As happens, obligations and opportunities continue to conspire to keep me away from the computer. Or more accurately, from blogging. So it goes. Better than boredom, I figure — although these posts do serve as landmarks for my ever-deteriorating memory. I sneak them in, hoping someday when I try to look back (assuming I ever get the chance to look back — more likely I’ll just be going going going going and then drop dead), sense will be made, understanding triggered, nostalgia indulged. If nothing else, they’ll serve as evidence that I was doing stuff. That I tried to live life in the service of goodness, much of a struggle as it was.
One day that typified my life happened last month. I joke that my life is full of good luck and bad, but never dull — and this day encapsulated it. The morning began with me in Los Angeles, slicing from one end of a swimming pool to the other under the smog-filtered sunrise, palm trees along the perimeter. I imagined that old Chanel commercial, amused by finding myself in such El Lay cliche, but appreciating the cool water, the warm air, the solitude nonetheless.
I was in L.A. because the flight connecting from St. Paul (where I’d connected from D.C.) had arrived late (in fact, the Delta/Northwest leg was the single worst flight I’ve ever experienced with surly staff, a dirty plane, an interminable delay) causing me to miss the last flight out to ACV. Serious bummer. But three other people were in the same situation, so we banded together, demanded hotel and meal vouchers as a unit (a process that took over an hour) and journeyed to our (rather nice) hotel as a group, even had dinner together. Unpleasant as it was to be unable to get home, at least we had good company.
And the hotel bed and shower beat snuggling up to my carry-on while curled up on a piece of LAX floor. I missed my family, still ached to get home, but waking up with time for a swim was fabulous nonetheless. On the flipside, the little bit of money I’d had set aside for this trip was gone before the flight back. Besides airplane peanuts, all I’d eaten was a salad — the only thing the voucher would cover — and a Maker’s rocks that might overdraw my account; that’s how close I’d cut it. So there I was, in this poshy hotel, with no way to assuage my hunger. People suffer far worse, clearly, and not of their own making, so I sucked it up and went off to the airport for homebound attempt number two. This time, success! Twenty-four hours after boarding a plane in D.C., my journey was complete. Sort of.
Because of the change in plans, instead of arriving home with time to decompress from traveling, a radio commitment required me to go straight from the airport to the KHSU studio, where I was interviewed for the Econews report.
From there, I finally went home — but just for an hour, just long enough to unpack, hug the kids, pet the dog, make some coffee, sit down for a few minutes before springing back up and out the door to a party in Fieldbrook, kids in tow. (Did I have to go? No — but I’d been looking forward to it and decided to carry on with attending.)
Good food, great people, lovely setting… and then it was off to a Crabs game! Much as my husband wanted to see me, it wasn’t enough to skip the ball game, so I joined him in the first base bleachers, bought some 50/50 tickets and cheered or booed as appropriate. Superfun, as Crabs games usually are.
About the 6th inning, I faded. Shivering, exhausted, I told Bobby, “That’s it,” gave him the 50/50s tickets, drove home, changed into sweats, collapsed on the couch. A few minutes later, the phone rang. “Thanks for the tickets,” Bobby said. We’d won the 50/50 — $350!!! “Yay!” I shouted, visions of getting the car fixed dancing in my head. (It’s overdue for a tune-up and has been making this horrible sound when one hits the brakes.)
And that was my day. For all that happened, it could’ve been more: we didn’t have any diabetes issues or teenage meltdowns or newspaper deadlines. But it was one to remember, nonetheless.
(By the way, the car repairs came to $520. Oh, well. So it goes.)