I called my in-laws to see about driving out for a visit. I was going to wait until later in the week but I figured what the heck. I felt bad about bailing on Uncle Harold and Aunt Lorraine and Jeannie on the very first day, but dad is 85 so...well...expedience is important!
My Uncle Harold very kindly lent me one of his cars. Sadly, it wasn't the Lexus, but still a beautiful Buick LeSabre that makes me green with envy. I realized as I pulled out of the the driveway, I wasn't even sure I remembered how to get to Wasco, but I had a vague recollection. I knew for sure that it was about 30 miles and it was north. After that it got a little fuzzy.
I found highway 99 with only one wrong turn. As I merged onto the highway my first thought was how ugly it was and my second thought was how familiar it was. I cranked up the music and as I drove past countless big rigs and farm trucks, 30 years slipped away and I was a 19 year old girl again, driving out to Wasco to see my boyfriend (only in a much better car than my powder blue '78 Chevette had been). I still wondered whether I'd remember the way. How far was Kimberlina Road again? As a few miles passed, I realized that what my brain thought it had forgotten, my muscle memory apparently knew as my hands took each turn without error. This is not the first time I have driven to Wasco in all these years, but visits are usually several years apart and Derek is usually driving. I drove past miles of almond orchards and vast fields of roses as each visit back merged together like the cars and trucks merging onto the highway. As I took the turn onto Palm Avenue just outside Wasco's city limits my pulse began to race as though when I arrived on Cypress Street, a 19 year old Derek would be waiting there for me. Then my grown up brain reminded me that Derek was back in Nebraska keeping the home fires burning and I was a little disappointed.
I pulled up in front of Mom and Dad's house. The front yard is as perfect and pristine as always. Derek's cousins, Darrel and carol were in town to drive their 1930 Chevy in the Wasco Rose festival parade. Did I mention that Wasco is one of the largest growers of roses in the world? Every year they hold the Wasco Rose Festival and it is quite a spectacle. It is an unforgettable sight driving through thousands of acres of roses, all blooming at the same time. Much prettier than Bakersfield.
As an added bonus, Derek's brother Kent and his family were also in town for the day. Kent's wife is this terrific woman named Virginia. She is Filipino and even after living in the Philippines ourselves, and Virginia living in the states for 20 years, when she gets excited, I can't understand a word she says. She's like the Mario Andretti of speed talkers. Sorry, I don't know any current Nascar names to use as a comparison, so I'll just have to date myself. Anyway, she's adorable. They have three sweet boys who I'm certain should be just slightly older than preschool, but as it turns out, are actually 17, 14 and 12! This does not seem possible.
I settled in to an almost perfect afternoon. I have sat in mom and dad's living room so many times in the past thirty years. I think there is something about a death in the family that makes us nostalgic and a little more aware of the past because as I sat there I pictured the room over and over again with different furniture, different flooring and the same people, but changed over the years; Chi at six months old the first time we brought him to California. Chi with his wife and his own kids. Christmas's spread out over the years; spouses added; each of us aged a little more from gathering to gathering. There was a reassuring sense of familiarity and belonging. The last time I was here was when my mother died and we came out for the funeral. It had helped to be here with them.
I lingered longer than I had planned to. Kent and Virginia packed up their crew and left for Canyon Country, about an hour and a half away. By 8:30 my internal; clock was reminding me that in Nebraska it was 10:30. I dragged myself off the couch, hugged mom and dad and headed for the Buick. As I headed out of town, I opted to roll down the windows instead of turning on the air conditioning. As the evening air rushed in and swirled around the interior, so did a blast of olfactory triggered memories. These weren't really memories of events; more of just living in this place. The air smelled like dust and almond trees and roses and oil refineries and occasionally cattle. I was overwhelmed by how intense my feelings were. Snippets of memories floated around the car on the evening breeze. This was the scent of late night drives with Derek and visits to grandparents with the kids. It also smelled like elementary school and my teenage years. It smelled like old boyfriends and visits to relatives and everything else about my life prior to my marriage. It surrounded me like a warm embrace.
When Derek and I married, we split to the four winds. Leaving Bakersfield behind in the dust and never looking back. I don't like Bakersfield; I never really have. It does have it's moments though. For about two weeks in the spring it's actually kind of pretty, but it's not a place that I love. However, as I drove, I realized that no matter how far across the globe I travel, no matter how many times I do or don't come back, I will always be from Bakersfield and it will always be home.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Goodbye Uncle Art
I won't be having Nana day with Julia this next week after all. My dear Uncle Art passed away Thursday afternoon after a long and arduous battle with Parkinson's disease. He was my fathers youngest brother. He was the Uncle who was the most like my dad. I'm not sure that it was necessary for me to fly out to California for the funeral. I've barely been here over the years and haven't stay in touch with family that closely, but then that is not something I'm particularly proud of, so when I told Derek that Uncle Art had died and he told me that I needed to go, I went. I trust Derek. He's a pretty smart guy. So here I am in Bakersfield yet again, wanting so much to reconnect with my extended family and share this time of grief with them. It's a place I try hard to avoid. I have lived in some breathtakingly beautiful places and this is not one of them. But all the matters is that family is here and so Jeannie and I hopped a westbound plane and headed for California. As we began our descent and drew close enough to see the city, it was clear that Bakersfield would not disappoint me and my determination never to live here again remains staunch. It is as dry, dusty and unappealing as it has always been. I scanned the landscape below for some sign of green but found it only in the paint jobs of the ancient low riders driving around like matchbox cars. Many cities across America spend exorbitant sums of money on beautification projects to make their cities more appealing. I think it's safe to say that Bakersfield could never be accused of such frivolous spending. I admit that there are areas that would be interesting to photograph. For instance, the vast oilfields could be graphically interesting, but Bakersfield will NEVER win any beauty contests.
speaking of photography, I have done the unspeakable. I, Leni Hester, a professional photographer, forgot my camera! I did mention in a recent blog that I was not designed to fly at 6:00 am. Well, this was yet another 6:00 am flight and once again we had to be at the airport at 4:30. Rest assured, I made absolutely certain that there were NO bomb ingredients (toiletries) in my carry-on bag this time, but sadly, there was also no camera. Derek informs me that when he got home after dropping Jeannie and I at the airport, he found it sitting forlorn and abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. I feel particularly stupid because it's not exactly an inconspicuous camera. It is a Nikon D700 with an extended batter back. It is a veritable behemoth of a camera and I might as well have forgotten my left arm. I feel naked without it.
There WAS one glorious reprieve. I had expected the temperature to be a hellish 110 degrees, because after all, it's only September. We were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a balmy 79 when we landed. Uncle Harold and aunt Lorraine picked us up at the airport. Thought I know that they are getting older (I certainly am, so it stands to reason everyone else is too), but to me they looked the same as they always have. They are simply...themselves, sweet as ever.
Have I mentioned that in the past several months I have lost 50 lbs? I have converted to a life of Weight Watchers and have met with great success. When Aunt Lorraine produced lunch yesterday, I knew that this week was not going to be a weight watchers week. I suspect that this will be a weight gainers week, but I will try to be valiant. The only problem is that Bakersfield is like so many of the 'Pasta Mama's' of Italy. Not much to look at, but a great cook! There is a bakery here called, simply, Smith's Bakery. I have a framed pastry box top with there logo on it in my home. Do I really need to say any more? In addition, Bakersfield was originally settled by Basque sheep Herders. Have you ever had Basque food? It's practically a religious experience. Go to the Wool Growers some time. You'll see. Then after sheep herding took a downturn in popularity, Mexico took over. Bakersfield is over 80 percent Hispanic. You won't find better Mexican food in Mexico than you'll find here. So, I have decided that I can stay here and visit family, but I will, unfortunately, not be able to leave the house. Of course, this won't be much help either because Aunt Lorraine is a really great cook and being in her 80's, has never even heard of health food. This is a home of comfort food, so my goal for this week is simple. Try not to gain back the entire 50 lbs in 7 days. Pray for me....
speaking of photography, I have done the unspeakable. I, Leni Hester, a professional photographer, forgot my camera! I did mention in a recent blog that I was not designed to fly at 6:00 am. Well, this was yet another 6:00 am flight and once again we had to be at the airport at 4:30. Rest assured, I made absolutely certain that there were NO bomb ingredients (toiletries) in my carry-on bag this time, but sadly, there was also no camera. Derek informs me that when he got home after dropping Jeannie and I at the airport, he found it sitting forlorn and abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. I feel particularly stupid because it's not exactly an inconspicuous camera. It is a Nikon D700 with an extended batter back. It is a veritable behemoth of a camera and I might as well have forgotten my left arm. I feel naked without it.
There WAS one glorious reprieve. I had expected the temperature to be a hellish 110 degrees, because after all, it's only September. We were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a balmy 79 when we landed. Uncle Harold and aunt Lorraine picked us up at the airport. Thought I know that they are getting older (I certainly am, so it stands to reason everyone else is too), but to me they looked the same as they always have. They are simply...themselves, sweet as ever.
Have I mentioned that in the past several months I have lost 50 lbs? I have converted to a life of Weight Watchers and have met with great success. When Aunt Lorraine produced lunch yesterday, I knew that this week was not going to be a weight watchers week. I suspect that this will be a weight gainers week, but I will try to be valiant. The only problem is that Bakersfield is like so many of the 'Pasta Mama's' of Italy. Not much to look at, but a great cook! There is a bakery here called, simply, Smith's Bakery. I have a framed pastry box top with there logo on it in my home. Do I really need to say any more? In addition, Bakersfield was originally settled by Basque sheep Herders. Have you ever had Basque food? It's practically a religious experience. Go to the Wool Growers some time. You'll see. Then after sheep herding took a downturn in popularity, Mexico took over. Bakersfield is over 80 percent Hispanic. You won't find better Mexican food in Mexico than you'll find here. So, I have decided that I can stay here and visit family, but I will, unfortunately, not be able to leave the house. Of course, this won't be much help either because Aunt Lorraine is a really great cook and being in her 80's, has never even heard of health food. This is a home of comfort food, so my goal for this week is simple. Try not to gain back the entire 50 lbs in 7 days. Pray for me....
Nana day and other things...
Thursday's are 'Nana' day. This is a red letter day each week because on Thursday, I pick up my sweet granddaughter, Julia and we spend the morning together...just us...no distractions. This week I arrived at Chi and Heathers house and rang the doorbell. I heard a flurry of scrambling and then a boisterously ,"Nana's here"! Even though my day had already been going well, it improved rabidly at the sound of Julia's sweet little voice, eagerly yelling those words.
If I could have my way, I would have 'Nana' day Monday through Friday. One for each grandchild, though technically one of those days would have to be spent with Samantha as grandchild number five hasn't actually hatched yet, but sadly two granddaughters live in Colorado Springs and I only see them every few months and CJ, at just over a year old still only likes Mommy and isn't quite ready for the excitement of 'Nana' day. So, for now, I enjoy my Thursday with Julia and I take consolation in talking to Eden and Autumn on the telephone.
It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you're a doctor or a movie star or a physicist...you feel exponentially more important in the presence of a grandchild. This is probably because they haven't yet learned all the things about you that your children have, so they still adore you and think you are amazing. The good news is that since you are the grandparent and not the parent, they will probably continue to think highly of you as long as you don't screw things up by getting all parental on them.
So I stood on the front porch and heard Julia's impatient anticipation as her mom apparently struggled to get the door unlocked and open it. I knelt down as the door opened and came face to face with a smiling CJ who threw himself into my arms with rocket-like intensity. Julia jumped up and down behind him. "Nana! Nana! It's Nana day! Are we going to spend time together"?
This is how most Nana days start. In the car we discuss what we will be doing and decide that the play room at Burger King will be a good place to start. Julia starts jabbering nonstop, explaining to me that she wants an ice cream but first she will eat her chicken nuggets and apple fries and chocolate milk and that she will hold my hand in the parking lot because she knows all the rules!
After Burger King it is decided that we need to go shopping next and that maybe buying a new outfit would be a good thing. It turns out that Julia has very strong opinions about fashion and shopping took a good bit of time as she dismissed outfit after outfit as unacceptable. When she finally declared that she had found "some good clothes" I suggested she try the jeans on under her dress. She was indignant and informed me that girls didn't try clothes on in the middle of the store, they used a special room, so it was off to the 'special' room where she deemed the outfit a winner and after paring it up with glittery pink tennis shoes we made our purchases and headed home. At home, we decided that our next activity would be sitting on the green, retro glider on the front porch (would I have anything else) and reading Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Eventually, Heather came and retrieved Julia. She was very sad to have to go but I promised that we would have another 'Nana' day next week.
Some may wonder at this entry. There is no sarcasm, no humorous twist to my generally disastrous adventures. Just a blurb about a day with a little three year old girl, and unless you have ever been a 'Nana' spending the day with an adoring three year old granddaughter this will probably seem insignificant, but I can assure you that compared to the many adventures I have had in my life, this is right at the very top of the pile!
If I could have my way, I would have 'Nana' day Monday through Friday. One for each grandchild, though technically one of those days would have to be spent with Samantha as grandchild number five hasn't actually hatched yet, but sadly two granddaughters live in Colorado Springs and I only see them every few months and CJ, at just over a year old still only likes Mommy and isn't quite ready for the excitement of 'Nana' day. So, for now, I enjoy my Thursday with Julia and I take consolation in talking to Eden and Autumn on the telephone.
It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you're a doctor or a movie star or a physicist...you feel exponentially more important in the presence of a grandchild. This is probably because they haven't yet learned all the things about you that your children have, so they still adore you and think you are amazing. The good news is that since you are the grandparent and not the parent, they will probably continue to think highly of you as long as you don't screw things up by getting all parental on them.
So I stood on the front porch and heard Julia's impatient anticipation as her mom apparently struggled to get the door unlocked and open it. I knelt down as the door opened and came face to face with a smiling CJ who threw himself into my arms with rocket-like intensity. Julia jumped up and down behind him. "Nana! Nana! It's Nana day! Are we going to spend time together"?
This is how most Nana days start. In the car we discuss what we will be doing and decide that the play room at Burger King will be a good place to start. Julia starts jabbering nonstop, explaining to me that she wants an ice cream but first she will eat her chicken nuggets and apple fries and chocolate milk and that she will hold my hand in the parking lot because she knows all the rules!
After Burger King it is decided that we need to go shopping next and that maybe buying a new outfit would be a good thing. It turns out that Julia has very strong opinions about fashion and shopping took a good bit of time as she dismissed outfit after outfit as unacceptable. When she finally declared that she had found "some good clothes" I suggested she try the jeans on under her dress. She was indignant and informed me that girls didn't try clothes on in the middle of the store, they used a special room, so it was off to the 'special' room where she deemed the outfit a winner and after paring it up with glittery pink tennis shoes we made our purchases and headed home. At home, we decided that our next activity would be sitting on the green, retro glider on the front porch (would I have anything else) and reading Harold and the Purple Crayon.
Eventually, Heather came and retrieved Julia. She was very sad to have to go but I promised that we would have another 'Nana' day next week.
Some may wonder at this entry. There is no sarcasm, no humorous twist to my generally disastrous adventures. Just a blurb about a day with a little three year old girl, and unless you have ever been a 'Nana' spending the day with an adoring three year old granddaughter this will probably seem insignificant, but I can assure you that compared to the many adventures I have had in my life, this is right at the very top of the pile!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
And away I go...
Well, here I am. Back by popular badgering. I'm actually happy to be back. I've missed blogging. Here's what I've recently discovered. ...sometimes, we just lose our voice. Not physically, though heaven knows I've done that often enough; but mentally and emotionally. So, for a while I lost my voice, but scratchy and hoarse though it is, here I am.
Interestingly enough, currently, "here" is sitting on an airplane bound for Las Vegas. Well...technically THIS airplane is bound for Houston. Once I am there, THEN I will board an airplane bound for Las Vegas. I am on my way to an exciting four day stay at The Mandalay Bay Resort and Hotel, where I will be attending a conference held by the National Association of Photoshop Professionals. (We're the people who manage to make your blemishes and laugh lines disappear after we take your picture. It is my experience that Photoshop is far superior to Clearasil when it comes to clearing up acne).
For those of you, who, upon hearing that I would be attending this conference alone, were rude enough to suggest that I was bound to have any number of disastrous misadventures, let me alleviate the suspense and tell you that I managed to have my first misadventure before even boarding the airplane.
I do not believe that this particular misadventure was my fault. I have two solid foundations upon which to base this theory. The first is that any packing of luggage done after midnight is automatically doomed to some sort of disastrous failure. Secondly, I blame Derek because he should have know better than to let me pack by myself without the benefit of him questioning me repeatedly as to whether I was doing it right or not.
Here is the frustrating part though. The part I just can't figure out. I am not a travel novice. I have traveled the world quite extensively and have been in a vast number of airports. Dare I say it? I am actually quite travel savvy. So please, one of you...tell me what could have possessed me to carefully pack my suitcase with all of the right stuff, and then with equal care and clevereness, fill my carry on with every deadly, terrorist related looking gel and liquid on the market. Yes...it's true. I'm pretty sure I'm on Homeland Security's watch list by now.
There I was...Jeannie had dropped me off at the airport at the stunningly inappropriate hour of 4:30 am to catch my 6:00 am flight. With all the flair of a seasoned traveler, I had checked in after having cleverly printed up my boarding pass night. I have even prepaid my baggage fee. Yes, the cheapskate, money grubbing airline charged me $23.00 for the one lousy bag that I brought with me.
I stopped off at the gift shop to purchase a new John Grisham novel because, as everyone who is travel savvy knows, you can't read a book from home on an airplane. It's just no good. You must read a brand new book, purchased at the airport specifically for the trip. Even if you plan on reading the Bible, you are really better off just buying a new one at the gift shop. You'll enjoy it more.
So there I was, ready to start my adventure. As a savvy traveler, I had even removed my shoes prior to getting into the boarding gate line. I knew the drill. I had my boarding pass at the ready along with my photo ID (drivers license, not military ID because the picture is way better).
I pulled out my laptop and dropped it into a gray plastic bin. My shoes, camera and iTouch went into another bin and my purse and carry-on went directly onto the conveyor belt. I was waved through the metal detector without incident and went to stand at the other end of the conveyor anticipating the arrival of my gear. Imagine my surprise when a light began flashing directly over the x-ray machine and a burly woman who surely does mixed martial arts looked directly at me and said in a clear, authoritative voice "M'am? Is this bag which is obviously filled with liquids and gels meant for nefarious purposes and/or terrorism yours?"
Okay, maybe those weren't her EXACT words, but I assure you, the implication was there in her voice and demeanor. I looked at her blankly. "Yeah, that's my bag". She gave me a suspicious look as though sizing me up. She was clearly trying to decide whether I was an exceedingly crafty and devilishly devious terrorist, or whether I was just really stupid. Sadly, at this point I must own up to the really stupid thing, but in my defense, it WAS 4:30 in the morning. I continued to stare blankly at her. She continued to stare back. "M'am, passengers are prohibited from carrying liquids and gels onto the airplane. Your case is full of liquids and gels". ..................Oh! There is twas! Understanding finally poked its weary head through the fog of early morning travel. Apparently too much of my extensive travel had been done pre 9/11. I have certainly flown often since then, but had apparently blanked out on all the rules in the wee hours of the morning. Depression settled on my sleepy brain at the realization that I hadn't even left the airport and I had already engaged in a "Leni event". All those people who had foretold this were going to gloat now, especially after I had indignantly and vehemently refuted their claims that "Leni" and "Misadventure" were practically synonymous.
My blank expression shifted from one of incomprehension to one of confused desperation. What was I supposed to do now, because throwing away about $300.00 worth of toiletries was simply not an option, not to mention the fact that, at the tender age of 49, I am no longer willing to be seen in public without all of the appropriate moisturizers and makeup.
The burly woman gave me a look which screamed "if I've got to deal with this ditz at four in the morning, clearly the rest of my day is really going to suck". Then she gave me her best "Wow, you really pulled a "Leni" look and said "You can either throw it away, or you can go back to the baggage counter and check it through".
Check it through! Yes! Here was a reasonable option. I flashed her a bright, friendly, non-terrorist smile and indicated that I would take the dangerous and offensive toiletries back to baggage and check them through, but that I needed to take a few things out first. As I reached for my stylishly retro, blue trimmed, black BeautiControl bag, she jerked her arm back as though I had just asked her to let me take the detonator out before I checked it through. "I'm sorry M'am; I'll have to keep this until I escort you out of the boarding area". I tried hard not to look dangerous and muttering my compliance, I shuffled meekly behind her to the exit.
Once out of the boarding area, I was released on my own recognizance. I checked the time and broke into a sprint when I realized that it was now only ten minutes until boarding time. Back at the baggage claim area, I waited for my turn with increasing agitation as I realized that the sky pirates were probably going to charge me an extra $35.00 for a second bag. Mustering what little civility I had left, I stepped to the counter and beamed apologetically at the agent. With dignity and aplomb I owned up to my early morning lapse in judgment and oozing a completely non-terrorist like sincerity, I queried whether it might be possible to retrieve my already checked bag so that I might add my bag of ingredie....er...toiletries to my already checked bag. In my head, I knew this was never going to happen. I was just not going to be that lucky and in addition, they were going to charge me an additional $100 suspicious character fee before allowing me to board the plane, so you can imagine my shock and delight when the simply adorable girl behind the counter smiled and said "sure, no problem"! Oddly enough, she hadn't seemed quite as adorable before she said that, but I really liked her a lot now.
Off she went to retrieve my bag which was blessedly and serendipitously under-packed. I waited, relieved that my trip would not be tainted by the resentful frustration of being forced to pay outrageous fees just so that I would have clean underwear and a moisturized face on my trip. I was starting to get concerned as minutes ticked by and entered the "missing my plane" zone.
Finally my new hero returned, breathless, with my bag. She piped up cheerfully, "I'm sorry that took so long, they had already loaded your bag onto the plane so I went out and got it"! My humor was restored! My misadventure resolved! All because a very sweet airline employee went out of her way to be helpful when she could just as easily have slapped me with a $35.00 baggage fee and went on with her day.
So to all of you out there gloating that I've proven you right about my inability to do anything without a disaster, I thank you for the bit of predestination. :-) I have decided to embrace my misadventures because it often seems that it's only through those that we can genuinely appreciate these sweet little victories in our lives!
To Shane and Arwen, thanks for egging me on. This is probably more detail than anyone could ever want to hear about a little thing like inadvertently trying to smuggle contraband onto an airplane, but the telling kept me busy for the whole flight!
I'll try my best to keep you up on any further adventures or misadventures that I might stumble upon.
Interestingly enough, currently, "here" is sitting on an airplane bound for Las Vegas. Well...technically THIS airplane is bound for Houston. Once I am there, THEN I will board an airplane bound for Las Vegas. I am on my way to an exciting four day stay at The Mandalay Bay Resort and Hotel, where I will be attending a conference held by the National Association of Photoshop Professionals. (We're the people who manage to make your blemishes and laugh lines disappear after we take your picture. It is my experience that Photoshop is far superior to Clearasil when it comes to clearing up acne).
For those of you, who, upon hearing that I would be attending this conference alone, were rude enough to suggest that I was bound to have any number of disastrous misadventures, let me alleviate the suspense and tell you that I managed to have my first misadventure before even boarding the airplane.
I do not believe that this particular misadventure was my fault. I have two solid foundations upon which to base this theory. The first is that any packing of luggage done after midnight is automatically doomed to some sort of disastrous failure. Secondly, I blame Derek because he should have know better than to let me pack by myself without the benefit of him questioning me repeatedly as to whether I was doing it right or not.
Here is the frustrating part though. The part I just can't figure out. I am not a travel novice. I have traveled the world quite extensively and have been in a vast number of airports. Dare I say it? I am actually quite travel savvy. So please, one of you...tell me what could have possessed me to carefully pack my suitcase with all of the right stuff, and then with equal care and clevereness, fill my carry on with every deadly, terrorist related looking gel and liquid on the market. Yes...it's true. I'm pretty sure I'm on Homeland Security's watch list by now.
There I was...Jeannie had dropped me off at the airport at the stunningly inappropriate hour of 4:30 am to catch my 6:00 am flight. With all the flair of a seasoned traveler, I had checked in after having cleverly printed up my boarding pass night. I have even prepaid my baggage fee. Yes, the cheapskate, money grubbing airline charged me $23.00 for the one lousy bag that I brought with me.
I stopped off at the gift shop to purchase a new John Grisham novel because, as everyone who is travel savvy knows, you can't read a book from home on an airplane. It's just no good. You must read a brand new book, purchased at the airport specifically for the trip. Even if you plan on reading the Bible, you are really better off just buying a new one at the gift shop. You'll enjoy it more.
So there I was, ready to start my adventure. As a savvy traveler, I had even removed my shoes prior to getting into the boarding gate line. I knew the drill. I had my boarding pass at the ready along with my photo ID (drivers license, not military ID because the picture is way better).
I pulled out my laptop and dropped it into a gray plastic bin. My shoes, camera and iTouch went into another bin and my purse and carry-on went directly onto the conveyor belt. I was waved through the metal detector without incident and went to stand at the other end of the conveyor anticipating the arrival of my gear. Imagine my surprise when a light began flashing directly over the x-ray machine and a burly woman who surely does mixed martial arts looked directly at me and said in a clear, authoritative voice "M'am? Is this bag which is obviously filled with liquids and gels meant for nefarious purposes and/or terrorism yours?"
Okay, maybe those weren't her EXACT words, but I assure you, the implication was there in her voice and demeanor. I looked at her blankly. "Yeah, that's my bag". She gave me a suspicious look as though sizing me up. She was clearly trying to decide whether I was an exceedingly crafty and devilishly devious terrorist, or whether I was just really stupid. Sadly, at this point I must own up to the really stupid thing, but in my defense, it WAS 4:30 in the morning. I continued to stare blankly at her. She continued to stare back. "M'am, passengers are prohibited from carrying liquids and gels onto the airplane. Your case is full of liquids and gels". ..................Oh! There is twas! Understanding finally poked its weary head through the fog of early morning travel. Apparently too much of my extensive travel had been done pre 9/11. I have certainly flown often since then, but had apparently blanked out on all the rules in the wee hours of the morning. Depression settled on my sleepy brain at the realization that I hadn't even left the airport and I had already engaged in a "Leni event". All those people who had foretold this were going to gloat now, especially after I had indignantly and vehemently refuted their claims that "Leni" and "Misadventure" were practically synonymous.
My blank expression shifted from one of incomprehension to one of confused desperation. What was I supposed to do now, because throwing away about $300.00 worth of toiletries was simply not an option, not to mention the fact that, at the tender age of 49, I am no longer willing to be seen in public without all of the appropriate moisturizers and makeup.
The burly woman gave me a look which screamed "if I've got to deal with this ditz at four in the morning, clearly the rest of my day is really going to suck". Then she gave me her best "Wow, you really pulled a "Leni" look and said "You can either throw it away, or you can go back to the baggage counter and check it through".
Check it through! Yes! Here was a reasonable option. I flashed her a bright, friendly, non-terrorist smile and indicated that I would take the dangerous and offensive toiletries back to baggage and check them through, but that I needed to take a few things out first. As I reached for my stylishly retro, blue trimmed, black BeautiControl bag, she jerked her arm back as though I had just asked her to let me take the detonator out before I checked it through. "I'm sorry M'am; I'll have to keep this until I escort you out of the boarding area". I tried hard not to look dangerous and muttering my compliance, I shuffled meekly behind her to the exit.
Once out of the boarding area, I was released on my own recognizance. I checked the time and broke into a sprint when I realized that it was now only ten minutes until boarding time. Back at the baggage claim area, I waited for my turn with increasing agitation as I realized that the sky pirates were probably going to charge me an extra $35.00 for a second bag. Mustering what little civility I had left, I stepped to the counter and beamed apologetically at the agent. With dignity and aplomb I owned up to my early morning lapse in judgment and oozing a completely non-terrorist like sincerity, I queried whether it might be possible to retrieve my already checked bag so that I might add my bag of ingredie....er...toiletries to my already checked bag. In my head, I knew this was never going to happen. I was just not going to be that lucky and in addition, they were going to charge me an additional $100 suspicious character fee before allowing me to board the plane, so you can imagine my shock and delight when the simply adorable girl behind the counter smiled and said "sure, no problem"! Oddly enough, she hadn't seemed quite as adorable before she said that, but I really liked her a lot now.
Off she went to retrieve my bag which was blessedly and serendipitously under-packed. I waited, relieved that my trip would not be tainted by the resentful frustration of being forced to pay outrageous fees just so that I would have clean underwear and a moisturized face on my trip. I was starting to get concerned as minutes ticked by and entered the "missing my plane" zone.
Finally my new hero returned, breathless, with my bag. She piped up cheerfully, "I'm sorry that took so long, they had already loaded your bag onto the plane so I went out and got it"! My humor was restored! My misadventure resolved! All because a very sweet airline employee went out of her way to be helpful when she could just as easily have slapped me with a $35.00 baggage fee and went on with her day.
So to all of you out there gloating that I've proven you right about my inability to do anything without a disaster, I thank you for the bit of predestination. :-) I have decided to embrace my misadventures because it often seems that it's only through those that we can genuinely appreciate these sweet little victories in our lives!
To Shane and Arwen, thanks for egging me on. This is probably more detail than anyone could ever want to hear about a little thing like inadvertently trying to smuggle contraband onto an airplane, but the telling kept me busy for the whole flight!
I'll try my best to keep you up on any further adventures or misadventures that I might stumble upon.
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