Sounds more exciting when I say it that way, doesn't it? Instead of "you have to get up in six hours and start driving, and keep driving for the next few weeks."
So many things to pack, so little time. So hard to decide what makes the cut and gets to come along for the ride. I don't want to bring too many things, but I also don't want to leave out something important. Should I bring colder weather gear? There was only one chilly day on our last trip. Do I bring a rain jacket? It takes up a lot of space. Should I bring extra underwear, or just go commando? You can see how hard it is to make these kinds of decisions.
However, one thing I was absolutely certain that I needed was my passport. On Thursday morning, I went to go get it out of the drawer where the passport is always kept... and when I pulled it out, I realized it was my expired passport.
OMG. Where's my non-expired, current passport that I need to get into the United States? Did I put it somewhere else? I never put it anywhere else. Do not panic: Maybe I left it with my maps and booklets and bling that I brought back. So I look there. No luck. Back upstairs, because maybe I put it in another drawer? Nope. And I crawl around the living room and look under the couch, and I start throwing paid and unpaid bills in every direction to see if it's there. But it's not anywhere, and I'm starting to panic. What if I accidentally put it out with the recycling? What if it's gone forever? Sure, even at this late date, I can still get another one - if I pay rush fees of about $500, and for that price, I probably also get put on a terrorist watch list, too - what a bargain!
Okay, so by then I was panicking a bit, in spite of my mantra "Do not panic, do not panic."
Time to break out the big guns. Last year, in Santa Fe, I picked up a little painting of St. Jude (patron saint of hopeless cases). "Hey, Jude - don't let me down. Find my passport, and send it back to me." Then I repeated this incessantly for two hours.
Sure, you might think that wouldn't work, but I eventually wore St. Jude down. After 4 freaking hours of searching, finally, my passport was found! Where was it? I had put it in the proper drawer (where it always was), but the drawer was obviously a bit overstuffed, and the passport fell down the back of the cabinet. So I destroyed the whole house, when it was always still in the cabinet.
Who cares? I'm just happy to have my passport in hand again. Now I don't have to pay $500 and go straight to Guantanamo Bay. I am a law-abiding citizen once again! And, with any luck, they'll let me across the border tomorrow.
So many things to pack, so little time. So hard to decide what makes the cut and gets to come along for the ride. I don't want to bring too many things, but I also don't want to leave out something important. Should I bring colder weather gear? There was only one chilly day on our last trip. Do I bring a rain jacket? It takes up a lot of space. Should I bring extra underwear, or just go commando? You can see how hard it is to make these kinds of decisions.
However, one thing I was absolutely certain that I needed was my passport. On Thursday morning, I went to go get it out of the drawer where the passport is always kept... and when I pulled it out, I realized it was my expired passport.
OMG. Where's my non-expired, current passport that I need to get into the United States? Did I put it somewhere else? I never put it anywhere else. Do not panic: Maybe I left it with my maps and booklets and bling that I brought back. So I look there. No luck. Back upstairs, because maybe I put it in another drawer? Nope. And I crawl around the living room and look under the couch, and I start throwing paid and unpaid bills in every direction to see if it's there. But it's not anywhere, and I'm starting to panic. What if I accidentally put it out with the recycling? What if it's gone forever? Sure, even at this late date, I can still get another one - if I pay rush fees of about $500, and for that price, I probably also get put on a terrorist watch list, too - what a bargain!
Okay, so by then I was panicking a bit, in spite of my mantra "Do not panic, do not panic."
Time to break out the big guns. Last year, in Santa Fe, I picked up a little painting of St. Jude (patron saint of hopeless cases). "Hey, Jude - don't let me down. Find my passport, and send it back to me." Then I repeated this incessantly for two hours.
Sure, you might think that wouldn't work, but I eventually wore St. Jude down. After 4 freaking hours of searching, finally, my passport was found! Where was it? I had put it in the proper drawer (where it always was), but the drawer was obviously a bit overstuffed, and the passport fell down the back of the cabinet. So I destroyed the whole house, when it was always still in the cabinet.
Who cares? I'm just happy to have my passport in hand again. Now I don't have to pay $500 and go straight to Guantanamo Bay. I am a law-abiding citizen once again! And, with any luck, they'll let me across the border tomorrow.
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