Category: Soapbox

Manchester England!

Posted on by Pete Schloss

Written March 23, 2023, at Manchester, England.

No lengthy overseas flight is “fun“. About the best one can hope to say is that the flight was uneventful. On that count, ours qualified as “pleasantly uneventful”. Actually, that is a bit unfair. While our ticketing was through Delta Airlines, the actual carrier from Atlanta to Manchester was Virgin Atlantic. Given the option we would definitely choose Virgin Atlantic in the future. The meals were excellent (for airplane food), the staff was very friendly, and the plane was well-maintained.

At 8:30 yesterday morning our neighbor, Mary Murphy, graciously drove us to the new Kansas City International Airport. This was our first experience in the new facility. It was bright, pleasant, and most of all, efficient. Passing through security was a breeze and we found a plethora of dining establishments, most of them local purveyors.

We walked the length and breadth of the entire facility. It is a real step up for Kansas City. Kansas City was once the corporate home of TWA, one of the world’s largest air carriers. In those days KCI was a major international point of departure. Sadly, with the demise of TWA those glory days are over. Perhaps this new facility will see them restored.

With a tailwind of nearly 150 miles an hour our flight to Atlanta took less than an hour and 20 minutes. Ground speed exceeded 650 miles an hour. We were literally flirting with the speed of sound.

Christine and I spent a pleasant few hours in the Atlanta Delta Sky Club lounge as we awaited our evening departure for Manchester England. If you ever get the chance to spend time there, we invite you to look up Francine, a most delightful hostess of “a certain age”. We could’ve easily spent hours exchanging jokes and pleasant barbs with her.

The seven hour flight actually chewed 12 hours off the clock because of the 5 time zones that we crossed. We landed in Manchester England to 50 degrees Fahrenheit, overcast skies, and intermittent showers. We better get used to it because that seems to be the predicted weather for many of the days to come.

A 20 minute train ride into the heart of Manchester saw us off at the Oxford Street Station. This was fortunate as it is from this station that we will depart in two days northwest for Carlisle England. I had previously made reservations for four separate train connections, Manchester to Carlisle, Newcastle to Liverpool, Liverpool to Middlewich, and Middlewich back to Manchester. It was necessary for us to pick up the physical tickets at the Oxford Street Station.

It should have been a relatively easy task but we were travel weary and one station agent proved less than helpful, printing one set of tickets and directing us to figure out how to use a machine to print the remaining ones (no one else was waiting for assistance). An angel of mercy in the form of Susan, a different ticket agent, correctly interpreted our half panicked and fully confused stares as we turned from the counter. She called us over and took the entire task onto her shoulders. Moreover, we spent a delightful 10 minutes visiting as if we were all long lost friends. We have exchanged email addresses and private messages so, barely minutes in the city, we made a new long-term friend in this dear country. Thank you so much Susan, you made our day!

Susan, our “Angel of Mercy”

Our accommodations are in the ultramodern City Suites, located in the heart of the old city.

Our room is more like a studio apartment. It features a wash machine/dryer, dishwasher, and full efficiency kitchen.

There is also a delightful restaurant and indoor pool.

Official check in time was 4 PM but we had arrived at the front desk well before noon. The hotel staff worked to accelerate the readiness of our room for an early check-in. In the meantime we found a cafe around the corner where barista Liz (on the left), later joined by Mila, provided us with hot beverages and a warm/dry place to put up our feet.

After a catch-up nap to stave off the effects of jet lag, we wander the immediate area visiting the 500 year old cathedral (sadly, the stained glass windows fell victim to the Luftwaffe bombings of the Second World War), and an equally ancient pub where we enjoyed “pints”.

In the early evening we found a different pub, The Black Friar, where Christine enjoyed an excellent pork chop dinner and I one of my all-time favorite dishes, a proper English beef and vegetable “pie“.

We have a full day tomorrow to take in more of the central city and then on Saturday we depart by train for Carlisle to begin our trek along Hadrian’s Wall.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. I’ve said it before, but it is worth repeating: Travel exposes one to new sights and experiences. However, it is in the people that we meet that the real and enduring rewards are to be found.

Uncommon Companions

Posted on by Pete Schloss

November 22, 2022. In the South Atlantic, 6.15° S, 32.50° W.

Although Viking Jupiter can accommodate 930 passengers, we are slightly under capacity with about 890. There are a number of ship sponsored small groups, such as the Mah Jong group, Bridge Players, The Friends of Bill W, and the Solo Travelers group.

Christine saw the Solo Travelers one evening and it appeared that they numbed fewer than 20. Except for them virtually all of the other passengers are traveling as companions, and the vast majority of them “romantic”.

We are in continuous close proximity with all the passengers which has provided me with the opportunity to “couples watch”.

They come in all flavors. We find that demographically Christine and I are at the younger side of average, perhaps the longer side of years together, well placed for our experience as travelers, and probably at the more extreme end for “adventures” shared.

Most passengers are from the United States, but Canada is very well represented. It should come as no surprise that given the age of most onboard, Florida as a state of current residence is well represented.

This brings me to some other characteristics of the affection-bonded companions. There are a few interracial couples and quite a few same sex couples. If the demographics were younger I imagine the interracial proportion would be higher. Looking back 20 or 30 years ago I believe that the percentage of obvious same sex couples would have been much smaller as so many back then would have still been “closeted”. I am thankful for the enlightened social evolution that favors a broader acceptance of colorblind and gender-blind love. I hope that it continues to evolve in favor of broad acceptance.

Years ago my dear mother, may she rest in peace, might have scowled in disapproval at couples from both of these groups. As she entered her later years she became more tolerant. There is one group that may have yet received her unspoken ire.

Early in the cruise I observed a couple, clearly dear to each other, but separated by generation. Father and daughter?… niece?… No, husband and wife. Within my thoughts I could feel the specter of my mother’s disapproval. I turned my focus onto my own thoughts and feelings, asking myself “Why?”, not about them, but about myself.

Mindfulness is a wonderful skill to acquire. So many of us never stop to become aware of their thoughts and ask that question of themselves, “Why?”. In examining my thoughts and seeking an answer to the question I concluded that I and perhaps society still have work to do.

When Christine and I married we presumed that we had decades ahead of us together.

Fortunately, that has been the case. Life is a lottery and comes with no guarantees. Most couples bond with the hope of sharing life and love. Sometimes it works out, and sometimes it does not. The ages of the lovers is not the most relevant factor of success.

Back to my mother: I am confident in my assessment of her righteous indignation. Yet she and I lived in the shadow of “uncommon companions” who were very dear to us.

My mother was a first generation American, born to Lebanese immigrants. Her parents’ marriage was arranged by the families. Grandfather fought as an American “Doughboy” in the First World War, returning to Lebanon after the war to meet and marry my grandmother.

Grandfather’s Passport photograph
Grandmother’s passport photograph

That marriage occurred around 1920 or 1921. Their first of 6 children was born in 1923.

My grandparents prospered and became icons in their West Virginia community. They were leaders in commerce and as parishioners in their Catholic Church. All of their children were college educated, my mother receiving her Master’s Degree from the University of Wisconsin where she met my father shortly after the Second World War.

My parents, 1949.

I can scarcely imagine a more successful and loving marriage than the one shared by my grandparents.

Their life together ended with grandfather’s death in 1958. Grandmother continued on as the family matriarch until her passing in 1979.

By the way, my grandfather, Joseph Francis, was born in 1884. My grandmother, Labibi Raad Francis, was born in 1905. I will leave it to you to do the math.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. The above photo, taken around 1957, features my grandparents who are the couple on the right. The little boy on the far right would eventually grow up to be the author of these “Thoughts”.

Uncommon Courtesy

Posted on by Pete Schloss

November 14, 2022. At sea off the coast of northwest Africa.

Before I delve into the titled topic here is a brief cruise report:

We spent yesterday in the port of Malaga, Spain.

Christine and I participated in a 3 hour walking tour which sounds more strenuous than it really was.

An excavated Roman Amphitheater

Being a member of a tour group is not my preferred way to explore a destination. However, practicality sometimes takes priority over preference… so, when on a cruise one must often do what the other cruisers do.

The upsides were the pleasant weather and beauty of the compact central city.

The downsides were that it was Sunday with most shops closed. Perhaps that also qualifies as an “upside”! The huge cathedral was open, but only for Mass and prayer.

I entered ostensibly for that purpose, so there are no pictures. I dearly wish that I could have taken one of the priest hearing confessions. Between penitents he was either net-surfing on his mobile phone, or doing video chat absolutions. It reminded me of seeing a priest, one of at least a dozen concelebrating Mass in Santiago, who periodically reached up the sleeve of his robe to surreptitiously pull out his phone to snap a shot or two of the remarkable experience unfolding before him.

Malaga is the birthplace of Pablo Picasso. He spent his youth living on the perimeter of this square.

The city takes pains to highlight the association, however the artist left Spain due to the horrors of its civil war and vowed never to return until democracy was restored. That restoration began in 1975 with the death of the dictator, Francisco Franco. Picasso died two years earlier, never having returned to his homeland.

Another limitation on our visit was that it coincided with the running of a marathon that featured thousands of runners.

Our cruise itinerary had included crossing the Mediterranean last night and spending today in Casablanca, Morocco. Unfortunately that has been canceled.

Part of Viking’s proactive COVID protocol is the requirement that all passengers and crew be fully vaccinated and boosted, also submitting to daily PCR testing. Crew wear masks at all times, but masks are optional for passengers. A positive test results in a mandatory 5 day period of in-room quarantine.

The captain reported that there have been a few (less than 10) positive cases, but even that small number meant that Morocco would not grant the ship permission for passengers to disembark. Therefore, we are rerouting. Today is at-sea, and tomorrow we will spend the day in Madeira on the Portuguese island of Funchal.

In a future post I will present a pictorial tour of the ship. Currently the wifi is not able to upload all of the pictures that I have taken shipboard. What the pictures cannot express is the remarkable service and pleasant disposition of the crew.

Although we are all familiar with the term “common courtesy” I have found that courtesy in daily life can often be in short supply. Aboard this ship and during our prior sailings with Viking we found we were surrounded by service delivered with “uncommon courtesy”. That is not to say that it was rare or infrequent, but that it is so exceptional as to be “uncommon”.

I have approached a number of crew and after thanking them for their cheerful attention to our comforts asked them about this. One remarked it comes from gratitude for this employment opportunity. Another commented that the employment interview process focused significantly upon personality. Yet another said that the attitude is infectious (no pun intended) among staff. A senior staff person with over 15 years in the industry pointed out that one quickly figures out if this type of work is a good fit. At the end of one’s contract that person either continues in the industry or not.

In any case we are experiencing a level of service seldom seen by us onshore. Perhaps another factor is the smaller ship size and the circumstances which result in frequent interactions with the same crew members… which allows for the development of a kind of relationship.

There is unfortunately an “uncommon discourtesy” which we have observed. Most passengers reflect positively the service that they receive. A very few do not. Is it from a sense of privilege, narcissism, lack of gratitude/charity or just having a bad day? I don’t know. What I do know is that having witnessed discourtesy it gives me pause to be mindful in my appreciation for the good people who staff this ship. It is an appreciation which we would all do well to exercise in our daily onshore lives.

Peace Everyone. Pete

The Decision

Posted on by Pete Schloss

October 28, 2022. At Burgos, Spain.

Dear Christine. A few days ago I told you I had decided. You ask how I came to the choice, and why while I was walking across Portugal and Spain. Your question took me by surprise, and I’m not satisfied with the quick answer that I gave. The question has occupied my thoughts these last few days because we both deserve a thoughtful reply.

“It” has haunted and stalked me since grade school. Until playmates begin pointing it out, I gave it no mind, I was being like my mother. My dad said we both just worried too much.

In high school I was too young to legally drink alcohol, but that didn’t stop me. Friends found it curious that after a beer or two “it” temporarily disappeared. I since learned that this is a common trait.

Aptitude tests in college and my own interests pointed me in the direction of a career in medicine, but that was certainly out of the question. Instead, I became a lawyer.

I was always able to adapt. Two hands to put a key in a lock, tall beverage glasses half full or lids on coffee cups, instead of hammers and nails it was cordless drills and screws. A really good legal assistant and voice-to-text typing proved invaluable.

“It” didn’t stop me from bicycling across the United States when I was 58 or hiking with you across Spain when I was 61 and then across Portugal when I was 66. It didn’t stop me from sailing, traveling, or pursuing the things that have enriched our lives with our children and grandchildren.

This last month has been different. I am again hiking Portugal and Spain, but this time without you. “It” has become progressively worse the last few years, but the assistance that you have given me each day we are together has quietly taken up the slack in a way that I had not fully appreciated.

In your absence I see my limitations every time I look at a menu. Where I sit in a restaurant matters, as does the question of table service versus self-service. Completing information forms at the airport or hotel necessitates humility on my part and assistance from others. While I am beyond being embarrassed, I am not beyond confronting reality and the future.

I hinted at this in my earlier essay, “Alone and Invisible“:

“…I also read from the script of the possible future. We have shared over 48 years together, 45 of them as husband and wife. It is exceedingly rare that spouses draw their last breaths together. More common is the outcome visioned in the vows which begin the journey of marriage, “…until death do us part.” It was thus with my mother living alone for 11 years after dad died, and the same for your dad living 9 years without your mother. It is likely that one of us will have to embrace “alone” as a way of life.”

My mantra has always been, “Don’t put off until tomorrow the things you may then find you are unable to do.“ At 70 years old I am mindful that circumstances could arise at any time to deprive me of this decision.

So, assuming the neurologists and neurosurgeons still agree, I have decided to undergo bilateral Deep Brain Stimulation surgery (“DBS”) to treat my Essential Tremors. I have chosen this over the newer Focused Ultrasound therapy (“FUS”) because it is reversible and can be done bilaterally. While both treatments report over 90% rates of patient satisfaction and safety, DBS has a proven track record of long-term efficacy. I have weighed these factors against the usual risks of surgery and my understandable aversion to having holes drilled in my skull and implants placed in the center of my brain.

All that having been said, you are still a part of this decision and I invite your thoughts when we rejoin each other next week in Barcelona.

Love, Peter.

PS. Those of you other than my wife may wonder why I am being so public about this. It is because this condition has been “public” my entire life. It is not something I have ever been able to hide. ET is the most prevalent of neurological motion disorders in the world. ET directly impacts the lives of nearly 1 out of every 50 people. It also impacts the lives of loved ones like my wife. Fortunately, for most it is merely annoying. Unfortunately, for many like me it becomes progressive in later years and significantly effects the quality of life.

If you would like to learn more about Essential Tremors this link will provide a good start to your inquiry: National Institute of Neurological Disorders

Panic Before Dawn

Posted on by Pete Schloss

October 12, 2022. At Vigo, Spain.

Dear Christine. I had a wonderful time at dinner last night with Tom and Bambi, from Georgia. It’s remarkable how alike many of our professional and life circumstances are.

In 2018 we were fortunate to have met our Canadian “doppelgängers“ Tom and Nanci. History repeats, but alas you are not here. I am confident we will get together back in the States. The motivation is strong and they have heard so much about you for me it is as if they already know you.

My walk back to the Pension last night was spectacular. I did not have my camera, but then I did have my iPhone.

Early yesterday as I was reviewing today’s route it appeared that I was up against a very long day of well over 25 km. On top of that there were a number of significant climbs and route complications. I decided to catch an early morning bus and eliminate the first 7 km. This would also leapfrog me out of the urban area and into some very pleasant forest trails.

First light does not occur here until 8:30 AM. The bus departure was 8 AM and because there is some kind of a holiday there was a reduced timetable. The next bus would not be until 10 AM, too late for me.

I arrived at the bus stop 15 minutes early. The bus was already there, engine running, but the bus driver did not open the door until 10 minutes before departure. As I began to step onto the bus he halted me and pointed to his masked face. No mask, no ride, no exception! Nobody told me! I was in a panic. The driver spoke no English but was touched by my predicament. He searched through his own belongings to see if he had an extra mask. No mask.

The clock was ticking and I ran across the street to a café that had just opened. I pantomimed my need to the proprietor and the only two customers who were enjoying their coffee. No masks.

I returned to the bus stop and laying my day pack down in the dark I began frantically searched through its contents by feel. No mask.

Crestfallen, I began to turn toward the bus to indicate my defeat. However, my eye caught a dark shape just a few feet from me, nearly camouflaged and invisible against the dark bench. IT WAS A MASK!!

With less than a minute to spare I was on the bus and we were wheels-rolling out of town.

Camino magic? Camino moment? Miracle?… Or just somebody forgot their mask. In any case, in my moment of need my eye set up on it. It really doesn’t matter what I call it. The outcome was the same. The incident set into motion a cascade of thoughts that lasted the duration of my 21 km hike. I wish you had been at my side so that I could have processed my musings with you in real time. Writing them to you in this letter is the next best thing.

As I have said many times: Every miracle comes in two parts, that it occurred, and more important that it was noticed. It also occurs to me that our common understanding of what constitutes a “miracle“ blinds us to the “little miracles” of daily life. The magnitude of those events portrayed from church pulpits is beyond most human experience. What if the conspiracy of time and retelling has taken otherwise noteworthy events and embellished them into the fantastic? Like the size of an angler’s catch grows with each retelling.

Take for example the biblical miracle of the loaves and fishes. In Christ’s time hospitality required the host to provide food and drink for his guests. A multitude had assembled to hear Jesus speak. In essence, he was the host and they were the guests. Imagine the panic of the disciples… How could they possibly honor their duty to such a crowd?

I was taught in parochial school that Jesus found a boy carrying a basket with loaves and fish. Jesus blessed the food, broke the bread and then in distributing them the amount of food miraculously expanded to fill everyone’s need with 12 baskets of leftovers remaining. A miracle! But what if there is an alternate explanation:

Jesus was often referred to as “Teacher“. In fact, that is exactly what he was doing that day on the Mount, teaching. What if in securing those loaves and fish he intentionally and publicly shared the food with those around him, teaching by example.

In that era people rarely left home without taking some food and drink with them. By his example Christ inspired the crowd to share and care for one another. Isn’t that a miracle? What’s more, it is something that Jesus could teach that is within our human capacity to repeat. Amen.

The hike today was long but very pleasant. Most of it was through a huge forest, climbing up and through the mountains overlooking the sea. It was certainly much more pleasant than slogging through the urban areas below.

I did take one wrong turn which ended up adding a few kilometers to my hike. Thank goodness for the early morning bus ride!

This church dates to the 13th century!

I arrived in Vigo in the early afternoon. It is urban, and that says it all.

I am meeting Ken and Bambi again for dinner this evening and looking forward to sharing our tales from this day.

Thank you for being my wife… and at times my muse. Love, Peter

PS. During my hike I passed by an attractive rural home and yard. An older woman was creating a mosaic on the wall next to her garden. It was quite extraordinary. I wish I could’ve stopped to talk with her but I was afraid I would merely scare her and distract her from her art.