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How Pintrest Almost Killed My Father

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I think we all have to admit Pintrest is a genius invention. I don’t know who had the brilliant idea to translate the cork boards every kid in the 80s and 90s had on their bedroom walls, filled with completely random and quickly forgotten items that could easily be punctured with a push pin, to a digital experience, but I wish it had been me.

Admittedly, my Pintrest account closely resembles those jumbled cork boards, and honestly, I use it more as a Google alternative now, to see what others may have pinned, but my Mom is a Pintrest guru.

I really don’t know how many cork boards she has, or how well organized her Pintrest is, but I do know she is Pintrest level Master when she actually sends me pins that she thinks will fill that empty spot on my cork board perfectly. I don’t even know how to do that.

And when I happen to mention something like “ you know I was thinking I need to pull together my alien invasion survival kit”, my Mom will be quick to respond with “oh, you should check out Pintrest! They have lots of great ideas on there”

And they do, btw. My personal favorite is the “6 tips to survive Alien invasion- A Dame’s Handbook”

One board I’m pretty sure my Mom has though, is “Essential Life Hacks You Can’t Live without”.

She always has a new time saver/make life easier trick she is trying out- one of the most recent ones involving a toilet brush.

During a Pintrest session, my Mom came across a pin containing the nifty life hack of sticking the toilet brush under the toilet seat to let it dry over the toilet after using it. So of course she decided to try this out the next time she scrubbed the toilets, and left the toilet brush safely secured under the seat in my parent’s master bath.

She however, neglected to let my Dad know about this hack, or about the toilet brush drying itself over the toilet.

My Dad, waking up sometime in the middle of the night, and doing what we all do, stumbled to the bathroom in the dark, most likely with eyes only partially open to prevent waking up too much during the journey.

And he barely survived the heart attack he nearly suffered when he found himself being attacked by a porcupine in his own bathroom in the dark in the middle of the night.

Luckily, “death by Pintrest” will not be on my father’s tombstone- this time.

And I’m pretty sure he has set up auto alerts anytime something is added to my Mom’s Life Hacks cork board.

The Rare Land Shoe Shark

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This week has been a tough week. Not a horrible news, events that change your life kind of tough. But the nothing goes as planned, little fire drills everywhere, super busy but feeling like nothing got accomplished kind of tough.

So it seemed like a good Friday evening to spend at the beach.

The pups and I had been chasing sticks, splashing in the water and having a generally fabulous time for about 5 minutes or so, when we were joined by an older gentleman and his pup. I had met this guy a few times on our beach trips and always exchanged a few words, and then we both continued on our way, so I was hoping that’s what would happen this time. Not because I was especially anti social, but I had done enough talking to people for the week and really just wanted to throw sticks.

But he had other plans for the evening.

We started out just chit chatting about this and that, but soon he was sharing about all the time he had spent in the South Pacific, India and Asia back in the 80s. Ok, kind of a cool story and great adventure, so I was engaged. Pavi was slightly perturbed that my stick throwing was lagging somewhat with this interruption of conversation, but Ember was perfectly happy romping around with the new pup friend and annoying her brother.

And then suddenly the conversation shifted to aliens and UFOs and I found myself listening to his account of his up close and personal encounter with these beings while in Thailand.

I have to admit I was having a little trouble following the whole story, but I do know it entailed several people telling him he needed to put clothes back on, that he couldn’t be naked on he beach, him getting arrested while naked, aliens visiting him in jail and a gigantic white creature glowing with blue light appearing at the end of the pier

Apparently he made no connection between those events and the bag of whacky tobacky he had purchased from some random guy on the side of the road or the magic pills he apparently kept finding in his pocket and taking throughout this ordeal, but one has to wonder….

During this fascinating story, a group of 6, who I assumed was a family with older teen/ young adult children, had wandered down to the beach and were clustered just next to us. After a slight invitation from the daughter, my social Ember decided to act as the beach welcoming committee and pranced over to say hello to her new friends. They were delighted to meet her, and she ate up the attention. She even came back to grab a stick and returned to show them the quality of stick specimens our beach has to offer. Then it was back to romping with her brother and her new four legged friend.

My companion had wrapped up his alien story, but suddenly, as I just finish throwing a stick, he says “can I see your hand?” as he simultaneously grabs said hand.

Which is how I find myself getting my palm read on the beach.

While this is rather awkward, he seems harmless enough, if maybe a little lonely and maybe more than a little affected by the long term effects of whacky tobacky, so I decide to just let him stare at my palm lines for a minute or two and let him come up with whatever he thinks he sees.

Meanwhile, the family has decided to shed their footwear and go wading in the ocean.

If there is one thing my sweet little Ember cannot resist, it’s an abandoned shoe. More times than I can count, I have had to go in chase of a shoe, often into the yard with no shoes on. Even the split second they are left unattended while putting them on or taking them off, is too much for her to bear, and she feels the need to rescue the poor shoe from a life of abandonment.

And now there is a whole pile of unattended shoes just lying on the beach calling her name.

Just as I am about to find out about the 2 real loves of my life reflected in my palm, I see Ember streak past us straight into the pile of shoes.

Luckily, we’ve had lots of practice with “drop it!” and “bring it!”, so I was able to disengage my hand, while yelling these to her, and she dropped the shoe right on the water line before plunging into the ocean.

I returned the shoe to the pile while offering my apologies, but the family found the whole thing quite hilarious and were quite entertained by the whole ordeal. Just to be sure, Ember ran over to the dad, whose shoe I’m guessing it was, and offered a wet nose in his palm as an apology.

And now that family has a good story to write in their vacation blog.

And I will have to find another opportunity for a random beach palm reading to find out how long my lifeline is.

The Death of Muskrat

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I know being stuck at home with quarantine and social distancing can start to feel old and mundane. But I am here to share a story that shows even home can be an exciting place to be.

It started Thursday night when I happened to notice some animal had been hit by a car across the street from the end of my driveway. I did a double take, hoping it wasn’t someone’s cat or small dog, and once I determined it was only a muskrat, I didn’t give it much thought, assuming the road crew, or whomever was in charge of disposing of road kill would be along eventually to do their thing.

Last evening, the dogs and I went out in the yard for our nightly game of ball, when Ember suddenly perked up and took off toward the end of the driveway. I turned to see a crow take off at the same time, and caught up to Ember just as both she and I realized the birds had picked up the muskrat and decided to use the end of my yard as their dining table for their dinner.

I grabbed Ember just as she grabbed hold of a piece of Muskrat’s innards that apparently seemed too appealing to leave.

And I was left with no choice but to yank them out of her mouth and throw them back to the birds.

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was spent with her visiting every window, trying to convince me to let her out to finish her dessert, and me trying to recover from the forced, and way too up close encounter with dead things, and trying to decide if I could make do without that contaminated hand for the rest of my life.

That would have been bad enough, but of course the story doesn’t end there.

This morning, I get up, hopeful that the crows and turkey vultures, have finished their dinner, and cleaned the remains from the dining table that is my lawn.

But of course they haven’t, and Muskrat lay right where he was left.

And now it’s Saturday, so even if I wanted to call the town office and ask how to get in touch with the roadkill crew, there is no way to do this until Monday.

So I am forced to take matters into my own hands, and find myself out on my lawn with a shovel and a Hefty bag, cleaning up Muskrat’s remains. I decide I have little choice but to make my first trip to the dump in my new home town.

Not only is this my first trip to the dump, but also my first experience dealing with road kill, so I really have no idea what proper protocol is, and as I pull in, I stop at the attendant station to explain the situation and figure out where I’m supposed to take poor Muskrat.

“I don’t think we take road kill here” is the response I get.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with it then?”

” You can talk to the boss. That’s him right over there”

I walk over to The Boss, and again explain the situation.

And again get “We don’t take roadkill here” as the response.

And again I ask “What am I supposed to do with it then?”

“You can bury it”

“Where?”

“Just in your yard”

Planning a Muskrat funeral was not exactly top of my to-do list for the day. And starting an animal graveyard in my yard is not a very appealing option. I’m tempted to ask why, if my yard is an acceptable burial site, the dump is not, but I refrain.

” I can’t bury it in my yard. I have dogs”

“Yeah, if you have dogs, they’ll dig it up.”

I blink at him.

“You could just throw it across to the other side of the road” he replies with a shrug.

I give him the head tilt and more blinks, because I’m truly at a loss as how to reply to that.

I turn to walk back to my car to figure out a plan B, and as I pass the attendant shack, the lady I first spoke to, asked what The Boss had said to do. I told her he was not very helpful, and I was still unsure how I was supposed to dispose of Muskrat.

“Just take it to the woods and dump it. That’s what the cops would do if you called them. I hit a baby deer once and that’s all they did. Let the other animals take care of it”

I don’t know what else to say but to thank her and get back in my car.

I’ve watched enough mob movies to know that a car driving into the woods and tossing a Hefty bag out of the back, or digging a grave to bury a bundle is never viewed as suspicious activity. But that seems to be the only option I am left with.

Had I known how quickly my life would devolve into the seedy underbelly today, I would have had more coffee this morning.

And this is how I find myself driving deep into the woods and disposing of Muskrat in an unmarked grave, wondering again how I landed in the role of clean-up in the death of Muskrat, and if “the dump people made me do it” will hold up under future questioning.

RIP poor Muskrat. RIP.

Is There a Mr. Fix-It In the House?

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I thought I had been lucking out the past few months. Not only did a get a bit of a break from traveling so much, the trips I did have to take were relatively smooth and story free.

I should have known the odds would need to right themselves eventually.

I just didn’t expect it all to happen in one trip.

I had a “quick” trip planned to North Carolina this week. Out on Wednesday afternoon, and back Thursday evening. Since there aren’t a lot of direct options for me into Raleigh/Durham, NC, my out flight was a connection in Baltimore.

The flight from Denver to Baltimore was smooth, and even arrived a little early, giving me those few extra minutes to grab some food before boarding leg 2. If I had seen the future, I may have grabbed a little more to eat.

We boarded the Raleigh bound flight on time, but were quickly informed once boarding was complete, that there was a maintenance issue with one of the plane’s navigation systems. Not to worry though. Maintenance was already here addressing the issue, and we hoped to be cleared to leave shortly.

No big deal.

Sure enough, they were back on about 15 minutes later saying maintenance had fixed the issue and we would be pushing back.

They finished up the paperwork, closed the main cabin door, and we pushed back from the gate.

Only to have them immediately put it back in drive and pull us right back up to the gate.

“Sorry, folks. While maintenance did fix the problem with the first navigation system, now the second system is throwing an alert, so we need to have them back to look at that one.”

I can already see where this is headed.

About 10 minutes later the captain is back, this time with a less optimistic message.

They are pulling the plane from service for the night, so we all have to deplane. Please see the agent at the top of the bridge for information on a new plane.

I’ll give them credit. We were off the plane less than 5 minutes before they were sending us to a new gate, with a new plane, and less than 30 minutes later we were all loaded on the new plane.

The problem was, the bags were not so lucky.

We were sitting on the plane for an hour, before the little carts with all the checked bags finally pulled up beside the plane.

At exactly the same moment that the flight attendant  came over the intercom to call for help with a medical emergency for a passenger in the back of the plane.

Which meant the bags had to wait to be loaded on the plane until the Emergency Medical Response team could board the plane and get the passenger back off.

Another 45 minutes later, the medical emergency has been taken off for care, the bags have been loaded and they announce they have closed the front door and we will be leaving soon.

Which was evidently just what the man in row 2 was waiting for as his cue. He decides to choose that moment to throw a fit and demand to be let off the plane.

Despite the fact that the flight attendant explained in order to do that they have to get clearance to re-open the door, get ground crew to do so and re-do all the paperwork which will only delay things even further, the man continues to demand to be let off the plane

I’m actually surprised he made off the plane in one piece. I thought the entire plane was going to riot .

Another 30 minutes later, we are FINALLY ready to go. For real this time.

I finally get to my hotel and in bed a little after 12:30AM, and had to be up at 5:30AM for a 7AM meeting. That set my Thursday up to be a great day!

I come out of my early morning meeting to a message that my flight for that afternoon had already  been delayed for 3 hours.

You have got to be kidding me!

This time my plane, which was starting it’s day in Burbank, was scheduled to make a pit stop in Denver, on it’s way to pick us up in Raleigh to take us back to Denver.

Evidently, before it could leave Burbank, however, it was pulled due to a flat tire and left Burbank 3 hours late.

Even I can change a tire in less than 3 hours.

So, this is how I find myself landing in Denver, 3 hours later than planned, and then still have to make the drive home when it’s already past my bed time.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but I had done a remarkable job of staying cool and letting all these irritations roll off my back to this point, if I do say so myself. Even though I was beyond tired,  I figured the irritations were at least behind me, and all I had to do was make it home.

I should have known better.

I get to my car in the garage, and pull up behind one car in line to pay my for my parking and put the airport behind me.

And I watch as the guy in this car tries 3 times to insert his parking ticket. Then watch as he tries 3 different credit cards to pay his fee. And then continue to sit there, and sit there, and sit there, as he does who knows what. Finally, after about 10 minutes, the arm goes up and I breathe out my irritation as I assume the guy will finally leave.

Except he doesn’t.

I’ve already admitted I was beyond tired, so I assume maybe this guy is too, and possibly he fell asleep behind his wheel and failed to see the arm go up releasing him from parking planet. So I decide to play a gentle alarm on my horn to wake him up and urge him into freedom.

Except he still doesn’t move.

So I toot again.

This elicits him popping his head out of his window and yelling, “Stop that!”

Stop that?? Ummm, what??

Maybe he doesn’t speak horn? He wasn’t able to figure out the message I was trying to send?

So I decide to help him out and translate to plain English for him. I pop my head out of my window and say

“You need to go!”

To which I get,

“I’m not going! They have my license on camera showing I didn’t pay!”

I am beyond confused as to what this guy is missing, but he must be more tired than I am. The arm doesn’t pop up to let you out unless you pay. The arm is clearly up! So, I decide to translate for this guy again.

“The arm is up, so you obviously paid. Now you need to go!”

To which the guy decides to pull his head back in his car, put it in reverse and back it quickly up half the distance to my front bumper.

This seems an interesting move for a guy who was just expressing concern about them having his license plate on camera for not paying, but doesn’t seem concerned about being on camera backing his little car into my SUV.

I get it. Drive and Reverse can be confusing. And this guy is obviously having a difficult time figuring things out at the moment. So I decide to try to help one more time.

I pop my head out the window and say,

“Ummm, you need to go forward…”

Which got him backing another several inches towards my car in response.

Then his head is back out the window and he yells, “I’m not going! If you don’t like it, you can move!”

“Ummm, I’d love to! Except you are in my way, and I can’t!”

Now the parking attendant two booths down starts yelling at the guy that he needs to go, but the guy continues to just sit there.

I try one more time and offer “He’s telling you you can go!” out the window, as the attendant continues to yell at the guy, and the guy continues to sit there.

Finally, another attendant comes out of the main booth and starts to walk towards the guys car. The guy finally decides to move.

After reversing one more time to come as close as he can possibly come to hitting my car, without actually hitting it, he finally puts his car in drive and takes off.

I sure hope he managed to find his way home and to bed a lot easier than he found his way out of DIA parking.

At least I found my way home and to my bed without anymore delays.

The Key is Persistence…

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I can’t believe another year is almost over. Time really does fly! And sometimes so do I. Multiple times in a week.
My last trip of the year was one of those. I decided to tack a trip to Maine for an early Christmas into the middle of my two trips to North Carolina for work, which led to 8 days on the road.
Due to these extra days and combination of workwear and casual wear (as well as a Christmas gift or two) I found myself packing in a larger than normal suitcase. Which means I had to check a bag.
My initial connecting flights to North Carolina and my flights to Maine all went off without a hitch.
On my trip back to NC, however, I wasn’t so lucky.
My flight from Maine to Newark was delayed about an hour, but honestly, that’s pretty much the norm, so I wasn’t even that annoyed. I would still make my connection, so what difference did it make which airport I was killing time in?

I made it to Newark, grabbed some water and found my gate. Just in time to hear literally every single phone in the C concourse go off with a weather alert at exactly the same time.
I look at the alert on my phone to see Newark is under a “snow squall” alert.
I’m very confused as I look from my phone to the window, where it is bright and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. Despite having heard the same alert coming from hundreds of other phones, I almost convince myself that the National Weather Service sent an alert for the wrong location.
My flight was still on time, so I wasn’t too concerned about imaginary snow squalls.
About 30 min later, while we are boarding the flight to NC, I look out the window again, this time to see a wall of grey literally erasing the sunny skies inch by inch. Sure enough, by the time the front door is closed, we are in the middle of a full on snow squall. We spend an extra hour on the runway, being de-iced and waiting for the squall to pass.
At least I was able to make good use of the first class seat I had been upgraded to.
We land in NC without further incident, but later than planned, so now I’m starving! I decide to grab food to go on my way to the hotel and just settle in for the night. I happily check in, get to my room, and gobble down my dinner before I decide to open my bag and unpack the few things I’d need for my overnight stay.

Like most suitcases nowadays, my suitcase has TSA approved security locks on it. I, however, have never felt the need to actually use these locks, nor set a personal combination, at any point in the several years I’ve had this bag. Or so I thought.
This time, though, when I try to push the little button to release the zippers and open my bag, nothing happens.
Huh.
I look at the little combination lock next to the zippers and see a set of random numbers. Well, somehow they must have got changed since I dropped my bag off at check in.

I’m sure it was the snow squall.

Not to worry. I’m sure the combination is just the standard factory set combo. So I set the digits to 000, and push the button.
Still nothing.

Hmmm…

I try several other generic combos- 123, 999, 888- all with no success.

Well this is going to be an interesting 24 hours in NC if I can’t get into my suitcase.

I have been known to pick a lock or two in my time- when I’ve locked myself out of my house or car once or twice. I might not know the combo, but if TSA can open my bag with a key, I’m sure I can pop it open too. The only tool I can find to aid in my lock picking efforts, however, is a ball point pen. I’m sure I can adapt.

Roughly 5 min later, not only have I not managed to pick the lock, but I have broken the tip of the pen off into the lock.

If you were the betting type, now would be the time you’d be placing large bets on the odds against me ever getting my bag open again.

I’ll admit I may have been a little frustrated and maybe slightly more worried I’d never get to my favorite pair of jeans locked inside my bag again.

But I’m nothing if not resourceful.

I find myself at the front desk asking if they might have a pair of pliers. Which of course they don’t. They were very sympathetic to my plight, however, and a few minutes later, I am on the elevator, equipped with 2 screwdrivers, a pair of nail clippers and a staple remover. I’m sure this is a lock picking kit any pro would be jealous of.

I try muscling the zippers out of their locks with the screwdrivers with no success.  So I decide my best plan of attack is to get the pen nib out of the lock, and try to focus my attention back on the combo.

I try the staple remover to no avail. Did any of you betting types bet on the nail clippers saving the day? They have the perfect pinch to grab the end of the pen tip and ease it out of the lock.

Score one for nail clippers!

I finally decide the only way I’m getting into my suitcase is to figure out the combo that I must have known at some point but have absolutely no idea what it might be now. I pull up a chair, make myself comfy, and start working my way through every one of the 720 possible combinations, 1 digit at a time.

Luckily, the combo I had set at some point in the past, started with a low number, so I had only worked my way through 60 or so of the 720 options, when I hit the button and heard the pop of the zippers releasing.

Success! My favorite jeans were liberated and I was able to show up to work in appropriate work attire the next da!

And I can now add suitcases to my list of lock picking accomplishments. I’m sure this skill will help keep me in the survival group a little longer when the zombies finally invade.

 

 

Goldilocks & Papa Bear

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While things have been a little quiet on the travel front this summer, tonight I have a story for you, thanks again to my dog Auni.

As any of my followers know, Auni suffered from a broken leg this past winter, and already has arthritis in her front leg. So as part of her “therapy” to keep her as active as possible, we go on almost daily walks.

Tonight, we headed out for our constitutional after dinner, and after the thunderstorms decided to clear out, around 7pm.

We were having a nice leisurely walk, stopping to sniff anything that might be suspicious, and exploring everything that might have changed since our walk two days ago, when I happened to catch a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye.

We have a creek that runs parallel to the road in our neighborhood, and most of the driveways have little bridges going over the creek to get up to their houses.

Taking his evening constitutional and heading across one of these little bridges in our direction was our neighborhood Black Bear.

When I saw him, we were about 10 feet from running smack dab into him at the end of the driveway.

Luckily, since he was looking in the other direction, and ambling even slower than my canine companion, we were able to quickly back up about another 10 feet and come to a stop before he got to the end of the driveway and the road we were on.

And it gave me a few seconds to get my camera.

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I actually never carry my phone with me on our walks, but I happened to be waiting for a return call (on a package delivery issue, of course) and so had brought it with me tonight. However, my photography skills were a little lacking after this one picture when I realized he was looking right at us. I figured I should maybe pay more attention to what he was going to do, then take pictures.

And what did my faithful companion do? The same companion who literally turned into a wild woman 3 nights ago, when this guy was clearly outside our house around 10pm? That night she was pacing back and forth across the house, barking at every door and trying desperately to make me let her out to face her foe head on. (There were a few moments when I wondered why I wasn’t doing just that). But tonight, when she actually did confront her foe head on?

She sat calmly by my feet and watched him with me from our spot on the side of the road.

Which is probably a good thing in hindsight.

Our fellow ambler spent a few seconds in the above pose checking us out, and then turned and loped off across the street and into the yard on the other side, and we turned and continued our walk back to our house.

It’s always nice to make new friends in the neighborhood.

 

This is why We Can’t Have Nice Things…

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As most of you know, we just got back from a few weeks overseas. Evidently, while we were gone, we got a lot of rain, and the weeds, which seem to be the only things that grow easily in my yard, had taken that as their cue to grow thick and tall.

Basically my yard was overrun. And the fake grass, that seems to be the only grass that really wants to grow on my “lawn” was knee high.

So, I decided that this past weekend would be a great weekend to whip my yard into shape for the summer.

I decided that not only would I attack the weeds into submission, I would also plant flowers and shrubs to replace the ones that didn’t bounce back from last year’s hail storm, and give my yard a whole new face lift.

So off I went to HomeDepot after my coffee Saturday morning, to get supplies and plot out a landscaping strategy.

I added so much top soil, bark mulch, flowers, shrubs and vegetables to my cart, I actually had to make two trips to my car with it all. Every square inch of my car was full of my future garden.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and I was actually enjoying working up a sweat pulling weeds and digging holes.

And let me just say, I pulled SO. MANY. WEEDS. Enough to fill 3 extra large hefty bags.

My yard, as you my faithful readers know, is all on a hill, so I have many tiered beds, formed by the retaining walls, on all different levels up my hill.

I didn’t even mind hauling all the bags of mulch and dirt up my 28 steps.

Probably about 3 hours later, I had finished weeding, planting and mulching all the beds in the front of my house, when the afternoon showers forced a rain delay.

I wasn’t even upset by the call of the game, as it gave me time to run back to Home Depot for more bags of mulch and plan for the next day’s planting.

Bright and early, right after my coffee on Sunday, Auni (my faithful canine helper, who, by the way, is a great gardening assistant) and I were back at work, tackling the beds by my front door.

Another 3-4 hours later, my masterpiece was complete. I had planted beds of flowers, pots of flowers,  a bed of tomatoes and fresh basil (Hello, Caprese salads!), planted some shrubs around the fence line, and even strewn some wildflower seeds, hoping they might be more hardy for our Colorado climate. I had watered all the new plants, added root boost to give them the best start in their new homes, and done everything possible to help their transition.

I’m just going to say it. My yard was lovely!

And I was already looking forward to the coming months, when the plants and shrubs really started to flourish and I was eating fresh veggies from my “garden”

I took some pictures for posterity (and maybe a little bragging rites) and then poured some ice water to sit on my deck and enjoy my landscape for the remainder of the afternoon.

This was about 1 o’clock in the afternoon.

Around 4 o’clock I got ready to head to my hair appointment.

As I walked down the steps to my car, I smiled at how pretty my yard was, and what a reward those hours of work turned out to be, and took more mental pictures of the results.

If only I had known this was to be the last time I was to see that lovely yard.

On the way to my hair appointment, about a 10 min drive away, it started to rain. I’ll admit my first thought, was Good! This will be great for all my new little flowers!

By the time I pulled up to the hair salon, it was a torrential downpour. So much so, I sat in my car, literally right outside their front door, for 10 min, waiting for it to let up enough that I could make that 5 foot or so run, and not be completely drenched.

While it did let up long enough for me to reach the door, the torrents continued for a solid hour. The roads had trenches 3 inches deep along both sides as the drains struggled to keep up with the deluge.

People’s phones kept going off in the salon with weather alerts and flash flood warnings.

I’ll admit, I was a little concerned about what was going on at my house, partly because I had left all the windows open, and a little bit about the yard.

But I checked the radar and the weather alerts, and it appeared that the storm was just missing my area. Maybe we just got a lot of rain too.

If only that were the case.

As I drove home a couple of hours later, the closer I got to my house, the worse the roads and yards around people’s houses got. In fact, about a mile from my house, there was such a pile up of slushy hail, it looked like there was about 3-4 inches of slushy snow in the road. The rest of the road was covered in inches of thick mud and sand the rushing river that had run down it during the storm had left behind.

When I pulled onto my road and rounded the corner to head up my hill, I already knew I was not going to like what I saw.

Apparently the storm not only brought torrential rain to our area, but very gusty wind, and lots of hail. While the hail was not big enough to do any damage to the cars or houses, there was so much of it, it piled up literally inches thick.

My whole yard looked like it was covered in 4 inches of snow.

And not only were all my flowers gone, and plants completely crushed or literally razed away, but the leaves and debris from the surrounding trees and that the rushing water left in my yard, made the weeds that had been having a hay day just a couple days before, look inviting.

I couldn’t even really assess the damage until this morning, when the hail all “melted”. But it was basically as bad as I assumed.

So, I am very glad that my 6+ hours of work, allowed me to enjoy my pretty summer yard for exactly 2 hours. And the good news is, I have lots more projects to fill my weekend’s for the rest of the summer now!

I also have a feeling I will be putting that “unconditional plant guarantee” to the test in the near future, so stay tuned! You know there will be a story or two to accompany that!

Memories are the Best Souvenirs…

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I just returned from a lovely trip to Europe with my family, to celebrate my son’s graduation from college. (I know, I can’t believe it either).

The trip was amazing, beautiful, fun, and of course, not without stories.

Our trip started off with a lovely visit in London. As we landed from our 9 hour flight, I saw an email from Air B&B that there had been a flood in the apartment we had booked and they would be unable to accommodate us. Cue a slight panic, as sleeping on the streets of London was not how I had planned this trip starting out. Luckily, that panic was short lived. When I logged into Air B&B to read the entire message, our hosts apologized for the inconvenience, but let me know they had another apartment just around the corner from the original booking, and they would be happy to accommodate us there. The apartment was comfortable, and a perfect home base for exploring all London had to offer.

Waking up on day 3, it was quickly apparent that someone on our long flight had decided to share with me my first trip souvenir.

From my scratchy throat, clogged head and the worst cough I have ever had, I was pretty sure I had Typhoid, Bubonic Plague, the Bird Flu, or possibly all three.

This was not exactly the kind of souvenir I had been looking for.

I still had 12 days of sightseeing planned, however, so I was not letting a pesky, (possibly deadly) virus slow me down. So I just added several European pharmacies to my sightseeing agenda, added several pills, sprays and lozenges to my souvenir collection, and soldiered on.

The various pills and medicated state I found myself operating out of, soon came in very handy.

We arrived in Ireland and rented a car for a drive across the county.

I was already a little nervous about driving on the wrong side of the road, but surprisingly found that that, itself, was pretty easy to adapt to. It was actually amazing how quickly going left around a traffic circle became second nature.

And can I just say, they love their traffic circles in Ireland?? I’m not even exaggerating a little when I say that we couldn’t go more than half a mile in any direction without hitting a traffic circle.

We made it to Galway without issue, but the real fun came the next day, when we decided to take a trip further west to Connemara.

Driving on the wrong side of the road was relatively easy on a 4 lane highway. However, you leave those highways in Ireland, and the roads quickly narrowed to no more than a lane and a half of what we are used to here in America.

With absolutely no shoulder.

There is literally the road, and then a hedge, or a tree, or a house a mere inches from your car.

Oh, and did I mention the roads are windy? Like you can’t see more than 100 ft down the road because of all the sharp bends and curves, windy.

This all just added to the fun of driving on the wrong side of the road. Especially when you met another car. Or one of the many tour buses on these roads.

With nowhere to move over. And all going a mere 100 km/hr.

But, in case that doesn’t sound like enough fun for you, it got better.

On this particular day, they were also doing a bike race on this road, in this part of Ireland.

So on top of dealing with sharp curves, tour buses, and super narrow roads, we also found ourselves dealing with bikes.

Lots and lots of bikes.

That were not going 100 km/ hr.

And had no where to go either, except smack dab in the middle of the lane we were driving in. Sometimes in groups of 10+ bikes thick.

While I appreciated the additional challenge to my driving skills, I was more amazed at these bikers, who obviously were Frogger level Master Plus back in the day.

Somehow, we made it to our destination with no casualties.

The middle part of trip was relatively uneventful, at least in the story department. Besides the fact that I had to continue adding pharmacy stops to our itinerary in every destination, we continued to enjoy the beautiful weather and amazing sites everywhere we went.

Until it was time to come home.

We ended our trip in Paris, and were preparing for our departure the night before, when my parents went to check in for their domestic flight back to Maine after their Trans-Atlantic flight stateside.

We had all booked our international flights together, but their return flight was bringing them back to Newark, while ours was bringing us to Denver. So they had to book another flight from Newark to Maine.

Which my dad had done back in February.

Or so he thought.

As he went to check them in for that flight, he was treated to a pop up that said that flight reservation had been cancelled.

That was going to be a little inconvenient.

Which is how he found himself on the phone with the travel site through which he booked the reservation. For roughly an hour and 45 minutes total, across about 3 calls, and about 75% of that time being on hold, while they tried to figure out what happened.

All at a mere $2/ minute on his international cell phone plan.

Which didn’t get any easier to swallow when he was told that, “OOPS!”  Somehow, when he booked the flight back in February, the travel site had never actually sent the payment  to the airline, even though they had charged his card for said payment. Which had caused the airline to cancel the reservation.

Not to worry, though. The flight was still available. At about 3x what the original fare had  been.

Cue more hold time, calls back and $2/minute cell phone time.

Luckily, he eventually got a supervisor who was able to get them booked and waived the extra charges.

Yay! Everyone would be able to get home.

Or so we thought.

We arrive at Charles de Gaulle the next morning, make it through security, and to our gate with plenty of time to spare. Everything seems to be going as planned.

Until about 30 minutes before our flight.

When we start getting announcements and alerts that our flight to Frankfurt is delayed about 10 min.

This got my attention as we both only had exactly an hour, once we touched down in Frankfurt, to make our connecting flights. 10 min shouldn’t affect our ability to still make our connections, as long as it wasn’t any more than that.

But of course you know that wasn’t the case.

Soon we were looking at a delay of 30 min, and I was getting alerts on my phone that my parents were not going to make their connecting flight, but we should still be good on ours. Which was very confusing as we had 5 minutes difference in our connecting flight times.

So, I find myself at the desk, trying to see what our options are.

Sure enough, it didn’t look like my parents would make their connection, although their system was saying “no problem, you’ll make yours” as far as ours was concerned Still confused on that, but first things first. We needed to find another option for my parents.

The gate agents explore options, spend lots of time on their computer, phoning friends, and conversing in French, but finally come up with an alternative flight plan.
They will now fly to Munich, catch a flight to Newark, and still be there in time to catch their domestic flight to Maine.

Thank goodness, after all those $2/min minutes on the phone last night!

They get their new boarding passes, and head to their new gate.

Then the gate agent turns to me and says, “Now I have bad news”.

Of course now the system is saying we will not make our connecting flight either.

Nice of it to catch up.

So thus begins the search for alternative options for us to make it to Denver.
Cue more computer time, more phoning friends and conversations in French.

All to tell us that they have no other options. Any alternative flights are sold out or bounce us all over the country once we make it back to the US.

Our “best option” for now is to stay on our current flight to Frankfurt, and then try again for other options there, as they would have many more options available to them.

Which is how we find ourselves waiting to board our delayed flight. Which at least the plane has now showed up for and landed during all this research time.

We board our plane and are ready for push back and taxi by noon. The pilot comes on to announce the conditions are favorable and he thinks he can get us to Frankfurt in about 50 min as opposed to the hour and 5 minutes scheduled.

Hmm. Our connecting flight is scheduled for 1:25. If he can get us there in 50 min, that would leave us 30 min to still make our flight. We are in the front of the plane, and we can run if needed, so maybe we’ll make our connection after all!

Of course you know I wouldn’t be writing this if that was the case.

We push away from the gate, taxi out to our position for take off…and sit there for 20 min.

As the minutes tick away, I am realizing our chances are ticking away with them.

Finally the pilot comes on and says:

“Well folks, sometimes things work out and sometimes they don’t. Unfortunately, the plane that was right in front of us, had an ‘incident’ and needed to be contacted by police/security, which caused us to lose our take off slot, so now we are waiting for a new time”

I can’t make this stuff up. And now I really want to know what is going on on that other plane. Which of course I never find out.

But thanks to this “incident”, we find ourselves landing in Frankfurt at the exact same time that our flight to Denver is taking off.

Which is how we get the chance to add a 5th country and another night to our trip itinerary.

Despite all the glitches and the added visit to Urgent Care upon our arrival home, it really was an amazing trip, and I wouldn’t have traded the stories anyway. Just maybe the cough.

 

It’s A Short Story

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This week’s trip brought a collection of short stories that all came together to create one memorable trip.

Chapter 1- The Tale of 5 Boarding Passes

Have you ever wondered how to collect 5 boarding passes in less than 12 hours? Look no further! I have your answer!

Boarding pass #1 was for my original booked flight on Southwest  from Denver to Oakland on Tuesday evening. However, that flight was cancelled, for reasons unknown, mid Tuesday morning. Frustrating, but I did appreciate the advanced notice.

Boarding pass #2 came when I was able to rebook on another flight on United from Denver to San Francisco that left just 15 min prior to my original flight. I can deal with that.

So I head up to DIA around the time I planned to leave, get to my gate and get settled in-  just in time to hear the announcement that this flight was also cancelled. Evidently, the plane had literally been struck by lightening on it’s approach to Denver, and needed to be pulled out of service for maintenance. I was glad it hadn’t been struck while I was on it, I guess.

Boarding pass #3 occurred when United took it upon itself to rebook me on a flight later that evening. Except that flight didn’t arrive into SFO until 1am, which would then be followed by an hour drive. That wasn’t really my idea of a good time, so I was already on the phone trying to rebook.

Boarding pass #4 was the result of my co-worker and I  both trying to rebook on another Southwest flight the next morning from Denver to Oakland at 8:25. Evidently, she is faster than I am with the app navigation, because she got the last seat and I got the “sorry this flight is sold out” message. So I had no choice but to book the 9:15 Denver to SFO flight.

Boarding pass #5 came from some savvy, frequent flyer persistence on my part. Since we were supposed to share transportation and had prep work to do for our meeting later in the day, I kept checking the 8:25 flight to see if someone got struck by lightening and wouldn’t be needing their seat after all. Sure enough! Around 9:30 pm a seat opened up on that flight, and after a call to Southwest I was rebooked on the 8:25 to Oakland.

Is it really any wonder that after all that, it took me 3 times of scanning the wrong pass at the gate, and 5 min of arguing with the gate agent that YES, the Denver to SFO boarding pass was the right one for trying to board my Denver to OAK flight? Give a girl a break!

You too can collect all 5 boarding passes just by following these few easy steps!

Chapter 2: Sea Kayaking in Wal-Mart

Just as I was leaving my house to head to the airport, I happened to check my email, and noticed two emails from Wal-Mart.com.

The first email was to thank me for my purchase of 2 sea kayaks for a mere $698.

The second email was to regretfully inform me they had to cancel my order, due to being unable to verify all my billing data.

You can imagine my confusion (and relief), since I had no recollection of placing any orders for sea-kayaks. Nor was I aware of any seas in which to kayak in our lovely Colorado. I also can’t  remember the last time that I shopped on Wal-Mart.com.

(It is possible this could have been another case of early onset dementia. Refer to Chapter 4)

I checked the credit card this was supposedly billed to, and sure enough, there was the charge for $698. Followed, thankfully, by the refund of the same amount.

What was more puzzling, though, was the fact that this is the same credit card that is constantly send me fraud alerts, or randomly declining my charges, for transactions that I am actually making. Like trying to buy tacos for a grand total of $32, 5 min from my house.

While I appreciate the concept of the fraud alerts, and also appreciate them trying to keep my information safe, I begin to feel there may be a flaw in their system if they decline my transaction for $32 tacos, but I don’t get as much as a whisper for them when someone else purchases kayaks for $698, at a place I never shop.

So I decide I need to call and explain the flaw in their system to them.

The only thing I got from that call was less logic applied to the explanation than is apparently applied to their fraud detection system. No one had any answer as to why tacos would trigger a high alert, but sea kayaks seemed of no concern.

They could agree I probably needed a new card, either way, since some sea loving criminal had obviously gotten their grubby hands on my number.

All I can say is, thank goodness Wal-Mart’s fraud detection system seems to operate better.

And so sorry, Mr. Sea-Kayaking Identity Theft. I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll drown on your sea adventure.

Chapter 3: Titanium is Higher than Platinum

Amidst all the fun I was having booking and re-booking multiple flights, I began to think the hotel personnel might be wanting some attention too, and realized I would need a place to sleep in Denver, so I could be up bright and early for round 2.

Of course when I logged on to search for hotels, every hotel within a 10 mile radius of DIA was sold out.

Evidently there was a lot of lightning striking and boarding pass roulette occurring this particular evening.

As any of you who know me know, and as my co-worker pointed out, I am not very good at taking no for an answer, however.

What good is having Titanium Elite hotel status, if it can’t turn a “no” into a “yes”?

So I call the Marriott reservations line to invoke my Titanium Elite, guaranteed room, ” we will kick someone out to welcome you” perk.

The first agent I spoke to tried to tell me that that perk was only good if invoked 48 hours prior to needing the room. Not only did this not work for me, but I was pretty sure that was inaccurate as well. So without wasting a lot of time going back and forth with her, I decided talking to someone at the Elite benefits desk might be in order.

I started to despair when that agent started out by telling me that indeed, there were no rooms available for that night but there were several open over the next few nights, then paused like he expected me to take him up on that offer. I had already explained the reason I needed a room was because my flight was cancelled and I was rebooked on an early flight the next morning, but he somehow thought presenting this option would make me go, “Oh! Ok then! I’ll take a room on Thursday night instead! Thanks!” ??

Evidently my reluctance to accept that offer transmitted through the phone lines, because he chose to quickly move on to options that might actually help me that night.

“I have status with Marriott and I thought that guaranteed me a room when needed?”

“Yes, it does guarantee a room for Platinum members”

Which is how I found myself uttering the phrase: “And I’m Titanium, which is higher than Platinum, so I should be able to get a room as well”

It took a little more “searching” on his part, and him patching me through to Gwen at the front desk of the airport Marriott, but he got it done.

And Gwen is now my new BFF. Not only did she get me a room, she put me in a suite that I seriously considered just booking from now until eternity and making it my home.

Chapter 4: Signs of Early Onset Dementia

I finally make it to CA, check into the hotel that really is starting to feel like a second home, and have plenty of time to unwind and prep for the evening meeting that made all of this worthwhile to begin with.

We head back to the hotel after the meeting and decide to change and head out in search of a late dinner and possibly (definitely) an adult libation or two.

I ride the elevator to my floor and then something happened that has never happened before.

I literally COULD. NOT. REMEMBER. MY. ROOM. NUMBER.

I have had momentary lapses before, especially after being in multiple hotels in the same week. But usually if I just stop for a second, focus and take a deep breath, I could quickly recall the right combination of numbers.

Not this time.

I walked down the hall to where I thought I remembered my room being, stopped in front of the door I thought was mine, and tried my key.

Nothing but a blinking red light.

I then did the slow, sad circle in the middle of the hall, looking for anything that would trigger recognition.

No luck.

I walked all the way to the other end of the hall to try the door in the same spot on that end, hoping I just zigged when I should have zagged.

Again with the red light.

Then I tried a couple random doors, just because I’m not a quitter.

Finally, I realized what I was going to have to do.

I was actually going to have to go down to the front desk and tell them I was an idiot.

I walked up to the girl at the front desk and decided to open with:

“Ok, you have to promise not to laugh too hard”

“Ok” she says with all her customer service training behind her, but I can see she is dying to know what comes next.

“I forgot what room I’m in”

Of course she laughed.

“Ok, I totally deserved that. You can tell that story as much as you want when I’m gone’

She looks me up and gets me my room number and a new key.

“I’ll just write that down for you here” she offers helpfully as she hands me the key.

“That’s probably a good call”

It’s sadly possible I’ve forgotten other great stories that happened on this trip before I had the chance to write them down for you.

Chapter 5: No Good Deed 

Once I found my way back to my room, I managed to change and find my way back to the lobby to meet my co-worker to head out for dinner.

We manage to find our way to the restaurant, but only because she was navigating, and I pull into the parking lot adjacent to the restaurant to park. It is pretty packed, and I pull into the only open spot I find. I get out to pay the meter, but the machine will not take my card. (I’m getting a complex when it comes to cards with magnetized strips). But it doesn’t like my co-workers card any better. Thankfully, someone in the row right behind us is pulling out, so I move the car to take that spot, and my co-worker walks over to feed that meter. We have more luck this time and head into to dinner.

Or so we thought.

After some great food, we come back out and as I start to climb into the car, notice a piece of paper flapping under the wiper. That can’t be what I think it is!

Sure enough, it a pretty little parking ticket worth $30.

How is this possible? We parked. We paid the meter. We followed all the rules!

Because of that little problem with “no” I mentioned before, I am climbing out of the car to take a picture of our meter, that still has time left on it, and already searching the ticket for a phone number.

Which is when I realized. Since the meters are not directly in front of the parking spot (which would be logical) but off to the right side (or so we thought) we had logically paid that meter. When I got out to take the picture, however, I realized we had paid the meter for the car next to ours, and left ours (on the left side of the car) blinking red and beckoning the parking police.

You’re welcome, random stranger, whose $30 ticket we are now paying. How does one expense a parking ticket?

Chapter 6: Mystery SOLVED!! 

Because we’ve covered airlines and hotels in this collection of short stories, it only seems right to include Uber.

And Amazon.

After another evening meeting tonight, I was headed back to Oakland for an early morning flight back to Denver. So I call an Uber, and off we go.

I never get car sick. Tonight, however, I was doing a lot of deep breathing to keep everything in my stomach where it was.

It wasn’t just that my driver was driving like the world was on fire, the shocks in his car probably should have been replaced at least 10 years ago. So every bump and turn in the road, turned my Uber into a carnival ride.

I was able to solve one of life’s great mysteries on my ride, however! Anyone who has read any of my posts, knows of my adventures with Amazon and packages being delivered (or not) or disappearing into the shipping black hole. I have finally discovered what happens to all the Amazon packages that never make it to my house!

IMG_0616.jpg

I know it’s a bit blurry, but it’s hard to take a good photo when you’re flying down the road at 90 mph.

But at least now I know where to look for all my missing packages!

In short, this weeks travel has fully prepared me for my upcoming 3 week vacation. I’m sure travel for fun will be much less eventful!

Episode 134: The Girl in the Hotel Room

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I was going to start this post with the way my trip this week started. Which was with me pulling out of my garage to head to the airport, only to discover that I had a flat tire. But I thought “there is no way my faithful readers are going to believe that this is the start of another story barely over a year after it was the start to the first”  (let alone that this is the 5th time in a year). So I decided not to start with that. Even though it is 100% true.

Instead, I want to start with another phenomenon that seems too bizarre to have happened twice. A Bomb Cyclone.

I am pretty much convinced that whoever coined this phrase, is trying to get as much play out of it as possible before the next new and never before heard of weather phenomenon takes it’s place.

Like a “Grenade Tornado”. Or maybe an “Uzi Hurricane”.

I can’t think of any other reason I had never, in all my years, heard of a Bomb Cyclone, until a month ago, let alone how one could never have occurred before the year 2019. And yet we have now (supposedly) had 2 in a month.

I saw all the signs on the highway on my way to DIA, flashing Blizzard Warnings and alerts to expect travel disruptions.

So I can’t say I was very surprised when I woke up yesterday morning to an email saying my 7pm flight had already been cancelled.

Since I was in the lovely Bay Area, where it was gorgeous, and sunny and in the 70’s and where all the trees are in bloom, I wasn’t even that upset about being stuck another night in that climate, as opposed to dealing with a blizzard back home.

I was a little less understanding this afternoon, however, when I landed at DIA a little after noon, to find less than an inch of snow on the ground and completely clear roads.

Evidently the biggest weather event that CO ended up experiencing yesterday was a 60 degree drop in temperature. From a balmy 80 degrees on Tuesday to a chilly 23 degrees on Wednesday.

But in Colorado that just means you throw on your North Face fleece with your shorts and flip-flops.

So I got to spend another night in CA thanks to the “Little Blizzard that Wasn’t”.

(Just a thought for the future: Could we maybe wait until we actually see a snowflake before we shut down the city?)

If it wasn’t for this fantastic overreaction, however, I wouldn’t have a story to share with you this week, so for that we should all be grateful.

Since my flight was cancelled, and I was rebooked on an early morning flight out of Oakland this morning, I found myself in need of a hotel.

I haven’t spent any time in Oakland, mainly because Oakland is not a place one spends any time. However, I do know that there are areas of Oakland you do not want to venture into. With that in mind, I was pretty adamant that my hotel needed to be very close to the airport.

Unfortunately, while on the phone with our travel agency trying to find such a hotel, the only one with an available room, was a Radisson about a mile from the airport.

I have never stayed in a Radisson before, and it definitely would not normally top my list of places to stay, but the pictures looked okay, it was near the airport, and in an area I knew was okay, so I took it.

Or so I thought. Oh, what a difference a mile can make.

I arrive at the hotel at a little after 9pm, and as soon as I pull into the parking lot, I realize the area and the hotel may not be quite as ideal as I had anticipated. I actually sit in my car for a few moments trying to decide if I actually want to check in. But after weighing my options,  I decide that this is still a (maybe marginally) safer option than sleeping in my rental car on the side of the road, so I decide to just bite the bullet and just get to my room.

Just to paint the picture for you, the hotel is a 1950’s style motor court hotel, with two floors of rooms, that all have exterior entrances that open off the exterior corridor, and all look down on the central courtyard and the pool.

Think of every hotel where the person who does not want to be found in every tv show and movie you have ever seen has been, and that was this hotel.

I check in, and get to my room as quickly as I can, and decide to just turn in early and try to get these few hours over with as quickly as possible, hoping that I don’t wake up in an episode of Law & Order.

In all fairness, the hotel interior had obviously been recently upgraded, and despite the retro, art-deco 70’s era decor they chose not really being my style, it was clean and comfortable.

And despite the fact that it smelled like spaghetti-O’s and had this continuous, low volume ticking that sounded like the timer on a homemade bomb, coming from somewhere I never did locate, my room was pretty decent.

So I decided to just get in my pj’s try to forget the outside and the area, and just pretend I was in any of my normal hotel rooms for the next few hours.

I had just got in my pj’s, arranged everything for a quick departure in the morning, and was just getting ready to climb into bed with my book, when there is a knock at the door, followed by a pause, and then a male voice saying “Maintenance”

Because of course there is. If I was writing the script for this tv crime drama, I couldn’t have written it any better.

Which is also the reason there is no way I am opening that door.

I hesitate a second trying to decide what to do, then try to put on my most intimidating  “I’m a Judo black belt, don’t mess with me” voice, walk close to the door and say:

“Umm, maintenance for what?”

No answer. I am actually just starting to think I actually had scared him off and turned to go back to bed, when there is another knock, followed by a brief pause, and then the voice announcing “Maintenance” again.

Seriously. This writer is obviously a pro, and is following the recipe for a successful crime drama to a T. I can almost hear the “this is not going to end well for her” music swelling in the background.

“What are you here to fix?”

Another pause.

“I am here to fix….. that thing that is broken. Someone call the front desk”

Oh, in that case! Please come on in! That thing, that evidently neither one of us knows is broken, definitely needs to be fixed.

“I didn’t call the front desk. There’s nothing broken here”

I stand there and wait for over a minute, but I must have sounded way more scary this time because there is nothing else from his side of the door, and I assume he is gone.

I am definitely not going to pull aside the curtains and look out the window that makes up the entire wall to the right of door, however. That is a sure fire way to make the creepy music hit a crescendo when the psycho’s face is in the window.

(Seriously. whoever thought an exterior wall made of glass was ever a good idea in a hotel??)

I double check to make sure the deadbolt is secure, drag the armchair in the corner in front of the door for good measure, and decide if ever there was a night that sleeping pills were invented for, this was it. At least then I can say I slept through any nefarious events that might occur in the course of the night.

Thankfully, the sleeping pill does it’s job and the rest of the night passes uneventfully (at least to my knowledge) and I am up and out and on my way to the airport bright and early this morning.

I also want to take a moment to thank the airlines and air traffic control, that were so concerned for my safety, that instead of allowing me to fly in a non-blizzard, they allowed me to have a night in Hotel California instead.