Today’s post brought to you by: WordPress tech support
Grateful for: Arm rests on golf carts that stop you falling out
Trying hard to accept: I’m officially retired. No idea what day it is.
It’s 4am and I’m rewriting this post from memory after karma caught up with me and paid me back for something bad I did 14 weeks ago and wiped all my posts.
Luckily I’ll be near The Villages sales office again today so will be able to sink into one of the 100s of plush chairs in one of the many parlours, libraries, dens and phone booths with sofas in them when I need a sleep.
Any of you who have ever worked with me know how much I love a bulleted list.
Prepare yourselves.
The sun seems to have gone the same place as my missing posts.
Almost turned blue on the walk home from the pool this morning. But then again, I do support National so probably my own fault.
Once I’d donned 4 layers, I pretended I was Peter Fonda.
Without hair.
And went zooming around with Orris in his golf cart.
One of the places he showed me was this rec centre.
It’s one of about 12.
Each one’s decorated in a different theme.
This one is Cape Cod nautical, reminiscent of staying at the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port.
Yes, I have stayed there.
They invited me last visit.
Sucker!
Then after a Thai chicken salad bigger than your average rooster, it was all aboard for Ben, Georgia and me.
As we took in a free tour of The Villages.
Designed to push those fence-sitting, would-be buyers over the line.
The tour guide was from Queens, Noo Yok.
Which put a smile on my face.
This is one of 10 tour trolleys.
Custom made in Illinois.
At $180,000 each.
Gulp.
Really interesting tour actually.
Best bit was seeing a polo game in action.
This man is not a member of the Royal Family waving at his subjects.
But a suspiciously young-looking resident watching the game.
Which you can also see if you squint real hard.
Then blow me down if it wasn’t time for Thai Take Two.
I would show you a picture of what I ate but it was tofu covered in peanut sauce.
And you can imagine what that looks like photographed.
Grateful for: Panera Bread for making the most buttery blueberry scones – but not for informing me I just ate 570 calories + butter – and letting me sit here for hours using wifi.
Trying hard to accept: I stood in a gift store in the heart of Trump land and bought a ‘Make America Great Again’ Christmas decoration. In my defence, am a mere trafficker.
While Ben whacked a few balls round a golf course, I spent the day at the main market square.
After 5 hours sleep, 4km walk and 100 lengths of the pool (small print: pool is shorter than my bath) I decided first stop would be a rest at The Villages sales office. (Small print: they have free coffee).
The paved with gold road up to the sales office. Half expected to see Scarlett and Rhett zipping by in golf cart.
It’s the kind of place where doormen anticipate your every move, including offering to take your photo. Mondays must be slow.
There are 46 shops (make NZ prices look cheap) and 4 streets in the market square.
I set a personal best and managed to get lost.
Followed teenage girls guilting their grandmothers into buying them at least one item per store, and tolerant, loving (stupid) husbands following their wives around.
Probably earning their leave pass for golf for next 6 days straight.
After going into every shop and buying nothing except a marked-down paperback in Barnes & Noble, and the aforementioned gift for the only Trump supporter south of the equator, I rested my weary self in Panera Bread.
Snakelike queues saw me talking to a woman in line for ages. Decided I need to get “NZ is as much in Australia as the US is in Canada” t-shirt after she told me how well her granddaughter imitates Bindi Irwin.
Forgive her though ‘cause she stopped by later just to wish me a good trip.
Nice huh? As was the woman next to me on the sunny wraparound verandah who I had a long yarn with. Apparently the Moscow Ballet (Nutcracker of course) is coming to The Villages. Good grief is there nothing this place hasn’t got?
Judging by her reaction when I said I’m going to Baltimore I won’t be stepping out of the Airbnb after dusk.
Hopefully my host there, Yellow Brick Road Dorothy, will let me hang out on her Ikea-cushioned sofa. She’s a classy gal that Dorothy. Exquisite taste.
Trying hard to accept: need to move more than an inch
I don’t often give advice (wipe that look off your face, Penny, Peter, anyone else I’ve ever met).
But take heed, dear readers:
drink water – lots of it
get travel insurance – lots of it
be careful what you jokingly wish for
have a Ben in your life
A couple of days ago I’m walking along and my falling-off-ladder-day-before-I-left-NZ-tailbone injury is screaming for attention. Again.
Ha! I kinda laughed to myself. Maybe I should go see a doctor and check out the notorious US medical system we in NZ shudder in fear about.
Well, all you cynics out there, dreams do indeed come true. To the tune of 9 hours in ER and the small matter of a $6,375 bill to ‘discuss’ with travel insurance co.
More advice, because I feel eminently qualified to give it now. Thirst is not an indication of dehydration.
What’s more, even if the Florida sun is only making cameo appearances, you still need to drink lots. Of water. Free coffee refills are not water.
Strangely, I fainted in the shower 4 times (I think – counting wasn’t exactly a priority) yesterday morning. Strangely because I exercise a lot more/drink a lot less at home and have never had this happen.
Every little while I would collapse onto hard jutting plastic corners of bath tub. Crash, bang. Wake up. Stand up. Fall down, crash, bang. Wake up. Stand up. Repeat.
It was like being tossed around in a tumble dryer full of hard corners.
Managed to wash my hair though. Important to look good. Didn’t quite manage to shave legs.
Somehow managed to get dressed, send SOS to Ben, force some food down and make all-important call to insurance co.
Over the next 9 hours:
spent 2 hours in emergency clinic having IV, ECG, BP and BT (blood tests – just trying to keep with the initials thing)
went into mild panic hearing the words, “we’re worried about her – she needs to go to the ER”
retold my first name, last name, date of birth and account of what happened to 1 front desk guy, 1 registration (euphemism for bill paying division) guy, 5 nurses, 6 technicians, 2 physician’s assistants, anyone who’d listen, and half a doctor.
lost count of how many blood tests they did and how many sticky ECG patches they stuck down my bra
robed and de-robed for CT and X-rays
made X-ray technicians’ day for presenting ribs rather than chest, which rest of The Villages patients need X-raying
got told I have extremely low blood pressure – but knew that
found out I have very long lungs, odd pupils and gallstones (ignoring last one till leave US – for reasons of biscuits and BBQ)
had blood pressure taken so many times – lying, sitting, standing – my arm almost fell off
had long chat to Kurt on reception about his son’s 9 back rods and brain injury post-Iraq
befriended nurse Laura ‘cause she seemed only one able to make things happen
wolfed down few bits of dry turkey sandwich that Laura found me – first food in 8 hours – I fell instantly in love
used half of the hospital’s hot blanket supply after spending 9 hours purple with cold
got 2 mins of the elusive Dr Lopez who (thank you good fortune, karma, higher being, whatever) said all test results ok and put it down to dehydration
got hugs from nurses and technicians as I finally left (them in peace)
thanked my incredible good fortune to have Ben with me to get me places, explain things, make things happen, ask the right questions, demand answers, sort all the follow-up paperwork, and most of all – and this is the big one – give up 9 hours of her life to sit and wait and starve and just be there for me.
Now at home not intending to move more than one inch in either direction if can possibly avoid it. And sculling water.
Even though ribs aren’t cracked they might as well be. Every movement, laugh, cough, rough bit of road in the car is agony. Dr Google (free!!!!!!) assured me it’s bruised bones, which unlike rest of my black and blue body, won’t show as external bruising.
I’ve got 5 more days in Florida before next train trip. Plan to spend most of it vertical to try and speed recovery so can haul backpack.
Gonna be a much different trip from now on than I’d planned but I am just so grateful to be ok and to have such caring and generous people in my life.
One of the best meals of my trip. So hungry I would’ve eaten my foot. Actually, that’s Ben’s foot in the picture. Just as well the food arrived when it did.
Today’s post brought to you by: the makers of Gatorade
Grateful for: power of denial
Trying hard to accept: power of reality
BREAKING NEWS!!! Drinking water till you look and feel like the Michelin Man actually makes dehydration worse. I. Give. Up.
Found this out from the lovely southern belle nurse Ashley when we went back to the clinic to pick up my reports. (Turned to Ben in horror as the receptionist handed me a form on a clipboard, “Sign here and go wait in room 3.” She thought we were there to start the whole nightmare all over again. Was she just bored? Or crazy? Or been told to get profits up?)
The answer to all my life’s problems is … (“Told ya so” is so unattractive, Stephen) … Gatorade! The most sickly sweet, strangely coloured, overpriced drink ever to grace the shelves. Electrolytes are king, apparently.
To get over the trauma of the visit to the trauma centre, we had to find some southern comfort food. Stat.
Every home needs a Cracker Barrel in its back yard. They give you a breakfast menu, a lunch menu and a holiday season menu.
By page 1 of the breakfast menu you’re already doing an impressively complicated mathematical formula in your brain to calculate calories eaten already, calories about to be eaten, exercise done today (none), exercise planned for tomorrow (none), fat percentages, anything carb-free on this menu?, get real, % of recommended daily intake of electrolytes, enough sodium, too much sodium, should really eat some green veg, nah, how many biscuits is too many biscuits? so you can work out what to order. There are still 15 pages to go.
Cracker Barrel: the only restaurant and gift store where you can shoot deer between courses and build your house on Pearson’s Salted Nut Roll piles.
16 hours later. Strongly suspect connected to mysteriously absent willpower at Cracker Barrel.
You know how they say the older you are the less you sleep? Well, from the patio villas of The Villages a vampire has emerged.
Note to brain: I AM ON HOLIDAY. I DO NOT NEED TO WAKE UP AT 5AM ANY MORE.
Or 1am. Or 2am. Or 3am … I’m writing this at 6am after waking up every hour on the dot. What do you call a cross between a vampire and a Swiss watch?
You know those dreams that are very cleverly like movies? There’s a set, a cast (depending on whether you’ve had a good, bad or anxiety-filled day you’re either the hero, villain or victim), a storyline, a beginning, middle and sometimes an end.
You wake up and think, wow, my brain’s so clever, it just created a whole movie. You lie there and go over the whole thing (smiling, frowning or quietly weeping, as appropriate).
You think that given the complexity of the movie it would’ve been at least 3 hours long.
Fool. Instead of the full-length feature film with half an hour of adverts, trailers and opening credits included, I get the made-for-TV version.
One hour maximum. On the dot.
Oh no. … how’s that for timing. Scary email from travel insurance co just popped up: “Dear Ms Wilson, our US agent would like to know …”
As much chance of getting back to sleep now as running a marathon. Actually, in current state of disrepair, as much chance as running to the end of the bed.
Grateful for: ability to walk some of the food off
Trying hard to accept: dog next door is barking all night for a good reason
Special tena koutou katoa to NZ readers. Hey so you know how we scoff at Brits and Americans who go overseas and insist on eating same food they get at home?
Well, right now I’m in their camp. Actually am in Starbucks, Longwood, Florida seeking solace in the familiar – and also ‘cause get instant wifi after taking refuge in their sister store in scary Noo Orlins.
Oh Starbucks my friend. I filtered this picture so you wouldn’t notice my zit-laden sallow skin.
Was feeling a bit overwhelmed/sleep-deprived/lonely/fish out of water here when I first arrived so started writing this post in Starbucks. Till I cleverly somehow created a duplicate site by mistake. So once you read this post you can flick over to my other site and read it all again.
Writing these posts makes me happy. Now I know most of you are in work grind and I’m on a long holiday and I should be happy all the time but some days the ‘foreignness’ of the US, which I’ve mentioned before, overwhelms me a bit.
It’s the 101 little things everyday that I need to learn and adjust to. Like being on an overseas phone number … I WISH THAT DOG WOULD SHUT UP … and the change in climate and crossing my fingers my credit card works every time and getting people to understand my accent and vocabulary and crossing the street without being killed and all sorts of things.
After holding back the tears saying goodbye to Ben am now staying with her Friendship Force contacts, Lynn and Kurth in Longwood.
It’s is about as far away economically, demographically and politically from The Villages as you can get.
Only 1 hour and 4 tolls booths away but might as well be in another world.
Hearing I’d been immersed in Trump land for the last week, Lynn very quickly pointed out that they do not like him. One little bit.
Typical house in my ‘hood. Happened to be walking by school as kids were leaving and seems to be real racial mix here – lot of super cute African American kids with cornrows, and Latinos.
Pond down the end of the street. And guess what? There are footpaths! Everywhere! Hallelujah!
We went to BBQ place for lunch. So many options and combos and tailor-mades to choose from and decisions that had to be made super quickly, I just ordered anything.
In hindsight should have ordered nothing because boy I did not need that food. My stomach looked like the pig outside, my skin has decided enough is enough, I’m probably getting rickets and beri-beri, and I’ve spent the afternoon trying and failing to walk up an appetite for dinner.
So that’s it. No more fat, carb-laden, salt-laden, fried, flat grilled, microwaved, instant, reheated or leftover food.
After lunch Lynn and Kurth took me for a stroll in the local wetlands kind of forest area. Swamps and wild pigs and lots of ferns.
Then I walked 3 blocks to the local shops. You won’t find any Make America Great Again bumper stickers or Christmas ornaments in these parts.
From where I was standing in one spot I could see: Save a Lot, Family Dollar, Buy A Lot!, Buy A Lot More!, tattoo place, thrift store, African braiding place, McDonald’s, Starbucks, Latino grocery and deli, 2 pawn shops and a bait shop.
First stop, thrift store. If I could’ve I would’ve brought home half the shop, particularly as landlord was evicting them and everything was ‘make an offer’.
Asked woman on counter what she was eating because it smelt mighty fine. Turns out she’s from Barbados and it was a casserole of grits, mackerel (yes you read that right) and okra.
Yip sounds friggin’ awful but bet it was friggin’ good. She gave me name of Caribbean joints I should eat at so will try to find one.
I was like a pig in muck (ie any pig not in these dangerous BBQ-obsessed parts) in Save A Lot.
I’ve wanted to eat this every time I’ve opened ‘Good Housekeeping’ or ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ magazines. A true American classic.
Lynn and Kurth have just gotten home from Japan. Check out the beautifully wrapped wasabi peanuts. One of their hosts gave Lynn the most delicate pink silk kimono. “It’s a spare, I just had it hanging in the cupboard”. Cripes, if you came to my house and got given something that was just hanging in the cupboard you’d end up with a $2 Trade Me dress with holes in the seams that I can’t be bothered fixing.
After dinner “Hello salmon my old friend, I’ve come to eat with you again …” they asked me to choose a video we could all watch from their collection of overseas trips. Japan is still in production so Norway it was.
If you live in NZ you don’t need to cash in your KiwiSaver to go to Norway. Just sell your kids and go to Fjordland instead.
Honestly, it’s exactly the same. Green forever, narrow hilly roads … WHERE IS THAT RUGER I HAD THE OTHER NIGHT? … sheep, cows, woofers, wooden houses, high taxes, water water everywhere and youthful, charming locals.
