Plans represent possibilities, right? As in Plan A/B/C. And, if I may advise, from what seems like a hundred years of both successful and thwarted plans, you need at least three backup plans for a satisfactory outcome.
I had big (stupid, but initially beautiful) summer plans for a two-month Minnesota road trip with benefits (as in many days and nights with various family and friends). First mapped like this:
Before getting even halfway through Big Stupid Plan A, I developed a horrendous case of bronchitis entailing emergency rooms and the inability to breathe, never a good look for holidaying. Even before that awkward situation had resolved, the available vehicle became unavailable, further diminishing the odds of heading out ‘on the road’ again. Imagine if I hadn’t made such ‘big, stupid’ elaborate plans ahead of time, there would have been nothing left.
Plan B to the rescue! Son Scott, also in Minnesota, only for a week (his Plan A), but being somewhat footloose and fancy free—as in retired—arranged to stay on, providing nursing and chauffeuring services for his kindly old mother.
And so…a slightly altered but generally enjoyable Minnesota time was had by all. Which means you will be treated to an even greater number of tree, old house, family, and friend pictures then originally intended!
You’ll be proud of my determination, one could almost say stubbornness, to hear that there is a Plan C. Which is to return September 2027 with a goodly supply of anti-biotics and my own car, to complete unfinished elements of Big Stupid Plan A/2026.
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If I appear obsessed with time in the Northwoods it’s not actually so stupid if my age (very old) and the likelihood of having many more opportunities to enjoy such times are considered. So, 2027 may not be doable…but then again it may.
So, here’s to Big Stupid Plans…long may we have them.
I’m sitting at my own desk in my own pleasant study in my own ever-sunny Albuquerque, preparing to tell you a few small Northwoods stories before returning to Decades and World stories projects.
Since returning home, I’ve been to the grocers for milk-coffee and bread and butter supplies, to the gym where I only took 10 extra minutes to walk my regular three miles and to make yet more plodding headway on The Magic Mountain, and to my very own wonderfully comfortable giant bed for a few sleeps. Home is a fine place indeed. Made even better by a big-stupid-plan to leave it now and then.
