Home Sweet Home — Until the Next Trip

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If I ever say I’m going on back-to-back trips again…STOP ME!

I woke up about 6:45 yesterday (as it turns out — I wasn’t sure what day it was), it was dark (as it is wont to be this time of year where I live), and I didn’t know if it was AM or PM. I briefly thought about changing a clock or two to military time.

In terms of diabetes control, the first trip was better than the second. The first trip was to South Carolina to see my father. I was accompanied by my sweet baboo, most favored granddaughter, and her boyfriend. In addition, friends from Virginia popped down for a couple of days while we were there. The second trip was to Chicago, accompanied by my granddaughter and her best friend.

The primary difference in diabetes control was, I believe, food. Because the South Carolina trip was right after Christmas and our friends had leftovers, they brought some homemade food down and I made some things, including the stuffed grapevine leaves they requested (no Christmas at my house). We also packed mostly healthful food to eat along the way. Chicago was purely eating out, and eating out at some places that were fun and that Best Friend hadn’t experienced. We didn’t take any food to Chicago. It’s not far from here and we took the train, which has food on it.

I say the difference in diabetes control was primarily food, because I was relatively sedentary, but ate home-cooked food in South Carolina, but I was fairly active in Chicago while eating…oh, whatever.

We originally had planned to head for South Carolina on December 26 but, with a blizzard coming our way in Indiana, we high-tailed it out of here the afternoon of the 25th. We may not observe Christmas, but Granddaughter’s boyfriend does and we had to give him some family time that day. His mother totally rearranged their Christmas schedule to have lasagna for lunch instead of a big dinner later on. “I’ll shove some food down their pie holes and kick ’em out the door,” she told me.

And so, Boyfriend has now met many members of my family and Granddaughter will travel to Ohio with them in a couple of months to meet more of his family. (Yes, this is getting serious.)

As we did last year, we got a suite and had Dad stay with us. Unlike last year, he didn’t remember me, didn’t know where he was, and didn’t want to be there, except for the last morning when we told him he was going back to his place. Nope. Wasn’t gonna go. He had to stay there and keep an eye on that “bad man” (my husband), who was “stealing everything in the place” (packing).

He had conversations with somebody — or something — all night. Every night. Despite being kept awake a lot, it was amusing at times. Dad was in the US Navy in World War II. You’ve heard about the “salty” language of sailors? He picked it up very well and much of his language this trip consisted of “colorful metaphors,” as Mr. Spock called four-letter-word-laden language in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.

One night Dad was telling whom (or what) ever he was talking to about how he was a preacher. “I am a preacher,” he would say. “I AM a preacher.”

“Makes sense to me,” I said later, tongue-in-cheek. “He DOES mention God a lot.”

(As an aside here, my Virginia friend mentioned she’d never heard me cuss. Now, we’ve known each other since fifth grade — a LONG time ago! I believe she probably has. At any rate, I told her she’d just never been around when my scooter played “bobsled” on an icy ramp. I cursed all the way down on that one!)

On to Chicago. I love doing things with Granddaughter’s friend. As Friend herself would tell you, “We’re poor.” Just about anything is a new experience to her. Going to an amusement park. Riding on a train. Staying in a hotel. The biggest city she’d ever been to was Indianapolis. Imagine at nearly 19 years old, riding a train to Chicago and staying in a suite in the middle of the Magnificent Mile. Going to a Broadway show (we saw I Love Lucy: Live on Stage). Eating in the Rainforest Cafe theme restaurant.

Oh, the food was deadly. Good, but laden with fat — as all good foods tend to be. It’s where the flavor comes from, “they” say.

Now, it’s good to be back home where I know what’s in my food — because I cook it myself.

Maybe after I get myself back in shape, I can start planning my next trip. Maybe to visit my BFF. I cook there, too. (She works.)

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