Jesse (dear hubby) is sitting at table in his usual routine, reading the paper. The morning is lovely, clear and sunny. Rush hour is slowing down and we’re sipping the last bit of coffee, half regular, half decaf. We’re watching our caffeine intake. I’m done writing my morning pages and ready to get back to homework.
Suddenly he announces, “I think I’ll go down to the Marriott and see if I can volunteer.”
“For what?” I’m baffled.We’re already involved in two community organizations. Why does he want to add another? And why there?
I look at my husband searching for any telltale signs of dementia or Alzheimer’s or sarcastic humor which, trust me, is uncharacteristic. We’ve been together going on 30 years. Jesse is a serious guy and joking around just isn’t his style.
He rustles the paper, turning to the business section.
“Are they having a special program like AARP or something?” I’m trying to be nice, …interested rather than irritated.
He stares at the newspaper.
“Let me approach this another way.You mean THE Marriott? The expensive Marriott down the street? I think people usually work there, honey. I don’t think they have volunteer opportunities. I could be wrong though.” Just to be friendly and supportive, I stand behind his shoulders with my hand on his back and peer into the newspaper searching for a notice for a special event. Jesse’s a good man, at times, brilliant. Mostly, he’s a plodder, devoted, and totally predictable. And he can be psychic.
“I just want to go down there. I can see if they need some extra help.” He’s looking at me as if I’m the goofy one. Why don’t I easily understand his urge, or is it an impulse? Perfectly normal idea. Volunteer at one the most luxurious, over the top resort hotels in area. Silently I wonder who I can call.
Now I’m looking at his pupils to see if they are even. In first aid class we learned that if a person is having a stroke, they have uneven pupils and talk nonsense. I don’t see signs of stroke.
“Well…ok….I still don’t understand exactly what it is you are trying to do.” I’m cool with a measured response.
He’s getting impatient with me, almost pushy. “It doesn’t hurt to try. Maybe they would be interested in a woodcarving demonstration. I’m going down there.”
I sigh. Mom never warned me about how men age. I know my husband can be really stubborn, and I am also willful at times, but this? I decide to let it go.
“Whatever you want to do is fine with me. But right now I’m not interested. I really need to study for my final in community services and ethics.
My calm exterior is false. I do not understand men. He wants to go down to see if he can volunteer at an over $350 per night luxury grand hotel. Fine. The conversation repeats itself a few more times during the next few days. For a moment, I’m considering a trial separation. I decide to ignore it. Finally, he’s ready to make an inquiry and drives the few miles to the hotel. He returns later grumbling about how huge the place is, and how the floors are too shiny. He walks with a cane, so the sheer size of the place deters him. I don’t ask too many questions.
Next day on Sunday, we make peace and venture down to Mimi’s Cafe, near the resort where they serve authentic Louisiana food such as gumbo and jambalaya, plus classic delicious pot roast, as well as fresh salads and veggie wraps.
We settle into our favorite booth, as the manager and casual acquaintance, Curtis, comes by the table.
“Hey you guys, how are you? Where have you been?”
Jesse and Curtis chat easily the way African-American men may do.
“Did you hear that some of the original Tuskegee Airmen were here a few days ago?” Curtis looks excited. He’s a really nice guy, hardworking, and honest.
Now it all clicks.
I’m almost shouting. “You’re kidding! Is that why all those limos were out on Tatum and Deer Valley? Jesse was driving me nuts talking about the Marriott.” Jesse and I stare at each other. I don’t want to acknowledge quite yet that my psychic husband was being pulled by ( channeling) some of the most important men in aviation history, American combat, and African-American legacy.
“Yes! They were here! Right across the street at the Marriott.” Jesse glances at me in astonishment. He’s never smug. And damn it, wasn’t he right again? We both would have loved to attend the celebration. What an honor that would be. Alas, we’ve missed. Jesse certainly felt their presence.
The restaurant is slow in mid-afternoon so Curtis stays longer to chat. He explains to Jesse that the remaining living Tuskeegee Airmen did indeed have a program. Lots of high-end people were in town.
Curtis goes on to say that an elderly lady had come into Mimi’s to eat. She related that she herself was a pilot and helped train the men. Another obscure fact shared is that one of the airmen was a POW.
We keep asking questions. Who was the mystery lady?
Could the mystery woman possibly have been Willa Beatrice Brown? No, she passed away in 1992. And she was African-American. Could Curtis have been mistaken?
Now I pay closer attention when Jesse gets in one of those “moods,” not that I concede each one is a true hit, but still…you never know who or what is close by…and who is pulling you to come and visit. Call it what you will, but sometimes the urge to check something out is sheer psi intuition. Anyone can learn psychic intuition. Others are prone to it since childhood and before.
More on that later.
Love you readers, and thank you for taking the time to visit. Much obliged.
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