Just a little bit South of Nome

Dec 28:

Dusk is catching up with us, high, high up here in air, heading over the Pacific to Seoul. I'm deliberately sozzled, because this first bit over the Pacific is so darned long.

Leaving behind a lot of questionable shit. My youngest son has not acknowledgedly my existence, so much as by a Christmas card or email since his marriage this fall to a woman I merely dislike, (nowhere near as strong as hate.) What more can you say about a broad who scams me for $2250 then tries to dye my hair brown for her wedding. (Don't ask, I don't understand it either.) The son I asked to attempt to function as a go between made a lot of promises and then bailed. My extremely pregnant daughter stuck all the totally non-negotiable items she owns, (including of course her cat) in the back of her van before she drove me too the airport, because she is leaving the guy she is living with and does not want to take the chance, again, of being locked out of her home and being ripped off for all the items she brought to the relationship

She's got three Uncles and two Aunts who think she's really sweet living on the coast at the moment. They can help out.

I don't know. Maybe it's a good time to be just a little bit south of Nome.

This is according to the little green screen on the back of the seat in front of me. This is my fifth intercontinental flight and I still haven't figured out how to do things with that click button thing on my chair arm. Guess it helps if you have a tv and that control thingy at home.

Just finished reading Anne Rice's Merrick. Think she's been mining that seam long enough. So, ok, an old fart in a young fart's body is still an old fart and the girls know it. We have all suspected it's more a matter of mind than matter. Now, how do we celebrate the undeniable advantages of old fart hood?

Later