“A year jammed full of adventure and misadventure,
strides forward and many steps backward, another year in my topsy-turvy,
(the lone baggage carousel in the Pellston, MI airport / Julie Cook / 2017)
What do you notice about the picture up above?
Well, there seems to be a couple of stuffed animals…which might
give the impression that the location of this particular carousel is somewhere
in the wilds of nature.
Secondly you might notice it’s empty…as in no luggage is currently riding
the merry go round….
And that’s exactly what we saw late one afternoon last week when we flew into this
upper Michigan tiny little regional airport—
This is a long story that I want to keep brief so I’m cutting to the chase as
quickly as possible…
I’m going to be leaving out a good bit of detail so do
your best with your imagination as I offer you the basic facts…
But I will post it in two parts as it is, like I say, a long story.
I don’t fly often…maybe once, maybe twice a year if at all.
So the question is…why has Delta lost my luggage on 4 separate occasions
during the past few years?
Second question, why was I surprised that it happened again on this
Let’s back up.
If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know that my past
three years of life have been trying at best.
From caring for elderly parents who didn’t live nearby and didn’t want caring—
both suffering from dementia and yet requiring help, lots of help….
One being a stepmother who ended up resenting everything and everyone…
so much so that she began claiming she was not married,
nor had she ever been married…to my dad…this after 20 years….
If she had those thoughts in the beginning, things might be easier now,
but I digress.
There was the commuting to and from the city for months upon months
Think Atlanta traffic….
We then had a year of successive loss.
We lost my father-n-law, my niece and then my dad…
and if you count my stepmother being moved out of state following dad’s death,
well that’s a quasi sort of loss.
We’ve suffered and are currently suffering again through the anguish of cancer.
My husband is still embroiled in a legal nightmare over his dad.
As we have grown weary of mind, body and soul.
Our son took a job at the onset of Dad’s illness and he and his wife had to
hurry to the city where they leased an apartment while their house here sat
sort of empty sort of not….for a year now.
Then there was the putting together of the pieces of Dad’s world
following his death…
a process that is proving monumental and still seemingly nightmarishly
Mourning got put on the way back burner as wrestling more with anger
and resentment pushed sorrow to the side.
Our son and his wife next moved into Dad’s old house, cause that’s what
Yet it is an old house needing much work.
As we are still wading through that.
Our son is changing jobs.
All of this as we now race, with everyone driving back and forth
to empty and clean the house here in order to put
it to market….
too many houses and apartments currently in our lives.
Throw in my husband’s retail business and those worries and hassles,
throw in our own home, our own lives and worries….
and you’ve got a toxic mix for a potential meltdown.
Enter the notion of getting the heck out of dodge…
aka taking a much needed vacation.
My husband has never shut down his business for any reason—
not even for death…not his mind you….
So when he announced that he was past tired and thought
he’d close the week of the 4th,
and please find somewhere cool we can go for a few days
(sadly he isn’t a fan as I am of the beach),
I wanted nothing more than to make him happy.
A time to get away,
to change the pace,
to forget the looming nightmares
and to clear both our minds and ours sights.
He was really excited.
We haven’t taken a trip like this in a long long time and getting far away,
seemed to be something most needed.
All seemed to fall neatly into place.
Someone to watch the cats.
Someone to watch the closed store.
A new roof going up at Dad’s.
Tickets all aligned.
Everything was good to go.
That was until we got to the final point of airport destinations
when Delta decided to keep my husband’s luggage in Detroit
while my luggage met us in Pellston.
I wearily approach the gal at the one small counter of this
regional airport’s only desk.
She assures me that its “no problem…”
Delta will bring the luggage to our hotel tomorrow morning.
“But we have to be on a wilderness train ride at 7 AM and my husband needs
his jacket and tennis shoes.”
“Well there’s a Wal-Mart about an hour from here…
and where is your hotel?”
“Salut Ste Marie”
“US side or Canada side?”
“What do you mean oh?”
“We can’t take luggage across the border.”
“There’s a Wal-Mart about an hour from here.”
“What time is the next flight in from Detroit?”
“5 and 1/2 hours.”
“We have to drive the almost two hours to Canada this evening”
“There’s a Wal-Mart about an hour from here”
We had no choice but to wait on the flight.
While the hot tears formed in my eyes, I stewed over the lost
time of daylight and of the afternoon we’d planned to use
to explore the region before checking into the hotel in Canada…
as I forlornly lamented over our precious limited time being
needlessly eaten away…
This entire little airport shuts down in-between flights as flights are
so few and far between.
The car rental windows shut, the agents leave, the baggage handler leaves, the
TSA agents leave…
they all leave…
There was however a little restaurant / bar upstairs where we could sit
for a spell, having a bite of supper.
We put the things we did have in the rental car,
a car that reeked like a giant ash tray,
and came back into the airport in order to camp out for the near 6 hour wait.
We opted to make our way upstairs, and ordered a typical
Michigan whitefish dinner…which was actually quite tasty.
There was a nice family sitting next to us who couldn’t help
but hear our accents.
Southern accents oddly stick out like a sore thumb everywhere
but in the South.
When this family had finished with their meal,
as this is about the only restaurant / bar available in this small town,
they made their way to our table to ask where we were from and what had
brought us to their neck of the woods.
We explained about our trip and then about our luggage.
They offered suggestions for our various destinations and were most
kind and welcoming.
Once we said our goodbyes, we went back to our whitefish.
Just a few minutes later the wife came back into the restaurant
making a beeline for our table….
excusing herself for appearing to be stalking us but that she had a sense
from God that she was to pray for us and asked for our names.
“Wow!!” I thought as now happy tears entered my eyes.
Long story…we finally got to the hotel in Canada at almost 1 AM.
No sleep as we were up and going at 5AM readying to get to the train station
for the 7AM departure.
12 hours of riding a train through the rocks and woods with nary a view
Once to the canyon, everyone clambered out to enjoy the hour and a half of
exploring and picnicking.
The one glitch being that the passengers were not informed that the
mosquitoes and gants would be swarming horrendously,
so much so that folks practically trampled over one another getting back on
the train in order to wait until beginning the 6 hour descent back to town
through the same rocks and trees.
Did I mention the tons of goose poop?
There was much itching, scratching and silence…
most folks slept all the way back to town.
We eventually reached what was to be the best part of the trip,
A marvelous place of a life without motors…
a place of only bicycles, 600 resident work horses and lots of feet.
The only issue is that this small island is inundated with tourists from the
mainland throughout the entire summer season.
My husband quipped that from all the arriving ferries and tourists,
it was a wonder the island didn’t sink.
The staff at the hotel we were to spend our time were all young,
foreign and kept reminding me of the youthful staff at Disney–
a strange sea of constantly smiling international faces whose english was
halting and who were a little hard to understand.
I proceeded to check us in.
“Mam we have you arriving today and checking out in two days.”
“Well no, we’re actually checking out in three days.”
“Okay mam, whatever you say,
but it is on the 7th that we have you checking out.”
“No, we’re checking out on the 8th, see….”
And that’s when I saw my mistake.
Panic gripped my entire being.
“Do you have another night’s room available? I asked as I tried to
contain the rising hysteria.
“I will put you on the waiting list Mam but we are very full” this all said
with a great big smile to a woman who was about to reach critical mass.
In all my years of plotting and planning trips, adventures, outings…
From all my years of teaching and making certain that every last detail
was on schedule and secure…
how, of all times, had I failed to cross check these dates???!
I felt the hot tears building in my eyes.
This while my very hard of hearing husband kept asking me what the girl,
he couldn’t understand, was saying…back and forth I went from the smiling
hard to understand girl to my hard of hearing not smiling husband.
The tears in my eyes and my very red cheeks tipped him off that the
conversation was not good.
I turned to my husband, as I thought I would now throw up, and practically
shrieked that the island was so crowded, we’d never find a room…
panicking and practically wailing I announced we should just go home…
as in now…..
My poor husband calmed me down as best he could…
this from a man who is not known for calm or patience…
He suggested we wander back down to town to find a bite of lunch,
as we wait for the room to be readied allowing us time to regroup.
I had tried so hard to make things perfect for him, for us,
as this was one of those a big deals that I tend to take way too seriously.
We had worked so very hard and had gotten through so very much
just to be able to actually now try and get away and forget life’s worries
for just a few days—
only to have it turn into one misadventure right after another…
as I was now just about overwhelmed by every misadventure.
All of this was now making it very difficult for me to breathe
let alone concentrate.
So here is where we’ll break off until tomorrow…
Hang on cause there’s more to come and the best part will be worth the wait….
Can’t wait Cookie 🙂 btw, your little firefly think my cousins misquitoes and gnats are real jerks. 😀
Blood thirty annoyances 😖
[…] via The tale, Part I — cookiecrumbstoliveby […]
I’m so sorry that your vacation turned out this way. I’m hanging in for Part 2! At least you have material for a great story. Blessings.
oh don’t be sorry Lynda–for the best is yet to come and the best that comes puts all this stupid little stuff that I let bother me so into its proper place of perspective—and heck, if these sorts of things didn’t happen—what would I have to write about 🙂
Next time you should come to Anoka, Minnesota. The mosquito is our national bird, but they haven’t been too bad yet. Talk about accents. You ain’t heard nothing until you hear a Minnesota accent, ya know. We’re pretty weird if I do say so myself. Don’t you just love the way God plans stuff like this in our lives to give us material for writing?
Laughing all the way 🤣
Working often in the Mississippi/Arkansas River Delta area, those pesky things are well known. Sorry for all of the strife on the trip. Stinks to go all that way and run into those problems.
At the time it seems monumental but stepping back provides blessed perspective
Well, I look forward to the next part, to see how you managed to step back from that!
Vacations! Lord spare us!
Hope this is one of those tales where everything works out in the end. I had a feeling from a previous chat that it had, but it is not looking good.
At least, it seems you and your hubby are back safe and sound.
yes safe…still working on sound 🙂
Oh my gosh! Only you could turn disaster into laughter. Can’t wait for more. 🙂 ❤
Yikes its one thing after another….praying for you Julie!!!!
thank Jim—when it rains, it pours!
So true, it pours and right now you are being drenched!