Sayings and truisms—we’ve all grown up hearing them, and most of us probably use them now as adults—you know what I’m talking about—things like ‘Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth.’ Given my debacle, there are several sayings that I can confidently say that make sense and are applicable—truisms that swirl in my mind as I talk with you about this miscreant travel day and tell you what ultimately unfolded…
- What goes around, comes around.
- An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
- Two heads are better than one.
- Out of sight, out of mind.
- Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.
- Problems are messages. ~Shakti Gawain
- Worry is a misuse of imagination. ~Dan Zadra
- Get your ducks in a row.
- Having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting, it may not be logical but it is often true. ~Mr. Spock, Star Trek
- Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors. ~African Proverb
- Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.
– John Lennon
- Always laugh when you can. It is cheaper than medicine.
- Bygone troubles are good to tell. ~Yiddish Proverb
Zoom zoom zoom, we finally passed Exit 284 to DIA (Denver International Airport). Funny how in these quiet stressful moments your mind has a continual waterfall of thoughts in nano seconds—mine was like a flashing 1970s mirror ball on the dance floor—thoughts that were self-hammering, self-condemning while others were consoling, reflective, humorous . I started thinking of all the times in my ‘I’m perfect’ mode, I’d gotten exasperated or put out with others for doing stupid stuff, like forgetting something important, not being prepared, not being ‘perfect’ like me—what goes around, comes around. Why, why, why didn’t I do one last check before leaving the house? Ally you gotta slow down, smell the roses, and take time to save time. Well, just color me stupid. I mean I’ve been living this nomadic gypsy life for decades, how in the devil did something like this happen? An ounce of prevention is really worth a pound of cure!
Thank goodness for Ben being with me—two heads are better than one. Even though he uses big words like mayonnaise, he’s the guy you wanna be stranded on a remote island with because he’s resourceful, level-headed, grace under fire—all that stuff that makes ‘Survivor’ a hit TV show. Me under immense stress? I’m about as helpful as tits on a wild boar. I mean, I think, I could have driven over alone with only my furry 4-legged half-drugged kitty, Callie. I’ve done that many times before. What in the devil would I have done? No money, no credit cards, no ID, no cell phone, less than a quarter of a tank of gas, no cash—other than the five bucks I’d seen laying on the kitchen counter while rushing around, and that I’d quickly stuffed into my bra.
I re-walked every step in my mind trying to figure out this could have happened knowing there was
something out of synch. I’d unplugged my cell phone charger, wrapped the cord quickly, snapped a rubber band around it, and pushed it into my purse with the phone. Holding the purse in my hand, I was ready to go. Halfway down the steps to the garage, I remembered dang; I’d left Cal’s happy tablet and the dropper! Without this, she’d be talking like a screeching violin on the flight! I run back up the steps, drop the purse on the chair by the fireplace—out of sight, out of mind—scurry to the kitchen and quickly grab the medicine cup and dropper, then dash to the bedroom to make one last scan—all good. I race back down the steps like an Olympic runner. Ben’s already backed out of the garage and is ready to go! And in two shakes of a sheep’s tail, I jump in the car, fasten my seatbelt unaware of the roller coaster ahead.
When we pull into the gas station, I jump out and flip open the back hatch. Moving, no tossing, the luggage, maybe it’s under a piece. Could it be under Cal’s litter box—yep, we have one in the back of the SUV—it’s plastic and has a cover, so please no ‘yucks’! Not there. Could I in some semi-induced state of altered thinking or out-of-body experience have put the purse IN my luggage? Desperate thinking. Like an insane TSA agent, I unzip my cutsie Betseyville black quilted piece of luggage and start throwing out heretofore neatly placed electronics, books, cords, laptop—nothing! Then something catches my eye—not an ‘omg’ moment, but an OMG mega moment—I think the heavens opened up and angels began singing. Could this be? All I can think is THANK YOU GOD! Thank you Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo!! Thank you, Ally, for being a contest entering junkie. Coincidence is truly God’s way of remaining anonymous! It’s my passport!! I’d brought it back with me to Colorado when I’d been back in SC the month before for a quick check on the other nomad tent, and, true to my being prepared, planning ahead, and having an optimistic personality, I was honestly thinking as one of the foodie blogger 3 finalists in the IZ Wine and Food Festival Contest (https://www.facebook.com/#!/IZTraveler ), I would ‘win’ and have to fly from Colorado to Mexico for the event. So, I threw my passport in my luggage. I had NEVER done this before unless I was traveling abroad. Problems are messages. What is the message, Ally? YES! I can get on the plane. Happy dance, cart wheels, twirling—just butter my butt and call me a biscuit—I’m one smart cookie!
At the departure gate, I sit down. I’m ready to rip the cell phone right from the hand of the cowboy/biker dude with the leathers and long gnarly nasty lookin’ ponytail sitting one seat from me—makes Calie’s opossum tail look like Jennifer Lopez’s voluminous locks. He’s talkin’, and not in an ‘inside’ voice, about last night’s drunken party brawl! He looks meaner than a sack full of rattlesnakes, but I know I need to bond with him for a reason! Until you don’t have a cell phone, you don’t realize what desperation sets in. And, you notice that there ain’t that many pay phones anywhere in an airport! I’ve got my off-duty USAirways pilot lifelong friend picking me up in CLT in my car that I left there in February (remember, that quick trip home?), and I need to confirm his plan and back-up plan—I mean that’s what pilots are trained to do he says—have plans and back-up plans. Within minutes, the biker dude and I become fast friends once I mention that I’m a Harley Mama—I use the lingo, Harley RoadKing, Sturgis, Black Hills—had I had my bandana and chaps I would have donned them! And, yes, I used his cell phone!
Thank goodness for an uneventful flight—even the screamin’ babies and beached whale sitting next to me spilling over into my seat didn’t grate on my nerves. When I get to Charlotte, Cal and I have another 4-hour drive to South Carolina. The five bucks in my bra wouldn’t have cut it, but I’m in high-cotton now because luckily Ben had a Benny and gave it to me! Time to get my ducks in a row. Time to morph into my Pollyanna positive mode—purge myself of stinkin’ thinkin’—all will work out knowing that ‘Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.’
I’m more than totally exhausted now. It’s almost 5 pm EST. I want to just crash and burn. I’m pondering writing Part 3 and the last of the saga of the ‘Miscreant Travel Day’! Should I?
Finally, to you my foodie friend, thanks for reading…this writing is refreshing therapy! And, like Indiana Jones, it’s helping me find the message!
Is she just slapdab worn out and draggin’ her knuckles?
Did she snatch the biker dude’s cell phone he left on his tray table when he hit the loo on the plane?
Did she decide to pitch a tent, make a fire, and kummmbahhhyaahhhh on some off-the-beaten-path country road?