t-t-trying to get out the door
by bam
hmm, you might be saying to yourself, that thing up there, the one with little beacon and big fat needle, i swear, you say, it looks just like a machine that sews.
but why? you ask, you smarty pants.
what in heaven’s name, you wonder, does mr. singer’s old invention have to do with getting out the door?
well, everything. when, at 9 o’clock at night, after supremely long, long day, you decide it’s really time to give some thought to the plane you are catching in the morning.
and when, as you finally tear through drawers, stack together all the clothes you need for one of those twice-a-year truly dapper must-be-theres, you notice that either someone cut the cuffs off your little one’s dapper pants or his legs have stretched by four inches since last he wore the now-three-quarter-length, not-so-dapper pants.
so, no fool, you, you move onto plan b, which is where the machine above comes in. you insist little mr. long legs try on the only other pair that’s anywhere near his ankles and you notice, because you see the spaceship underpants peeking out from where a seam should be, that they’re split right up the bottom.
now keep in mind that you are not the queen of sewing needles. in fact somewhere in your medical records is the trip to the emergency room with the needle and lovely salmon-colored thread dangling from the very middle of your pointer finger.
but there you are, in the dark and chilly basement, glasses sliding down your nose, pins pricking your every other finger, hoping to high heaven you can make this work.
or else, you’re sunk.
you will be the only one on the upper east side of manhattan, for mercy’s sake, who lets her little boy go off to synagogue with spaceship underpants making rare, and remarkable, appearance beneath hand-me-down brooks brothers navy blazer.
the chic who populate manhattan will surely spin you ’round and point you back to the farmland where they think that you belong.
oy, as boy no. 1 likes to say.
now once upon a time, you might remember, going out of town meant tossing clothes and brush in bag and locking up the door. that was once upon a time. this is now. this is your rather complicated life. this is your life with people who depend on you to think—and pack—what they might need to wear.
and then they wail when you try to argue that a light saber is a.) not really the accessory for penny loafers and white oxford, and b.) probably going to get you bumped when you try to pass the nice policeman who thinks that mouthwash, for crying out loud, makes for lethal carry-on.
the wailing will not end, so you pull out your biggest gun: go ask daddy.
apparently, daddy already demurred. daddy said to go ask you.
back and forth all night, the poor progeny of indecisive parents could bounce and bounce and bounce.
had i had the camera in the dim light of where the suitcases are dumped, mouths wide open, you would see that somewhere amid the bounce, bounce, bouncing one of the indecisives did decide: a flag it seems was waved, decidedly a white one.
for, right beside the little loafers, there is packed, of course, the doggone saber. “i’ll tell ’em it fights the bad guys on the plane,” the little warrior offered.
swell, you say to self, as you shuffle off to pour your goopy potions into eensy-weensy bottles the plane police get such a kick from.
as i aim and spill, i’ll spare you all the sturm und drang about the nasty storm that’s on its way. the one the weather people bawked about all day yesterday, with flashing warnings, and dire forecasts of 70-mile-an-hour winds. the one we fear might make for a long, long night on the friendly cots of laguardia.
did i mention that i now routinely fly with a guy who would rather have a root canal than have his body lifted off the ground, even if it’s seatbelted into a metal bird that no longer stocks so much as a single salty peanut for all the flapping?
ah, the joys of going away.
i forge on. quite confident that, once there, light saber, unholey pants, husband hooked to 100-percent pure oxygen, it should all be rather grand.
i love going out of town. especially when, before i board the plane, i have to haul out the sewing machine i keep on hand for just such pre-flight emergencies.
oh, and as i wind this up, i now get report from talking head at open door that the suitcase we used to use to carry hanging things, well it broke a while back, could not be fixed, and, oops, we forgot to get a new one.
hmmm, long as i’m on a sewing roll, wonder if i could run that broken thing through the trusty machine now waiting, taunting, down below?
or else, i’ll be wearing all my clothes—chic black suit on top of jeans on top of striped pajamas–as i carry on my light saber.
raise your hand if you too love the calm, the cool, of getting out of town…any strange departure tales you care to tell? in the meantime, beware of little boys bearing sabers. and see you monday, when i’m back with stormy tales.
Oh bam, I laughed so hard I cried………..In all the calm, cool preparations for getting away all you can do is laugh and enjoy the absurdity of it all…….it always gets to a point where you just let go and ‘go’ …………..I can’t wait to hear about the final destination of the ‘light saber’……….I’m sure it was a big hit at the airport………there could be an intergalatic battle raging somewhere behind the scenes of O’Hare right now and we are mercifully unaware……(the security personnel must have a great time with our confiscated items)…….I had my own day of reckoning this past Easter Sunday when my 8 year old ‘just wouldn’t’ give up the fight to wear his ‘year old’ suit to church……….boy, they sure grow a lot in a year!……….i did win the battle of the ‘over the ankle’ pants but gave in to the pleading for the ‘just a little too small’ suit jacket……….and now, by the thoughtful photo taking of a church friend, I’ll have the memory to cherish forever………a lovely Easter photo of my 12 year old, myself, a dear sweet ‘friend’, and ‘who is that little orphan boy in the picture with you?’…….ahhhh, hopefully, it will remind me to get the clothes out a little earlier and check for fit BEFORE the morning of………….Have a wonderful trip……..enjoy every minute…………Looking forward to your Monday ‘meandering’…………
Oh brother, can I relate to this one. VV in PV, I’m giggling right along with you! It never fails … every trip is an instant replay of the one before: my husband pacing the floor, saying “c’mon, c’mon already, let’s hit the road”, me staying up to all hours making sure every button is secure, every last thing is in the suitcases, every speck of dust vanished from every surface of the house, bills paid, plants watered, caretakers for the cats lined up, etc., etc., and on and on … YIKES!One year we discovered that one of the girls had outgrown her swimsuit and sandals just as we were packing up to leave causing us to make a mad dash to the stores once we reached our destination. While my daughters never asked to tote a light saber aboard an airplane, they have wanted to bring everything they owned along including all the linens from their beds. When my eldest became old enough to pack herself it became a bit easier … until it was discovered that, while remembering her trendy Tommy Hilfiger et al, she somehow forgot that a toothbrush would come in handy over the course of a week’s time.Sometimes I wonder if all of the events leading up to the trip make the trip worthwhile … the answer to that one is always the same: YES! (bam, hope you can say the same on Monday).
hmm, so here it is saturday night in new york city. everyone all over town is talking about the ferocious nor’easter’ that threatens to pound the eastern seaboard and make departing flights a cosmic riddle. the big question now is will we get stranded at the airport, and spend the day inhaling the angry fumes of the ever-building throng, or will the airline just flat-out cancel things ahead of time and we’ll wait it out on the big island of manhattan. either way, there is a cat at home that needs us (and, dang, a blog that i can’t publish from here. eeek! how crazy is that, to feel compelled to get home for blogland…). i am thinking of this as major zen exercise: can i go with the flow, or will i, like the flight patterns, be tied in knots? by the way: new york city drop-ins should be federally mandated with minimum quarterly requirements; the city that never sleeps should be required reading for everyone with a heartbeat in america. just wandering around makes my heart beat triple time. what a place. you who call it home are mighty blessed. hope it looks as good with buckets of rain cascading to the hard cold concrete…..stay tuned, it’s live from new york city……will they fly, or will they while away the day lounging on their luggage?????
Traveling with my family is usually a nightmarish blur. All the loping through airports in a swervy, stroller-nearly-tipping-over path through the crowd; getting asked to take a sip from the sippy cup by the folks employed to keep us all safe at the security check; the repeated shuffling through bags to fetch out the proper i.d. materials in quadruplicate; and the inevitable arrival at the gate with–somehow–no driver’s license, and the equally inevitable bursting into tears–I don’t travel well. I just don’t. I loathe it, every minute of it, from the bad-smelling taxi at the outset to the lurching shuttle bus on some unknown freeway at the end (of course, precariously, unnaturally hurtling through the air needs no mention). Lucky for me I have my son, who has always given to me his peace, inner calm, and wonderful travel tips like, when he was three, mommy, when you think everything is getting bad, just think happy thoughts about your favorite place. My kids have never made any crazy demands on the trip, or the packing. I handle it all without anyone even being given the opportunity to comment. However I somehow seem to be responsible for things getting, shall we say, suboptimally complex once we leave the house.Like the time when I brought an entire baked wedding cake for my brother’s reception, each of the ten layers wrapped in foil, in a giant, groaning, sagging paper bag (running through the airport, crying at the gate, etc.). Or the time when we snaked through security at Midway, as crowded as a cattle drive, and the carseat got left behind in the shuffle and was not noticed until we were buckling in, sweatily, huffing. The crying at the gate was deferred this time to the plane itself. The amazing airline attendants sent some intrepid runner after our lost cargo, with the knowledge that its only identification was the melted orange crayon on its base. And most times I travel back home to Arizona I am asked to bring Giordano’s pizzas–half-baked and frozen, my large sensitive cargo usually wrapped in a down coat, stuffed into one of those groaning, sagging paper bags. What we do for our faraway loved ones. My daughter has begun to create a few issues herself, but again, they are not to do with the preparation for travel. It is just that sometimes she simply will not move without being carried. In travel there are, of course, not always arms to carry her. She has blocked half a plane from disembarking in this manner. I know soon she’ll begin ensuring that I pack just the right ballerina slippers, and the proper crown, but we haven’t gotten there yet.Until then I know that I do best–a herculean amount, as PJV pointed out– before we leave the house, and until I get to the other end I should be sedated. What can I say. I’m lucky it’s not the 1800s and I don’t have to use a wagon train to get to either end of the country.Hope you had a great trip bam. And may your return–the best part of most trips–be sweet, and simple.
I love to travel and love to return home. I don’t have too much trouble leaving the house…thanks to a husband who keeps the last minute list prominently posted and cared for. I get antsy on the way home. Why does the trip home always seem twice as long as the trip away?I have travelled across the globe with two small children. Went through 32 diapers (almost my whole supply) in what turned out to be a two and a half day trip to Australia now 6 years ago. Thank goodness I could nurse my infant or she would have starved!I pack lightly. One suitcase for a 3 week trip to Europe. It gives me permission to shop. I gladly gave up room in the suitcase for Cinderella’s gown and crown on the trip to Disney, never had a request for the light saber. Hope the security guards chuckled.Hope the trip was fun. If the Noreaster strands you, give a buzz. We are just under an hour away.
It’s Monday morning and even before I read this thread I was wondering whether you were in the eye of the storm. Maybe the light saber magicallly transported you back to the farm.
The news report of the conditions there in NYC aren’t very encouraging. I suspect your trip has been extended just as you predicted. Hope I’m wrong.