The Last Resort

I’m sitting near an outdoor fireplace at a 1950ish “resort” a short distance from a small town in Texas.  I’m not enjoying either of my two visits here – my first and my last.

I won’t bother to mention the name of this “resort” because you almost certainly will never have the misfortune of being a guest here and because I don’t want to give it any publicity.  Suffice it to say that one of my grandsons slept in the office foyer last night because his room was too dusty.   I just heard from Daveen that his room is now being cleaned by six folks employed by the resort. (There must be a lot of dust.) Daveen also reports that you have to specifically request housekeeping — but no one had bothered to tell us. (Clean towels, anyone?)

In fairness, you should also know that I’m recovering from an extremely aggravating eye infection that apparently hit at least two other family members shortly after we left our river cruise in Portugal.  It rained every day there, and I didn’t know beforehand that it was a wine-tasting tour, which was thoroughly enjoyed by those who imbibe.  I don’t, and didn’t.  The last day we spent on a bus because the canal locks were spilling so much water they couldn’t accommodate our ship.

Why am I now in Texas?  To view the total solar eclipse tomorrow.  I enjoyed a total solar eclipse in Cheyanne Wyoming a few years ago.  Before that, in 1991, Daveen and I flew to the big island of Hawaii to view a solar eclipse.  As it turned out, we watched it on CNN in our hotel room because there was unusually thick cloud cover that day which completely obscured visibility.

The weather reports are predicting cloudy conditions here for tomorrow.  I’ll be ready to turn on CNN, just in case.

This blog may be shorter than most, because – as if you couldn’t tell – I’m grumpy.  Also, I want to watch the Women’s NCAA basketball finals (Iowa vs. undefeated South

Carolina) and the game has just begun.

But thankfully, I’m only two days away from returning home to Los Angeles.  When I write again next week, I’m sure I’ll be happier.  It’s a low bar.

Alan