Never Look Over Your Shoulder Unless You Enjoy The View -Mid July 08

Do we have regrets in leaving America? – none. We leave behind friends, but the sort of friends who are highly likely to travel to France and visit us. We leave behind the threat of the first hurricane of the new season, the prospect of wall-to-wall commentary on the upcoming 2008 Presidential elections in November and the remarks of those who envy our departure and say that America is no longer the place they once knew. But Americans are a resilient lot and they will learn to live with the rising cost of fuel, the lack of health insurance and the horrendous expense and hopelessness of the Iraq war. But what they really hate is the fact that they are no longer loved. Through no fault of their own, they are steadily becoming the pariahs of the world and this saddens them. What happened to Uncle Sam, The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave and hands across the sea? Will their sons return in a body bag or come home minus limbs to a world that has largely forgotten them, where all they have to look forward to is the fight to keep their homes and their jobs. Iraq is “over there” and it has ceased to be a raw wound and is now a long term ache which is dull and ever present, but not sufficient to raise the ire and determination of the people to put an end to it.
But enough of this musing on affairs of State. The last Boston Crème donut (and here I shall revert to English spelling and call it a doughnut) has been consumed and even as I write in the airport lounge, the taste lingers on my lips. Doubtless the effects will linger on my hips for a great deal longer. We used to pride ourselves that during five years, we had avoided such pitfalls as McDonalds, Burger King and Taco Bell, but having been lured into Dunkin Donuts with promises of the best coffee in America, we discovered that they had the best doughnuts as well. I have never consumed a Big Mac and avoided French fries whenever possible, which translated means that I wouldn’t order them if Jean wasn’t with me, but since we were seldom apart, they also added their own layer to my already well padded hips. The trouble is, it’s very hard to view ones rear end in the bathroom mirror and feel overly guilt ridden, when most of the population is nearly double our size.
France beckons and I shall have to avoid the temptations of the patisserie and walk a wide path around the pain au chocolat, the fromage chevre, the saucison and any number of delicacies that await us. But right now here at the airport, I am drinking an extremely “vin ordinaire” from a plastic cup which has cost me double what a fairly decent bottle will cost in France, and was about the same price as a whole bottle would have cost in Publix Supermarket. Ah, dear old Publix. Now there’s something that I might miss just a bit. No, maybe not. I have just remembered the irate elderly Jewish ladies blocking the aisles while shouting at their diminutive husbands who are constantly reaching for the wrong brand of pickled herrings or the incorrect size of bagels. Nor will I miss the vague Latinos who spend more time talking on their cell phones than making purchases while their children sample items from the sweet racks without fear of reprisal. Mario at the checkout was nice. Ever since I lost my keys and he unscrewed my number plate and found the spare, he has been forever interested in my health, well-being and general condition. That’s the nice thing about the Americans. They take the state of your health and that of their own very seriously. It is a matter to be discussed at length with frequent forays into the dastardly condition of health insurance, doctors’ bills and lack of care in a variety of hospitals. Having had a few flirtations with the medical profession in America, I can attest to the excellence of the care and the terrifying nature of the accounts department. The much quoted use of a cotton wool ball can make a serious dent in your monthly income, especially if there was cause to use more than just one to either stem the flow of blood or wipe the soup from your upper lip.