there was nothing we could do about it at the moment, why worry. Amazing at only 15! 

Ultimately, I was able to secure enough information and contact the necessary authorities to arrange for a departure of the errant bag on the next flight to Paris, and then to Biarritz. With luck it will arrive before noon today. We will have to travel to the airport to retrieve it, €50 round-trip by taxi. I understand that Delta will pay compensation.

Last night neither Britton nor I felt particularly hungry after the stress of 20 hours of nonstop travel, but we forced ourselves to find a bite and a drink. What we found was a delightful nightlife at street-side restaurants where tapas were the order of the night.

 

 

We enjoyed four different tapas: spicy potatoes, roasted red peppers in sauce, ham and cheese croquettes, and blood sausage with a raw egg yolk.

 

All were new to Britton and he certainly found his appetite! Me too. Mineral water for Britton, an excellent wine for me, and we closed with dessert.

 

There are some very deep pockets in this town, and we overheard an order being placed for €5000 bottle of wine (about $5,500.00)! 

A hot shower and comfortable beds were the welcome finish to what had been an arduous day.

Love to both of you. Peace. Dad

PS. We just got a call from the airport. The bag has arrived! 

Our Hotel.

Written at Biarritz, France, 7 June. 

A few more pictures from Biarritz:

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Dear Christine and Renee.

I am writing this the Sunday before Britton and I depart for our trek across Spain. I have timed it so that you will be reading it sometime while we are flying over the Atlantic. I find my thoughts drawn to each of you, and of course to him. There are others, the loving hands that reach through to give me strength and a nurturing spirit. I am consciously coming to grips with the responsibility of watching over and caring for one of the dearest treasures that life has given you as Mother and Grandmother.

We are not “islands”, disconnected from the line of our ancestors. We are the product of genetics which determines our height, eye color, hair color… and those other things which decide what we look like. To an extent, genetics also determines personality, but here we have some self-determination. I have never learned to overcome my wanderlust, but I have chosen to embrace my emotions. I willingly recognize the “female” side of my humanness.

I feel the touch of my Mother and my Grandmother.

I sense the touch of Christine upon you Renee,

…My touch upon you…

…And your touch upon Britton.

We are not isolated islands, but an endless archipelago, a family chain of individuals linked by the love and caring of preceding generations.

There has been much said about what an extraordinary experience I am providing to Britton. However, in giving a measure I am receiving back a greater measure. (Luke 6:38)

Please understand that each of you, in trusting, have given me and him this gift.
Thank you. Peace, Dad.

PS. June 6, over the Atlantic. Three of us are having a really nice flight. Britton, me, and my bag. Unfortunately, Britton’s bag decided to spend an extra day in Atlanta. Hopefully it will catch up to us tomorrow. 

Britton and his Great Grandfather, William “Bill” Nichols (1918-2020).

Some of you are aware that I periodically assemble and print my posts into large format full color books. These are not for general distribution but are given to our children (and to our parents when they were alive) as a record of our post-retirement lives.

I am currently working on the 8th Volume, A “Speedbump” in Our Retirement Highway, We Pause to Face Mortality. When completed these 8 books will total over 1,500 pages. Whether or not appreciated during our life, I am more assured that they will be cherished when we are gone. Normally the “Foreword” to each volume is not shared publicly. However, I thought it appropriate to share this one:

Foreword to Volume 8

Dear Children, Grandchildren, and someday Great-Grandchildren.

At birth (actually a few months before birth), Fate assigns us a finite number of heartbeats. Rarely do we consider the “finite” in that statement as we blithely live our lives as if there will be no end. But the truth is that the number of heartbeats is ever in decline and will never be more than the beat that is occurring at this second.

About 35 years ago a routine annual physical and blood test revealed that I had a significant genetic condition that would end my life within 5 years. There was no cure.

Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross declared that there are 5 stages of grief and dying: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I was not in denial as I accepted the diagnosis and started notifying family members and co-workers. However, my thoughts and actions were purely from my head and not my heart. The emotional fallout had not yet occurred.

I elected to get a second opinion and found that the University of Utah specialized in testing for the diagnosed condition. They forwarded testing vials and instructions and I arranged for the blood to be drawn through my doctor’s office.

The return of test results took about a month. It was a month that found me and Christine contemplating a more limited life going forward, with me suffering a steady decline in health, activity, ability, and ultimately an early death. There were discussions about life in family Schloss without me. Still, the discussions were largely “academic” and not at a gut emotional level, but they were moving in that direction.

Even with a perceived future that would not see me to age 50, the finiteness of life did not grip my soul. Oh, the results of the special blood test from the University of Utah established that the first test was a false positive. Life was still finite, but I again had license to pretend otherwise. So it goes.

Fast forward to 2023. The year began with the excitement of travel and shared experiences with Christine, family, and friends. The year ended in much the same way. However, between those highpoints there was a very deep and dark valley.

I voluntarily underwent surgery on June 2nd to treat a worsening life-long tremor. An electrode was implanted in my brain, connected to a device in my chest that would counter the erratic nerve impulses issuing from the thalamus on the left side of my brain. By all accounts the surgery went well and I was released from the hospital the following day.

On June 7th I suffered a sudden hemorrhage in the left hemisphere thalamus of my brain. I found myself immediately confronted with the inability to walk and talk as most people do. Unlike my response to the false diagnosis of 35 years past, on June 7th the horizon of my life had suddenly shrunk to “now”. The future was concealed by an impenetrable mist of the unknown. It was terrifying. Sleep often eluded me as I lay in bed feeling the walls and ceiling closing in on me. At times I felt the air being sucked out of the room. These were physical manifestations of the emotional shock I was enduring. Through it all Christine was a master of calm and understanding. She accepted me wholly as I was regardless of whether this was who I would now always be.

Unlike 35 years ago, the emotional impact I suffered in June, 2023 did not allow for any “what if” discussions. We were too consumed with the immediate confrontation of our mortality. “In sickness and in health… until death do us part” were no longer vague insubstantial promises that looked infinitely into the future, they were the definition of our “now”.

As you will see in these posts, there was a silver lining. The surgeon explained that a brain bleed is a rare complication of the surgery, but in her considerable experience it only occurs at or near the time of the operation, never 5 days post-surgery.

There was more. I not only recovered from the brain hemorrhage, but as the result of the brain bleed the activation of the DBS (Deep Brain Stimulation) controller has thus far proven unnecessary. The hemorrhage and its effect on that portion of my brain which is the source of my tremors has significantly reduced the shaking in my dominant hand. Again, this was unique to my neuro-surgeon’s experience. This was the beneficial result hoped for from implant surgery and activation of the DBS controller on June 2nd, just not in the way that anyone could have foreseen.

I now know the difference between confronting mortality with one’s head versus one’s heart. I also know the incalculable value of having a partner at my side who embraces without hesitation the words of our marriage vows. I pray that each of you have such good fortune and love in your life, lives counting down one heartbeat at a time…

Love, Your Dad, Grandpa, and perhaps someday Your Great Grandfather.