For the first time in years I did not visit my father in Poland this winter. I don’t think he especially noted this. Perhaps the days of winter appear indistinguishable for him. It’s dreary in Poland then. Sometimes she comes, other times she does not...
I received in the mail today an invitation to the wedding of my closest Polish friends’ daughter. Not a big deal event, but still, an obviously important date. In three weeks.
The airfares are remarkable now. Possibly the cheapest since the time I traveled to the States in the 70s.
Should I go? For the week-end?
I’m about to embark next year on a supremely strenuous teaching schedule. So perhaps this is the good time to go?
It used to be that travel, like young love, provided a thrill that reverberated down to my gut. Not anymore. I have been kicked hard for my past trips (not the least – financially). So now I’m less adolescent about it and, therefore, less thoughtlessly excited.
It’s a shame. I remember the thrill of clicking “purchase.” Not anymore. Not anymore.
I’ll probably stay home.