44) Tiny Bombs & Love Letters

I found out about these compression leggings and thought they might be good to have since I’ll be crossing the Atlantic (and a continent) five times in one month. The leggings are engineered with plastic dots on the inner fabric that press against my legs: the idea being that as I move or walk, the arteries and vessels will benefit from the stimulation and lymphatic fluid and blood won’t get stagnant.

Always up for health aids that require zero effort, I bought a pair and wore them on the flight to England. There were no discernible improvements in my well-being, but I was committed to the idea and put them on again to come back to the US on Thursday. This was a mistake. Walking through the body scanner, an array of alarms went off. Heathrow airport don’t play when it comes to security.

Several wandings and patting-downs by two women agents revealed the problem: my leggings. Apparently, it’s within the realm of possibility that a nefarious mastermind such as myself could rig up tights loaded with tiny bombs. Trying to explain what I was wearing, without using the word “plastic”—I didn’t want to lend any credibility to the idea of cyclonite clothing—and why I chose to wear them somehow sounded even more unlikely than their disheveled lady in explosive leggings suicide bomber theory. After all, who would want to wear skintight clothing with little bumps boring into their skin for ten hours straight?

It didn’t help matters that I’d hidden them under jogging track suit pants. This was done strictly out of vanity as the legging bumps are visible from the outside somewhat. It looks like the wearer has a terrible disease or maybe the most perfect, symmetrical cellulite ever invented.

This was a rare instance that I’d gotten to the airport early—I’m the traveler you hate to travel with that tends to shave off every contingency, arriving at the gate with minutes to spare. An ultra-sensitive detection wand was procured, my carry-on contents were dispatched one at a time through Xrays and examined in minute, painstaking fashion. Finally, over an hour later I was free to go. Got to the gate with minutes to spare.

I’ll spare you the absurd grilling I got from the arriving immigration officer who couldn’t get over the fact I was traveling with no luggage. And the entirety of Great Britain’s financial systems assuming I want a bank account in order to launder money.

I’m still coming to terms with morphing into such a suspicious character at 65.

When I turned 50, I had a big fancy party in LA to celebrate. It was an exercise in carrying-on when you don’t want to get out of bed, self help, despair diversion and denial. My marriage had hit a minefield that it wasn’t going to recover from. I’d been living in Austin for three years, but LA was where I had people who could prop me up and give me hope.

I had a deep connection to everyone invited. We gathered for dinner in a gorgeous and lush covered garden at the Bel Air Hotel. I’d written letters to each friend, stating why I valued them , what they meant to me, conjuring up favorite memories and shared history. I printed them on parchment paper, rolled and tied with a ribbon at their place setting. A lot of tears at the tables when they were read. It was a true labor of love. I highly recommend doing this yourself sometime, it’s as big a gift for the giver as it is for the receiver.

Several people had partners with them, people who I couldn’t write a letter for. I didn’t want them to have nothing, so for them, I printed on the parchment, a list of all the things I’d learned in my 50 years. These were enjoyed too, as well as the 50 cent half-dollar coins and some other treats. After over-achievingly planning my kid’s extravagant birthday parties for the prior three years I was deep into the goodie bag aspect of a party.

When I turned 65 on the 7th, I thought of that list, wishing I could find it, curious what I’d add to it. These came to mind off the bat.

Things I’ve Learned Since 50

• Chase contentment, not relevance. It’s someone else’s turn, let them have it.

• After 60 or thereabouts, you have to choose if you want to look old or weird. The wrong doctor and a step too far and you’re in weird territory—but you’ll have plenty of company. So far I’m opting for old.

• Hotness has to do with physique and body. Sexiness in in the mind. I’ve had my hot eras, more peaks than a lot of people get, but I don’t have to look hot to feel sexy.

• There’s no more FOMO. Ever. I want to be far away from the action. As a thriver-old—(remind me to © that one)—what I want most is to be in the midst of my own action.

• Curiosity, wonder, stretching, and smiling are the best ways to keep the old woman out.¹

• The immune system is pre-eminent, above all: queen, emperor, king, regent. Guard it, take care of it. Stress, lack of sleep, inflammation—all enemies of the queen.

There’s lots more but I have other stuff to dispatch with, so leaving it there for now.

Phase II of moving is underway, and going so well—except for the house readying part. Rocky and Gingerman had their international health exams and the paperwork is in my hands for their travel. A lot of people have asked about taking the cats over. I’m an expert now and happy to share what I know. I chose to fly with K9 Jets.

Now, before you go off thinking what you’re thinking, know this: I investigated every possible way to move them. It was fraught with obstacles, landing me to prioritize least stress/most comfort for both me and the pets without going crazy on cost.

There’s no more quarantine, but pets are not allowed in cabin going to the UK, without exceptions—other than limited service animal accommodation. You can fly with pets in cabin, under the seat, into semi-nearby Paris, Amsterdam, or Dublin, on some airlines—but then you need to arrange for transport into the UK, via car and ferry and will need two health certificates for EU and UK. The QE2 sails with a kennel for pets and is reasonable but you need to book kennels a year in advance and cats must stay in kennel for the duration of the sailing time with limited visitations.

The price for a seat on the K9 private jet is actually less than the usual route of cargo/hold travel. In talking estimates with the pet relocate company—my first idea—the ordeal cost $6000, and up to 24 hours of crated cats. Adding my flight ticket on top of that put me above the cost of the K9 Jets price.

So there ya have it: on Friday, me, Gingerman and Rocky and a helper friend will fly to Newark on United and connect to private charter where me + kitties will fly with eight other humans and their pets, mainly dogs! In cabin. On laps, in seats, wherever. Expect thorough documentation. I’m sure Gman and Rock will be pissed as hell and have no appreciation for what I’ve gone through to ensure they are with me the whole time. K9 Jets has been amazing to work with and they fly to many destinations with pets and their humans. There are a few private charters offering this service and I really hope that the airlines take notice and start offering pet-friendly international in-cabin flights more often.

January has been an action packed month, starting with settling into my UK place, making it homey and cozy, celebrating a born day birthday, the release of me and Zach’s new single and video “We Don’t Play” —go check it out please, comment, share, spread the word. This is the only way to get our song some traction, we aren’t in a position to hire a publicist. I flew back to Texas just in time to hit the stage for a triumphant, packed Bluebonnets gig at the Continental Club. Special guests Sue Foley, John Doe from X and Zach Person all sat in and played. A friend sent me a compiled reel of songs and shots, it conveys a little how the energy was:

I also had a 35th anniversary sober birthday to shout out on social media—very effective to carry the message. There’s a second farewell gig at CBoys tonight. In two days I go back to my new home and six days after arriving, I leave again (no compression leggings out of Heathrow this time) to fly to Sacramento to enjoy the honor of the Go-Go’s being inducted into the California Hall of Fame. I’m already spinning and can’t imagine the effects of multiple back to back jet lags. I’ll be ready to kick back for a long while and do loads of writing.

I noticed a lot of subscriptions came up and wish I could hug each of you and express my profound gratitude for supporting the Direction of Motion and me as a writer. I’ll continue to do the best I can to share my life, thoughts and adventures in a way that bonds and links us all to the common experience of finding our way and our place in the world when life swerves and curves and leaves us uncertain about where to go and how to get there. Whew, that’s a longass sentence but I wanted to get it all in!

Look for next dispatch to come a bit sooner than usual. xK

1. Yeah, I took “keep the old woman out” from the Toby Keith song. That’s what he wrote it for, so we could say it forever and make him immortal.