When my mother died, she passed on an autobiography of some two hundred pages. I found of most interest, her recollections from her early life as while these stories had to a degree been told over the years, they weren’t often repeated once I was out of the nest. It was nice to hear them again. Her reflections on childhood and places were actually good to read and gave context to the woman I knew as, “Mom.” The second half of the document was not so interesting. She of course spoke of her husbands that came after my father died. And she spoke of her travel. Most of that document turned out to be a travelogue of interesting places she enjoyed as she aged. The stories left me uninformed about what I considered important as she aged in San Diego, and I remained in Olympia, Washington.
This orientation finds me looking for the stories with travel—-that all us oldsters like to reflect on—-but with a surprising ending from my own life:
Kernie’s birthday is on January 31. This is not a great time to have a birthday—-better than Christmas maybe, but not by much. Our first Christmas together, I wrapped six presents and put them under the Christmas dieffenbachia and announced, “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday! You can open three now and three next week on your birthday.” She opened all of them on Christmas. Her birthday became something of a non-event in that she did not want to advertise it with friends when celebrating New Year’s. Once they found out, there was no getting out from under it. So as we approached a sixtieth birthday I was tasked with sorting out a way to celebrate as a couple—without fanfare. She inspired me to choose a special trip, one we had actually experienced before. We booked a trip on the ship River Baronesse which travels from Paris to Normandy and back over a week’s time. Her birthday dinner would be on board, in view of the Eiffel Tower while docked in Paris.
We left the day after Christmas and arrived to a Paris dressed up for the holidays. We scored our berth on the Baronesse. We woke up sequentially on cold winter mornings in small towns where we strolled through an old cemetery and later a castle that had been built by Richard the Lion Heart at a choke point on the Seine. We arrived at Rouen. Here, Kernie was a bit ill and I was left to explore with a group of women who had come to be our dinner companions for the cruise. In the Cathedral at Rouen, I marveled at the architecture and with the aid of brilliant sunshine, saw that it was cold enough within it to see the frosty breath of the choir singing French Caroles. Outside was a Christmas market and beyond, a contemporary church celebrating the site where Joan of Arc was martyred.
Heady stuff—and beautiful.
The trip, a first for us, traveling just as a couple without any friends, demonstrated that it is not just about the places you go. Our dinner table evolved daily but remained stable in that we were eight people who met nightly and got to know each other. The trip was enriched by this. Kernie’s illness allowed me to accompany members of my group, all women, throughout Rouen and other towns.
Demographics: It turns out Christmas is an interesting time to travel on a boat like this. It is not really set up for children. Most couples, stay put at home so as to have family time with grandchildren, children, and friends. Our dinner table friends were all wealthy woman of varying ages. Two standouts: Penelope, a wealthy single woman from the upper West Side of Manhattan reminded me of the debutante wife I might have had if Lethe had chosen for me. She looked younger than her stated age——-she was middle aged—-and her clothes were always matched perfectly. She wore a silver dollar sized gold coin around her neck with Franz Joseph in profile. If we thought we had traveled extensively, the banter of, “when we were in Mombasa in ’94,” it was countered with incredible exotic trips often in the setting of expensive sailing cruises. Penelope had picked up a friend doing such travel, Betty. Betty was a New Englander and a wealthy one. She had married an academic and they had settled in Durham North Carolina. She was widowed by a few years. Her face done in oils would have easily graced any of the homes of the ancestors of president Adams—either of them. She was well into her eighties. She had a New England pep and energy that was undeniable. Her carriage however, reflected her age. She had what we doctors call a kyphoscoliosis and I would bet money she had pretty dramatic osteoporosis given her ancestry, size, and age. She was tiny and her arthritis bent her in such a manner that when she walked, she was hunched forward and to the side—she extended an arm behind her holding an umbrella, not only for the potential need given the time of year, but for ballast to counteract her decide tilt.
Our conversations with the other women at dinner were varied and at times schizophrenic with unrelated topics popping up, coming, going, all with good cheer even when there was conflict. My mother, Lethe, had prepped me my whole life at home for dinners like these and the easy manner in which I helped the conversation along, got up for the departing or arriving friend, the seating of Penelope or Betty, all just flowed like it was 1959.
All the world is a stage.
The return to Paris over a few days found us staring at the graves of the Van Gough brothers. The nearby town had two of Vincent’s most famous paintings up on display from where he painted them with the buildings—the subjects— there for you to compare. The wheat field was down that day and the birds not to be found. We were able to tour Giverny which was remarkable for its familiarity given the paintings that came from it.
The Birthday approached. We were now in Paris. No one knew it was Kernie’s birthday.
We walked Paris on New Year’s Eve. We caught Notre Dame, Les Deux Magots, and 24 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré where Kernie could, “Window Lick” (a French expression for window shop) and I could people watch on a street with very expensive stores. Our ship had a view, front and center of the Eiffel Tower which at night, had a rotating searchlight on the top.
I wore a coat and tie for Pamela, more than for Kernie. All the women were dressed for a night in Paris. We had chamber music and cocktails in the bar. I had two. We sat for dinner, Penelope to my right and Kernie to her right with Betty almost directly across the table from me. The food was delicious. I had a glass of wine. I started on another when, Penelope and I mid-conversation watched Betty start, struggle to breath, and put a hand to her throat. She looked panicked. Penelope said in a mild conversational tone, “Doctor, you have to do something.”
My reflexes were slow but happily, as I got my thoughts in order and started to move my chair, Kernie leaned over and whispered in Betty’s ear. Betty turned her chair so that she faced away from Kernie and Kernie gave her two quick Heimlich pumps from a seated position. There was a long pause, and third pump was given and then the left hand came up signaling success. She turned to the table, a little flushed and took her napkin to wipe a tear away and to wipe her mouth. Kernie had an arm around her shoulder and they had a nearly nose to nose short conversation. I sat down. Dinner continued. No one but the four of us knew that any of this had happened.
I counted her (and my) lucky stars. I have trained my whole life for just this moment and know that had I been needed, I would have broken every rib——and more—given those circumstances. Betty was a trouper, to say the least and she carried on until midnight. Kernie had an unpleasant surprise when a group of waiters and a lovely young French woman from the shipping line arrived with a birthday cake.
“Happy Birthday” was announced. The table members looked about in confusion. Kernie looked at me with daggers in her eyes. I was innocent. The ever confident Penelope suggested politely that they had made a mistake and should go. The French woman pulled out a card and mispronounced Kernie’s name. All eyes were on Kernie. She fessed up, all the while letting me know I was going to be held personally responsible until, after the birthday song was completed, the French woman let us know that when we submitted our passports upon entering the ship, they recorded just such dates for special occasions.
I was off the hook and Kernie, I can say, had the best birthday of her life.
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