Sometime in the next month or so, I will buy a house in a town in Florida (Wimauma for those of you scoring at home), always a terrifying proposition being required to sign 183 partially completed documents.  “Don’t worry, we’ll fill in the rest.”  Doubly terrifying because I haven’t set foot in Florida I probably 40 years.  Triply terrifying because one of my expectations is to be able to breathe reliable in my new home, something most of us take for granted until we develop COPC or bronchiectasis (COPD for non-smokers, my challenge), and I know dry heat helps but have no idea what effect moist heat will have.  Quadruply terrifying because I have no idea when to say “y’all” as opposed to when “you” will do admirably.  OK, enough onomatopoeia or whatever this is.

Going to said home will not lack complications.  Current operational plan calls for my son to fly from Green Bay (y’know, the ugly uniforms inspired by cheese mold and urine specimens) to Chicago (y’know, the place with the beautiful orange and blue uniforms reminiscent of George Stanley Halas’ alma mater, Illinois), whereupon we will pick him up at O’Hare and drop him into my Kia Soul (y’know, the ones the giant hamsters drive) in order to drive me, way too much luggage for any one car, let alone one propelled by hamsters, and two aging cats in carriers to  points south.

As a parallel activity, Daunice, who claims to be my wife, will jump into her BMW with the 9,000 horsepower engine and follow the two clowns driving the clown car to points south, lugging more luggage than even a 9,000 horsepower car should have to lug, as well as two young, feisty Turkish Van cats in carriers.  Unlike their geriatric roommates, the TVs have never traveled, at least not since kittenhood.

Thinking Beverly Hillbillies?  I knew you would.

But it won’t all be frivolity.  Thirteen years ago we moved to a Del Webb community.  I didn’t want to, but I came to love the place.  And the people in it.  Especially my brother and one sister in the Edgewater Veterans’ Group.  You see, I scarcely gave a thought to my time in the Air Force and hadn’t considered asking Hines VA Hospital for help since they’d performed a minor procedure on me in the early 70s.  At Edgewater I’ve served on just about every committee and even the Board of Directors.  But the volunteer activity of which I’ve been most proud was my service to our veterans’ group, serving as Information Officer (coincidentally what I did in my SAC-trained killer days) and as co-commander.  As always, it will be interesting whom I miss the most after moving 1500 miles away, but I’ll be willing to bet that a large number of them will be the guys (and one woman) who wear the navy blue golf shirt emblazoned with “proud to be an Edgewater veteran” and a name, preferably that of the wearer and a navy blue baseball cap featuring the service in which the member served, so we know who to love and who to hate (sarcasm intended).

So I’ll miss the Hines Veterans Administration Cognitive Writing Group.  It’s been fun but also frustrating to see such talented individuals doubt their ability as communicators.  And I’ll miss the superb care I’ve received at Hines, from the doctors, nurses and techs to my friend the priest who normally says the noon Mass in the Chape., a man who saved my immortal life by hearing my confession after I barged into hs office and asked if he would.  He ushered me back into the church from which I’d been gone for 40 years.  So my body AND soul were healed.  Thank you, Hines.

But I digest.  And speaking of digesting, I’ll miss real pizza, Italian beef, properly dressed hot dogs and out delicacies unavailable outside of a 50-mile radius surrounding Chicago.  But perhaps fresh lobster can assuage my culinary tears.

So, if you happen to be in the Wimauma area, wherever that is, and look good in a bikini or have a significant other who looks good in a bikini, C’MON OVER, Y’ALL (I hope that was a proper use of such a superfluity.)