Arriving home

Last Edit September 23, 1999

Oh my God in heaven - what have I done?
Suitcases sprawl across the floor.
The cats are wild.
The dog wet the floor (near the litter pan, of course). She shredded a cat bed (the small one) and one of the foam linings to a jewel case.
Wall to wall disaster in my bedroom.
The babysitter said she did that all in one night and ate the cat food too - so she spent the next two nights outside. Digging holes.
Can we say a pissed-off dog?
Spoiled!
Ranger, who was always aloof - suddenly is a big orange puff ball that purrs and wants to be petted.
Little Bit is bigger and we have to catch her to pet her. This requires strategy and quick reflexes.
She isn't sure. But she is cute.
They follow us around.
My son falls into bed as soon as the luggage is inside the house and noses are counted.
We have lost the Chinchilla that was so ill when we left. I had her on medication but she was dying of the same thing that claimed her mate.
The gray Momma runs wildly in her cage - happy to be inside and to get shredded wheat treats.
The cats love to sit and watch her.....
(She has survived our other cats - she will pee on target if annoyed. She hasn't done this - I can tell!)
I must stay up for a bit - seems he has no clothes for school - so I must do the washing.
We have 46 rolls of film - plus 4 back east and three in my possession (my shots) and film in my cameras.
Got enough.
I have more books to read.
And no time.
Eyedrops.
Need eyedrops.
Lots of them.
Quick.
You can be overtired. To the point of being unable to stop.
While doing the laundry I hook up my computer and check e-mail.
It is 3AM by the time I fall into bed - I am not getting to work.
We flew in turbulence - enough that they seated the flight attendants about every 15 minutes.
Service on the plane was, therefore, slow.
And it was a very bumpy ride.
We had switched seats on boarding.
The gals from Harlequin, a publisher of Romances, are on board flying out to woman.com - they are doing a website for the publisher.
How cool is that?
I gave them my card.
Typo's and all.
They wanted to be together - my son wanted the window - I took the middle - the other two were across the aisle.
We tried to sleep.
Nottinghill was trying to play (and was constantly interrupted). (So-so movie. He was good.) Tea with Mussolini played on the way in. (Very cute movie. Well done.)
The bumpy ride made me nervous. First time I remember being a bit freaked in the air.
We had taxied before take-off and I swear we had come halfway cross country before lifting off. Air Canada (United in disguise) was a direct flight.
Landing actually wasn't too bad.
We staggered off the plane, glad to be on the ground. I now have three carry-ons - one is a book bag. A bag of books. We set about rounding up the bags.
Basically, my son, looking half dead, stands by the cart rack while I attack the baggage ramp.
I wait.
And wait.
And someone tells me that a luggage bin was sent back.
I checked in early.
Two hours ahead of flight time as instructed.
Customs. Immigration.
I have paperwork - proves I live here.
I had to declare $119.00 worth of books.
I had receipts.
We had staggered up to the counter with two little carts, 9 bags and one receipt.
They had smiled and let us in.
We had two little carts because the limo driver (well tipped) had gotten them for us.
(Yes. I went back to the airport in a limo. Trust me. Worth it.)
After customs, we had been able to dump the big bags (four of them) and had staggered into the lounge. (Where I had dozed until I discovered the liquor -laced chocolate and the 70% cocoa chocolate in the shop nearby.)
Hush!
So I knew I had put the bags where they would board a plane. And had put them there early enough to get them on the plane.
And now I wait.
The belt stopped.
Panic.
No, I won't.
I have 1/2 of the photos in my book bag.
I have my medication.
I will not loose it now!
Breathe!
The belt restarted.
More luggage arrived.
Finally, I see mine. Coming at me, all at once, in a group.
I do the one-handed Mother-efficient, tumble-them-over routine. And get them all onto the carpet.
My son finally wakes up enough to lift them onto a cart.
I am now experienced with the little carts - MasterCard works just fine.
We put the four big bags on a cart and walk (maneuver) outside.
My son is ready to nap on the sidewalk - the plane was late - it is now past 11:30 CA time. 3:30 in Toronto.
I was, by virtue of being the only licensed driver, elected to make the run for the long term parking lot, get the truck, and drive back and pick him up. We had done the reverse going in. I had dropped him, driven like a bat out of hell for the long term lot, ridden a parking lot bus driven by a bat out of hell, and managed to get back and find my son.
So we do the reverse.
Easy?
What made you think that?
First I wandered in a half coma - until I found information - and discovered that there are two levels to the drive around the airport. I hadn't known that. I was downstairs. I needed to be upstairs.
I found the stairs, and got out, and found where the bus should stop.
It overshot.
We all ran after it screaming at it.
I got on.
I discover that I can't put my hands on the parking ticket I had checked on 10 minutes earlier.
I was only clutching my wallet (and credit cards) and my car keys.
I got off.
I now run half-way around the circle and down the stairs to my tired kid.
Frantic search.
I settle for the tickets - let them compute something.
I am trying to be calm.
Just want my truck please.
As I leave to walk back around the circle and upstairs, I reach into my pocket.......Yep! There's the ticket.
It was there all the time!
Can we say tired?
And I know my legs will get even. Later.
I run back, upstairs, around the circle, find the bus stop and chase down another bus.
Seems they like to overshoot. It's a form of entertainment.
We are whipped out of the airport, construction in all directions, and on out to long term parking.
For the uninitiated, SFO has long term parking a full freeway exit on 101 above the airport exit (going north).
I am at stop 10. We start at stop 1.
It takes awhile.
Some man is also going to 10.
I ask him how to get out of the parking lot and back to the airport.
I have learned from my son to be open and vocal.
He finds the exit signs (he can see them over my shoulder) - he is new to this too.
What a maze of cars!
Not as orderly as San Jose! Try ten times bigger! Or so it seems.
I leap off at 10 - I can see my truck!
Yeah!
I get the back opened.
I get the truck club off.
I get the truck started.
God bless Toyota!
I whip in behind the bus (the man had suggested doing that) and, lo and behold, there is the exit!
I pay ($72) and swear to use a shuttle or limo next time. Put the truck in the Synopsys parking lot. You can do this. I work there.
I follow the construction "tunnel" and whip down the freeway - 70MPH in fourth gear.
I find the airport.
I find the "Arrivals" lane.
I find.......
A wall of traffic.
Where did this come from?
It wasn't there when I left!
Creeping, crawling, pissed-off traffic.
20 minutes later I can see my son - I just can't reach him.
He doesn't see me.
I creep.
People have PARKED in the pick-up zone.
Shoot them!
One pulls out.
I force myself in.
My son finally sees me.
I stop, kill the engine and leap out.
We roll the bags (I am getting good at this) into the truck.
Good thing the hernia is healed.
We get into the traffic - and escape to the left lane.
I am lost, dazed and confused. We drive, I look.
Aha!
We get to a freeway sign - and get on 101 south.
Right direction.
This is, at this hour, important!
I race south to 84 - the Dunbarton bridge, and home.
My son sleeps on the way.
I blare the radio.
We chuck the luggage into the family room.
Greet the animals.
Don't worry about the mess.
Ignore it.
I do.