I'm Back:Part 2

To start where I stopped:

• June: Preparations for Isabel's departure are done for the most part; now comes the emotional part. Classes are winding down at her high school as well, and I decide to give her a bon voyage party. I plan an excursion downtown, with swimming at our condo and a movie at my friend's condo movie room. About ten teenagers, my husband, and I take the train, then water taxi to River North. A few minutes after the boys start splashing in the pool (the girls are taking forever to get ready), an employee from the condo association tells me that we have exceeded the limit for guests, and that she has received a complaint. I explain that I had called earlier and was not informed about that; she replies that it's in the condo rules. I answer in turn that the condo unit is not my primary residence and that I didn't have a copy back in Palatine; she says it's on the website; I say I looked at the website and it wasn't there. I concede and wait for my husband to come down to the pool to help me herd everybody (my fob doesn't work, so I can't go in and out of the pool area.) A second employee, more irate, storms to where we are and brandishes the condo rules in my face. I tell her that we have already been informed and that I am waiting for my husband with a good fob. She continues her tirade. In the meantime, the girls have arrived and are setting up their sunbathing areas. The employee tells us they can't stay there either. I feel like asking her where it says that there is a limit to the number of sunbathers, but my husband shows up and we all leave. This episode aside, my daughter and her friends have a fabulous time, strolling in Millenium Park, lying on the grass, people-watching. Chicago is a beautiful city, offering more enticing treasures than an indoor swimming pool with cranky supervisors.
• About the same time: My daughter receives her current HS schedule in the mail, and it looks excellent. Too bad she won't use it. There is one administrative chore I need to attend to: formally withdraw her from Fremd HS. I go to the office where I was advised to go, during their office hours, and it is closed. I do not withdraw her, and I keep putting it off for the next few weeks.
• After the bon voyage party: My husband, daughter and I attend a mass and reception with Cardinal Francis George. I ask for the Cardinal's blessing for my daughter's trip, and he obliges, telling us to look up an old friend while we're in the Philippines.
• First week of July (we're scheduled to leave July 15): My husband comes home after picking up my daughter and tells me that she has voiced some apprehension about her trip. "How serious?" I ask. "'One never knows with her," he answers. That answer is not good enough for me but when asked, she remains vague. I ask direct questions, "Is it a boy? Is it because you're afraid of the rigor of academics there?" She answers no to all of my questions but does not offer much in the way of explanation.
  
• Next few days: I start reading the fine print of our e-tickets. I debate whether or not to call my travel agent then, hoping that things will still change. They don't. My daughter now comes up with more concrete reasons, but she doesn't sound convinced herself. I ask for percentages; she says a little over 50%. I tell her that is not good enough for something that will cause a lot of money, anxiety, effort. She shrugs her shoulders. My husband says, "That's what you get for leaving the decision to a fifteen year old."
• To conclude quickly: She decides not to continue with her plans a week before we are scheduled to leave. I quickly jump into action, canceling our present travel schedule, waiting to see if maybe we can still make a summer trip there (my mother started crying when she found out; her room is ready), making a new reservation for my daughter to join us when we go to the Philippines for Christmas (and changing my husband's reservation to coincide with hers). I tell my friends who ask, and they have mixed reactions: "But it was such a brave and interesting plan!" "I didn't know how you would survive the separation," "It was not meant to be." Good thing I had not formally withdrawn her from Fremd or her great schedule would have dissolved.
  

The result of all this was that we were left bereft the entire summer. We had made no other travel plans, my daughter had not signed up for summer school or any other classes. I didn't really mind though. My headaches went away. We spent time with my son who was home from college (even though our interaction consisted mainly of us visiting his room and talking to him as he lay prone on his bed, half-asleep.) We even had a family trip to Quebec City. I sent my novel manuscript to agents, and one in NYC has agreed to read the entire thing. I started a new novel: never mind that the beginning was amorphous, the point of view kept changing, the topic itself still daunted me. But I now had time for all this pre-writing confusion and felt at peace sorting it out, knowing that my daughter was safe, ensconced on the couch in front of the TV a stairway away.

Which brings me to the Camino. Bunny and company embarked on theirs last week, and after posting gorgeous pictures of the scenery and food, I asked myself, "Why not? It is still the year I turned 50." I knew I would not be able to walk the distance, but maybe showing up is in itself a virtue? Especially for a someone who has not travelled alone for a long time and is suffering from leg and shoulder injuries--long story--and gets sick on the plane? So I research airfares to Santiago de Compostela and am surprised to find them very reasonable. I start looking at hotels, which proved to be more arduous than selecting airfare, and my long-time friend from London decides to join us.

I leave for Spain on the 22nd of September. I will spend four days there with friends, some of whom I have not seen in ten years. I will read, write, think. I go with very few expectations, practical or spiritual, leaving a space for others to fill. At fifty years old, I think I am entitled to such whimsy.

Thanks for reading.
Almira