It was the trip we'd planned for months -
Mark has a yearly medical conference, and this year it is being held in Vancouver, BC, Canada. We had looked forward to it and were excited to have some time together away from 'reality.'
We were packing and preparing on Friday night to fly out on Saturday afternoon. The conference finishes up on Tuesday morning, but we decided to take an extra night for some "us" time, and fly back on Wednesday afternoon. I had checked the weather forecast and was really nervous because there was a chance of snow. SNOW. I haven't been in snow for 4 years, and my body starts to spasm when it hits 50, so I was preparing for the worst.
While I arranged the rows of thick socks and sweaters in my suitcase and pondered which coat to take, Mark opened our little safe to get my passport. Suddenly, he said, "Well, you don't have to worry about it any more" and tossed my passport to me across the bed.
So much for my evenings in a nice hotel, schmoozing with old friends, and dinners of scallops (I had actually dreamed about scallops!) in fine restaurants.
It expired in June 2009.
There are 2 very good things that have come of this:
1) On Saturday afternoon, I was hit HARD by the flu. The sobbing, cramping, feeling like death flu.
2) We're supposed to fly to Spain in November. If I would have found my expired passport the night before THAT trip, I would have jumped off a bridge.
So I'm looking at it like it's a good thing. And chanting, "Spain.Spain.Spain.Spain."
I'm reading "Spain. Spain. Spain." and hearing 'spam, spam, spam, spam..."
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you found it in time, too. I almost didn't get mine in time for the trip to Kenya, and I'm pretty sure I would have torn all of my hair out.