DECEMBER 6, 2021 – For eight days I’ve been suffering from a blasted head cold. For me, the worst times are morning, afternoon, evening, and night. This morning was a doozy and put me in a dark, foul mood. My wife’s response was urgent care—for me.
I mention this, not to garner sympathy—which should be reserved for my wife—but to provide context for where I’m going next: the Caribbean.
Even before Covid, I’d grown wary of air travel. After every trip, it seemed, I wound up with a nasty respiratory ailment. The longer the trip, the nastier the ailment. Covid provided an excuse to avoid air travel—until the vaccines and mask mandates did not. We took a flight. What happened? Sure enough; caught a damned cold.
Here I am, nursing a damned cold despite best efforts to avoid any air-borne respiratory attacks.
After gaining assurances at urgent care that I’d live to fight another day, I returned home to attend to my law practice, having missed an important conference call. I texted another lawyer in the deal to request a call when free. I called my client to assure him I was back on my horse. When he said something funny—as he is wont to do—my laughter became a giant cough, which established that I was seated backwards in my saddle. I managed to communicate what my deal-questions were; that I’d texted opposing counsel for answers and was awaiting a call-back.
After the client-call, I called a personal time-out. As the midday sun streamed into the room, I propped myself up, then leaned back and closed my eyes. Where would I desire to be? That’s where the Caribbean fit in. Or rather, where I fit into the Caribbean.
I pretended I was stretched out on the comfortable cushions of a mahogany chaise on the promenade deck of a cruise ship steaming leisurely through the warm, turquoise waters of the Caribbean. A piña colada wearing a blue parasol sat on a table next to the chaise. As bitter winds blew in the reality outside my make-believe quarters, in my imagination, at least, I was now livin’ the life o’ Riley. Dinner with the captain would be at 7:00—the late seating. My wife and couple-friends/table companions were off getting massages and manicures, leaving me to my own devices—reading a Tom Clancy novel, sipping my drink, and otherwise . . . livin’ the life o’ Riley.
Not surprisingly, I fell asleep in this place of make-believe, and dreamed about the goings on elsewhere aboard ship—shuffleboard on the starboard side of the Lido Deck; on the Upper Stern Deck, hearing a lecture about the migrating, sharp-winder, arctic tern; roaming the Bow Deck and watching tropical clouds compete in a “Puff the Magic Dragon” contest.
And I didn’t even have to fly anywhere to . . . live the life o‘ Riley.
Now, as to that nasty cold . . . It’s time to be over, baby!
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
