Floyd

Usually in August I cram in about 5 years worth of traveling into two weeks. This August is no exception, except for the exception that a couple legs of my travels have been canceled due to poor planning and the misperception that because I don’t have children or work for someone else that my life is free n’ easy and I can come and go at a whim. Not so. My lack of offspring and weird employment situation means that I have to be a master of logistics. With no one to schedule but myself, I tend to overschedule, overbook, overreach, and overspend. I feel, though, that I’m entering a more settled existence. . . BUT FIRST—

I drove to Virginia with half of my belongings in my semi-repaired car (after the towing catastrophe.) For a couple of days I hung out in 500% humidity with my family until we flew to Chicago for my grandpa’s memorial.

Floyd Lester Weshinskey was a very tall, athletic, caring, kind, gentle, and intelligent self-made man. Floyd incurred the ire of his coal-mining family, who considered him snobby for refusing to spend his life below ground, and set out on his own as a school teacher. He was a great and patient teacher with a sense of humor and playful demeanor. He was also exceedingly elegant and wore a turtleneck and wool blazer like the intellectual that he was. When I was growing up, he kept scooters and gym class equipment in his basement for us kids to play with. We could make as much noise as we wanted while he enjoyed his evening martinis, of which there were many. Unfortunately, my adult memories of him turn bittersweet as he suffered from Alzheimers and that amazing man was replaced with someone no less kind, but lacking the clarity and sagacity he once had. The memorial was short and sweet because I think most of the family felt we had said our goodbyes to Floyd years ago. The grave-side ceremony was followed by a multi-generational family baseball game on Weshinskey Field, named after Floyd.
weshinskey's (and other weshinskey-esque folks) at weshinskey field

Our trip to the Midwest was also punctuated by the wedding of my second cousin (whom I had never met) outside of Milwaukee. To attend we missed a fish boil, which was okay except that I was looking forward to drinking a pitcher of melted butter. Next time. . .

I had intended to fly next to Traverse City, Michigan for some time on the beach, but those plans got changed. (See above.) But it was fine, I have a lot of work to do in Virginia preparing for my next stop—Istanbul.

My associate (we are business partners—NOT partner partners. . . how I loathe that word) Julie and I finally bought a building in which to house Caravansarai, which I wouldn’t have been able to do without help from Floyd and his wife (my grandma) Helen. I will be in Turkey until mid-December, with a journey to the Republic of Georgia and Azerbaiian, a little detour to Poland in November, and then a quick stop in the prim and uptight city of Vienna on my way back to the states. See, it’s all logistics. . .

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