Journal of a Living Lady #202
Nancy White Kelly
Traveling with Buddy anywhere
is an adventure. No destination is needed. He is hard of hearing. I repeat
everything to him at least twice. Amazingly though, he often hears my voice
when I lower it to a whisper. I call it “selective hearing.”
Buddy won’t admit his
increasing deafness or buy hearing aids. Male vanity, I suppose. My feeling is
that when you are 71, spare parts are par for the course. Get over it. It isn’t even a matter of money. Buddy could get
a decent pair of hearing aids practically free from the Veterans
Administration. Most likely any auditory prosthesis would eventually end up in a
top dresser drawer. Relics of Buddy’s past reside there in a rusty Sucret box.
The last time I observed him poking around in his earthly treasure container, it
contained a Boy Scout ring, a gold-inlaid dental bridge, circa 1970, and a
small Valentine.
Buddy’s loss of hearing is
legit. He worked on aircraft engines for years at Eastern Airlines before
retiring. On our trip to
The trouble with Buddy is
that he teases so much. You never know if he is serious or taking you for a
ride at his expense. I consider this his most excellent senior coping skill.
When we arrived in Tel Aviv,
our guide was there to meet us at the Airport. We had no clue how many were booked
on this Isram tour. The travel agent assured us that the tour would proceed
even if there were only two tourists.
Mike was a veteran tour guide
and quite an entertainer. When asked later in the week how he remembers all
those details at every site, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I make it up
as I go along.” Not exactly true. Mike is a walking history book.
Mike’s only tour blunder occurred
the first day. He parked in front of an elegant hotel, escorted us up the
steps, and told us when and where we should catch up with him later. The rest
of the tour group would be introduced that evening. Mike quickly left to meet
those arriving from
I proceeded with the hotel
check-in. There were signs in Hebrew which weren’t too helpful to us Americans.
I do know a little Hebrew. He is short, chubby and has a bald head. Got ya!
Actually I took a short course in Hebrew and Greek eons ago. Most of it has
leaked out.
Fortunately, many of the Arabs and Jews spoke
decent English.
“Kelly, last name Kelly?” the
front clerk asked. “We have no Kelly listed for the night.” My heart skipped a
beat. We were in a large city, strange hotel, and our guide just disappeared.
“Shalom,” I said. Oops, I
thought. Hello or peace were not appropriate for the occasion. I tried
“Slicha,” meaning, “Excuse me.”
“We are the Kellys. Hiram
Kelly. Nancy Kelly. Our reservations have been made for weeks.” I quickly rummaged
through all the paperwork stored in section two of my zippered, black fanny-pack.
Just then Mike tapped me on
the shoulder. He realized his mistake. Mike apologized to the clerk and herded
us back to the van and delivered us to the Tel Aviv Sheraton, not as fancy as
the first hotel but quite acceptable. This time Mike made sure we had assigned
rooms.
A bell hop took us to an
upper floor, slid a security card through the slot, turned down our beds, and
showed us how to turn on the electricity. Seems it was hotel policy to turn off
room electricity to conserve energy.
Everything in
TO BE CONTINUED:
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