Time to visit my folks in Ann Arbor, and it just happened to be Art Fair. Art Fair is the four days of summer when the city completely turns on its ear - four of the main streets downtown, from one end of the town to the other, are closed for the fair, rendering it virtually impossible to get from one place to another. At the same time, thousands of people who wouldn't know their way around in the best of situations descend on the fair city to further clog streets, parking lots, and restaurants.
I remember when I thought of Art Fair as the biggest party of the year. What a miserable old bag I've become.
Really, though, I still do enjoy visiting the fair - I'm a fan of art fairs in general, and I did have the chance to see most of the booths. I even bought something. But Art Fair added a layer of complexity that I could have lived without this year.
Another flash from the past - we spent some time at the Racquet Club, where I spent uncounted days when I was a kid/adolescent. They still play gutter ball, pom pom, and Marco Polo. I gave the kids a tour ("That's the barn we always thought was haunted, here's the bush I hid under when it was time for tennis lessons, this is where we crawled around in the dirt chasing kittens") and it's hard to believe I'm remembering when I was my kids' age. It seems almost as likely that I'm thinking of something they did.
Ah, me.
Oh yeah, where was I? Way, way off topic as usual. This is a weblog about traveling where?
The point was to go to Ann Arbor because that's where my dad was laid up. By force of sheer grit and determination he's getting around remarkably well but there's no doubt he needs surgery to fix that disc. Now there's a series of visits he needs to line up to get that done - an exam, consult with the neurosurgeon, pre-surgery tests, etc. In the meantime he's hobbling around and Mom is following him around worrying.
Thank God for martinis - vodka, dry with an extra olive.
