At my age, which is just younger than the invention of dirt, I should be taking better care of myself. Most people in my set have learned to play it safe, stay out of trouble and entertain themselves by rocking on the front porch.
I should follow their pattern. A more cautious life would keep me from breaking or angering some important body part doing step aerobics at the gym. It would keep me from prowling the aisles of Dirt Cheap, spending money I should be saving to bury myself. Normal caution would keep me quietly at home reading nursing home brochures instead of here at the paper, spouting opinions that may get me sent to the slammer one day.
But the thing I really need to do to protect my aging self is to stop traveling.
You can get yourself in a whole lot of trouble traveling. I’ve had to run for my life in airports to make a flight. I have been accosted by professional beggars in Italy. I sprained my ankle and fell out on a street in England. But in my mind, I’m still young enough to take off on a trip with no worries.
So last week, my husband and I did just that, hopping on a bus for a five-day group trip to the Chip and Joanna Gaines locations in Waco, Texas and the Pioneer Woman’s enterprises in Pawhuska, Oklahoma.
The first thing you realize about traveling as a 50+ person is that there’s a lot of climbing up and down on buses. If your knees don’t work well, you may start to miss that porch swing back home. But I love bus trips and climbing keeps me limber.
Any trip involves walking and handling your own luggage at times, but I just consider walking my aerobic exercise and luggage handling my weight lifting. (And I let my husband handle it most of the time for his health’s sake, of course.)
Good food is a feature of good travel. My digestion isn’t what it once was, so the fajitas and fried chicken and Pioneer Woman Ree Drummond’s “pork belly” and great grilled cheese all took their toll, but I carry Tums with me. And no one made me buy six huge cookies at the Silos Bakery in Waco, and no one made me eat them. My sugar overload was just part of the adventure. I’ll accept my tight pants as the price I paid for a good time.
If I weren’t a shopper when I travel, I could have stayed a little safer, but then I wouldn’t have come home with teeshirts from the Silos or clothes from the Pioneer Woman shop. I may not cook like Ree, but I can look like Ree! What I did have to do was risk my life dashing madly around Pawhuska trying to get to all the shops before the bus left me. I was almost hit by cars twice jaywalking to get to one more store.
One “adventure” was a first for me and I hope a last.
Our group was to meet in the lobby to go to dinner the last night so Oliver and I left our third floor room to catch the elevator. It was full, but our friends already onboard beckoned us in. “Come on. We aren’t overloaded!” A very large man in the back corner looked doubtful as we, then three more of us got on and jammed together.
The elevator reached the first floor, and we waited for the door to open. It didn’t. Just a delay, we thought. The delay continued. It got really quiet. Some of us tried to stay calm, and some of us began to look nervous. The tall man shoved up in the back corner, who had been on when the rest of us jumped in, the only one not in our group, looked anxious. And mad.
A motor that was circulating air stopped humming. The air stopped circulating. I took my coat off. A young lady squeezed up in the other corner suddenly experienced an attack of claustrophobia. We passed a bag of ice to her that one person had been taking to a cooler on the bus and told her she was fine. I don’t think she believed us. Still the door didn’t open. Still nobody came to help.
The person nearest the control board found the little phone and dailed out. The desk clerk answered. When he heard our problem, he hesitated, then stammered, “Uh, I’ve never dealt with that before, uh, let’s see, uh...” We were in trouble.
More minutes ticked by. The poor desk clerk came and beat on the door — “Everyone okay in there?” he yelled. Depends on what you call “okay,” I thought, watching more people shed coats, more faces start to sweat and turn red, more deep breathing begin.
When this happens in the movies, I knew, someone goes into labor about this time. I looked around to see who was about to become mama. I also wondered if I could climb out the little hole in the ceiling, like they do in the movies. There was no hole. I was stuck.
After about 10 minutes, just before desperation and cannibalism set in, we heard a bump on the door. It suddenly slid open. Two calm firemen and the nervous hotel clerk looked in and gasped as we began to file out—all 11 of us— gulping air and trying to look unruffled.
This should have taught me a lesson. This should keep me at home.
Nope. I’m already planning my next trip. Maybe one day I’ll get smart, just not today. But I’ll be more careful about elevators. I’m too old to get stuck on an elevator.
