A week after I made non-refundable travel arrangements to go to El Paso for my 50th high school reunion, the Delta variant forced its cancellation. I decided to go anyway. The plane flew over the Bronx.
Thom decided to join me for the road trip back to New York.
We stayed in a colorful Airbnb in one of El Paso's oldest neighborhoods, on the foothills of the Franklin Mountains.
Our host perfectly staged the lovely, well-provisioned accommodations. She did not, however, make sure the lock on the front door functioned. Not the most relaxing way to begin your vacation!
She also had a thing for llamas
. . . and guitar-playing pooches.
Think of El Paso at night as an unattractive woman in an evening gown--one designed by Thom--under mood lighting. It NEVER will be the setting for a "Real Housewives" franchise although I probably would have said that about Salt Lake City, too.
While I was taking Thom on the nostalgia tour, a local group of my high school classmates celebrated. I'm almost glad they didn't notify me, after seeing this picture. Am I really THAT old?
But the reunion wasn't my sole reason for visiting the Sun City for the first time since taking Magda a decade ago. I also wanted to pay my respects to my parents, interred at the Fort Bliss National Cemetery, for possibly the last time.
That experience proved to be as emotional as those previous. There's no better place to have a stream-of-conscious conversation about where you are in life, particularly when you're close to the end.
I actually had two conversations, one on each side of the tombstone. I described joys of streaming prestige TV to Mom and bragged to Dad about thrill of driving Delia, Thom's 400 SL Mercedes convertible. Fortunately, he couldn't see our current rental wheels, a white Ford Fiesta with far less horsepower (but considerably more luggage space).
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