... but not mine.
Remember the 2010 Winter Olympics, where Lindsay Vonn fell out of bed, cut herself shaving, slipped on a banana peel, took a wrong turn, missed the bus and fell off her bicycle, bloodying both her knees in the process and laying her up in the ski lodge with huge packs of frozen peas and a mug of hot buttered rum? or something like that?
And remember how the weather was all wet and cloudy and foggy and misty and drippy and slushy so our regularly scheduled skiing could not take place as planned? And remember how Lindsay had a couple of days to rest up and actually won one or two medals?
Well, the weather gods used up all their goodwill on Lindsay (like she needed more medals), and therefore had nothing left in their arsenal to favor me and my family, as we packed bags and bags and bags for a family trip to somewhere (have you guessed yet?) over Spring Break.
My trip preparations always include getting the house into better order than it's normally in when we're at home (strangely ironic, isn't it? Like when you're getting your house ready to put on the market and you have everything painted and repaired and updated that you haven't bothered to paint or repair or update in all the time you've lived there). As soon as we get up we load every shred of clothing into the washer and manage to squeak it into the dryer before leaving the house. Sinks are clear, dishes are run through the dishwasher, trash and recycling are emptied, refrigerator is empty, kitchen table and counters are swept clean, furniture is in place, shoes are in closets. We return to a house that's tidy and welcoming, until we dump our clothes, bags and souvenirs in the laundry room and start the cycle again. It's a lot of work and I always pine wistfully for one more day to get ready, but that never happens.
Until yesterday.
The flight to Newark was delayed two hours. Then another two hours. And another two. Trees and power lines fell, streets flooded, winds blew at up to 75 miles per hour, which qualified them as Category 1 hurricane strength. The flight was canceled. Then the airport closed.
And there we were, ten of us, at the airport for going on six hours, with all our bags and snacks and magazines and iPods and we're all like: "Never mind."
So we did everything in reverse: reclaimed luggage that had been checked and weighed and xrayed; rode home in cabs driving backwards the whole way; turned on the heat and off all the lights we'd left on at home to fool potential burglars into believing there really was someone in the house.
You try rescheduling travel arrangements for 10 people over Spring Break, flying through the East Coast when the entire eastern seaboard is inundated with rain and winds and flying tree limbs and falling houses. Go ahead -- just try. I guarantee you'll still be on the phone 24 hours later (thanks Dad). As it is, we're flying out (maybe) Monday morning at 6:20 am, which means getting to the airport by 4:30 am, which means getting up at some time with a 3 in it, which I usually do only if I have to go to the bathroom. Meanwhile, there are dishes on the sink and clothes in the hampers, that will all still be there when we return home.
So -- that extra day to make sure everything's ready? So not worth it.
