Guess it comes with getting old...I used to be a patron saint

There has been a couple on my mind the past few days. I can't figure out why, except there is a lot of hospital stuff going on in the Soaps at the moment, and the J's keep coming to mind, and I feel sad.

It involved two seasons where we had regular tours coming through every week, an English company, but the participants were from the US, and I LOVED it, because they would be so disoriented. It was one of those, you visit seventeen countries and fly over ten others, in a week or so... and yes, exaggerated, but they were clueless.

And afraid, so afraid. We were just an overnight stop between Venice and Vienna, and most of them wouldn't venture out to see anything of our fair city, as they usually arrived in the evening. Some of the more adventurous would timidly ask if it were 'safe' to go out after dinner and look around, which provided me with much inner hilarity. The rest sat in the lobby before retiring, and thumb through the boulevard press magazines they couldn't even read before retiring for the night. And as we .on a street with four tram lines barreling down into the center in the evening, they would utter the most inane things. The best being, (bored) 'I wonder where all the streetcars go.' Answer? (in best Southern accent) 'They go where the ACTION is!!!' (That went into Peter and my favorite sayings of all time. We lurved them....)

However, once a year, we had 'troubles', because some seniors didn't take the altitude of being in Switzerland, then down to sea level in Venice, and back in hill-mountain territory within a three day period... not so good for people with heart-blood pressure issues.

Which brings me to 'the J's'. Normal arrival, and out of nowhere, one of the participants came out of breath to the desk, and asked me to book a flight back to the US immediately. 'I think I''m having a heart attack.'

Well, had been around the block a few times as to what can happen at a hotel desk, but was a bit non-plussed, and remained calm. Deadly calm. And said, 'Mr. J there is no way I can get you an immediate flight back to the US NOW. So what I want you to do is breathe deeply, and I will call a taxi for you to take you to our local hospital, which is very large, and potentates from the Middle East come here for treatment, so you needn't be afraid.'

He was terrified. So I cajoled, told him it might not be a heart attack at all, but that he would receive the very best care possible, and probably send him back to the hotel. (And he was getting scary so I had to act fast.)

He finally let me call, they went off, and his wife came back thoroughly distraught. He did have a mild heart attack. So Mrs J had to remain behind, and for the next three weeks, I had my hands full, but I learned an awful lot.

They were a golden couple, and of a generation where the MAN took care of the wife. And she was lost, so lost, hadn't the slightest idea how to handle anything. And very close to a nervous breakdown, her husband had never let her know anything about their financial things, he carried her as if she were a jewel, and suddenly, he was incapable of doing that. And she was about to fall apart.

So I was 'the guy'. I had to fight with the tour's insurance people on a toll-free number in Washington DC, and boy, they wanted to fuck her over. Their allowance ran out after two weeks, and they demanded she fly home, but there was no way she would leave her husband here alone. I brought her meals from my place, and somehow we got through it. The insurance company was so friggin' hateful, when Mr. J was able to be flown back to the US, he got a first-class ticket, and she had to ride in coach. Which didn't matter to her, as long as she was on the same plane.

Peter was involved, and we were sort of a rescue team for her, so the morning of her flight, we got her a champagne breakfast.... enough to keep her calm enough for the ordeal getting back. We made a big impact. And sort of became their patron saints in Pennsylvania. He was a retired science teacher, she was an organist for her church.

It was all sort of intensive, scrambling to 'save' some people. And instructive. In that you can love someone so much, and take away their ablility to do the most simple things and she relying on her husband so that she would never have to care about what the everyday practical things entail that she wouldn't have survived it if he had died. And looking back, that was selfish... well meant, but selfish. It was a glimpse into 'when utopia goes wrong'. I can't judge that, but watching her nearly fall apart wasn't one of my favorite episodes in observing interpersonal relationships.

I never learned Mrs. J's first name. She was just respectfully Mrs. J. Soon after he was hospitalised, she begged me to take the tram out with her and visit him in the hospital. He was looking better, and beamed at me when I walked in. And he said, 'Kiss me'. And smacked me one on the mouf, which shocked me. And added, 'Thank you.' I did learn his first name. It was Norm.

I think they have since left the planet. But they are sort of spooking around in my head the past few days.