Miscellaneous Musing |On The Road by Judy @ 1:06 AM

dawn over Biscayne

Thank you, gentle readers, for your comments on my last post. Really, it was meant to be humorous. The whole trip was so absurd. And what could I do but go along for the ride? I was at the mercy of the weather and Continental Airlines.

One more self-indulgent travel-and-life post, and then we’ll go back to the knitting content. I promise. And there will be knitting content to show you, because what else can you do for 3 hours while sitting in a plane? But for now we will return to my little story. Skip if you’re not interested – I won’t be offended.

When we last saw this intrepid traveler, I had arrived in Miami a day late. I found the location of the forum I was supposed to be attending, but there was nobody there. I knew they were all eating lunch somewhere, but I couldn’t find them. Later I learned that a marvelous lunch was served outside on a patio overlooking Biscayne Bay. I was too tired to be very hungry anyway. I found a bagel and a banana left over from the forum’s collective breakfast, and poured myself a cup of coffee. (Really, gentle reader, this wasn’t gross at all. Piles of various foodstuffs were available at all times in case anyone felt a trifle peckish.) I have no idea what was discussed that afternoon. I was asleep on my feet. So I skipped the semi-obligatory Opening Night Reception in favor of room service and bed.

At midnight, my cell phone rang. Sleepily I answered…

#1 Son: Hi Mom. Were you asleep? How come? Can you move my car?

Me: Yes, I was asleep. I was asleep because it’s midnight and I’ve just had the plane trip from hell. I’m in Miami. It would be very difficult to move your car. What’s wrong with it? [ed. I will interject here to add that #1 Son lives in a neighborhood that requires permits to park on the street, where he parks sans the permit he’s never bothered to acquire. Currently he’s in Canada on a band tour, thus it would be difficult for him to move it himself.]

#1 Son: My roommate said I got a ticket or something. So I thought maybe you could drive over there and move my car so I don’t get another ticket.

Me: Can’t your roommate move it?

#1 Son: I didn’t leave them my keys. So there’s only your set.

Me: Well… right now I’m going back to sleep. I can’t do anything about it until Friday. But I really don’t want to spend the next three weeks juggling your car, so I suggest you find someone who can come and get the keys from me and park it some non-permit-required location.

#1 Son: OK. I’ll get back to you.

The rest of the stay in Miami was uneventful. Part of it may have included drinks that should have had little umbrellas in them had the bar not been out of umbrellas, and a whole bunch of shrimp at Bubba Gump’s, and my ever expanding and contracting hair.

At the Miami airport, I changed my seats when I checked in. For some reason, I’d been booked at the back of the plane on all of the flights. I moved myself up to the front. My flight left the Miami airport almost on time. There were severe thunderstorms in Houston. We circled Houston for 90 minutes while the tower debated what to do with us. Eventually they gave in and let us land. Since I was at the front of the plane, I was off quickly — and with 8 minutes to make it all the way across the Houston airport to make my connection, I needed to be quick.

Right there at the gate was one of those cart things that they give people rides on. I hopped on and asked for a ride to gate E8. The driver started off. First we went to the C gates. Then we went to the D gates. Then we stopped to find out where someone needed to go who didn’t know where their flight was. Then we saw the high-numbered E gates. I started sweating into my ever expanding Houston hair. Can we hurry? I asked the driver. You’ll get there. he said.

I was off the seat and to the gate before he even came to a complete stop. Portland? The gate attendant asked. I handed over my boarding pass and was allowed on. I was the last person on the plane. The doors were closed and the plane was pushed back. The pilot moved the plane out towards the runway, then parked and turned the engines off.
it was raining in Houston

We sat on the tarmac. For. 3. Hours.

I didn’t care. I was on a plane bound for Portland, and they were going to have to drag me off kicking and screaming if they tried to end the flight before arriving at my intended destination.

On Friday, #1 Son’s friend fetched the car keys from me and attempted to move #1 Son’s car. Except the car wasn’t there.

It had been towed.

So friend and I went to get the car out of hock instead, and then friend drove off to park the car in some non-permit-required location. He promised to treat it gently.

And now the story stops being amusing.

On Saturday morning my phone rang with the news that my former father-in-law, #1 Son’s grandpa, had passed away. He was a gentle man, active in his community and his church, who loved his family and his friends and his grandson very much. He will be sorely missed by many, including this reporter.

I called #1 Son in Toronto, his tour stop of the day, and we discussed logistics. I can’t figure out any way to get him home for the funeral. Get a passport was one of those things, along with moving his car, that #1 Son was supposed to accomplish before leaving on tour. The key words here are was supposed to. Like moving the car, the passport didn’t happen. And wasn’t needed since they drove across the boarder. But he can’t fly out. He will not be allowed through customs at an airport without a passport. I have extended his apologies to grandma. I think she understands.

But, you can understand, gentle reader, that I wasn’t too surprised when #1 Son called me later Saturday morning to tell me that his amp had blown while taping a show for a Toronto radio station. I wasn’t too surprised at all.

If I had read this series of event in a novel, I would have tossed it out as being way too unconvincing and way too much.

The amp, fortunately, was repairable. My sanity, unfortunately, is questionable.

We will now, hopefully, return to the mundane existence that is normal at chez PI, in which I have to search long and hard for interesting events to blog about and where knitting content is the rule rather than the exception.

Thank you for your patience.

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Stuff I Gotta Do

Follow The Leader shawl


entrelac wrap


Arabesque shawl


Jubjub Bird Socks


I Mog Di


Peacock Feather Shawl


Honeybee Stole


Irtfa'a Faroese Shawl




Fatigues henley sweater


Jade Sapphire Scarf


#1 Son's Blanket


Cotton Bag