The Heart of Texas

The shots did the trick (for a few days, at least) and the sands ran out on my life in the US.

That final morning in Pennsylvania never happened. We were to have departed for the Pittsburgh Airport at 10 a.m. for my 3:30 p.m. flight to Fort Worth. There is, however, a rule that if the temperature in Texas exceeds 85 degrees at arrival time, a dog cannot be transported in the cargo hold. The best solution was to take an early morning flight, at more expense, naturally, which meant that Gabe and I left at 2 a.m. for Pittsburgh. We had been working frantically to ready the house for our departure, cleaning, packing, cleaning some more. Gabe was a brick throughout, and we arrived alright and checked my bags and pup with no difficulty. Gabe stood by while I zig-zagged through the WTF line. I started to cry. It dawned on me that I had no clue about when I might see my precious boy again. "What have I done?" I asked myself. All the logical truth about his need to steer his own canoe just evaporated in a rush of motherly longing. My expressed desire for solitude vanished in a compulsion to escape the stanchions and go to him. He left, finally, and I shuffled along toward the screening area, sniffling and weeping like a big old baby.

At arrival in Texas, there was Bobby, beaming, bursting with his usual energy and enthusiasm. Brynn seemed none the worse for her trip in the luggage compartment, and so began five days of exquisite relaxation at his lovely home in Fort Worth. Bobby's wife Shirley is a remarkable combination of good looks, intelligence, and bonne humeur. Brynn took to the pool like a champ, and we all enjoyed good food, good talk.

I admit I have little fellow feeling for Texans (or anybody, really) of the political right wing, they who would teach creationism and shutter all abortion clinics and vote for Rick Perry. But I can happily testify to the charms of great municipal management. Fort Worth is a fantastic city, overflowing with culture, commodious public spaces, and good restaurants.

An email from the border import company demanded immediate documentation of my cargo or face a daily fine of $80. I  was glad to know my boxes were at the gate, so to speak, but I needed plenty of assistance from Bob, Shirley, and my friends in Managua to sort out the needed papers. I was still too stressed to cope, and I was rightly ashamed of my panicked reaction. It managed to sort itself out, and  the remainder of the visit was blissfully calm. It was a chance to recharge for the next leg of the journey to Managua. Again, the high ambient temperature intervened, and this time, Brynn had to sit in a small container under the seat in the cabin with me. She did pretty well through a plane change in San Salvador, and we were both delighted to see Ivan and Stefan there to greet us in Managua.