Counting Blessings (after Dad died)
December 23, 2008
Even though my carry-on luggage fit into the overhead compartment on the first plane, it had to be checked on this plance after I made everyone wait while I failed to squeeze it in. Then I had to do the walk of shame back up the single lane aisle, "Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, sorry - my bag doesn't fit". They banished it to the belly of the plane and gave me a little white slip.
When we arrived at SeaTac, the runway looked like maybe we shouldn't be trying to land. I imagined the plane swerving out of control when we heard the wheels make some funky noise, but actually the couple of runways they had in operation were nearly immaculate. Coming off the plane, I expected my bag to be waiting at the entrance of the jetway since it was a last minute bag check, but the white slip of paper was a tag of doom - it was in with the regular checked baggage, and I was part of the death march towards baggage claim.
After an hour of sitting around, watching for the flashing light to tell us our lives could finally move on, the baggage carousel started. Everyone applauded. One black bag came gliding down the conveyor belt with a "Canada" luggage strap fastened around it. It went around three times. No takers. It was never joined by any other bag. Then the belt stopped.
The line at the baggage claim office began to build. The associate behind the desk had probably been hiding from the tired and angry passengers for the last hour, but she finally returned. Arguments ensued. Fifteen minutes of yelling later, they finally appeased us by making an announcement regarding the baggage delay - people couldn't drive into work, so there were no employees to unload the plane. The plan: they were flying in workers from other airports to help unload SeaTac's planes.
I left, and have to go back today to brave what was already thousands of bags stacked around the carousels from "PXH" and "PHL" whose owners were stranded at some connecting airport in middle America.
Mom has been spending the last few days (with Grandma and Uncle Son) at Di Sau's house - a sort of emotional boot camp, if you ask me, but they all seem to enjoy themselves enough to do it again the next day. Washington State surely wasn't prepared for the storm, but Di Sau certainly is a skilled driver, and has been helping Mom by driving her to work.
The first thing I did in Seattle when I got "home" (Di Sau's house, for now) - shovel the steps. I had to come in after I could smell Mom's cooking from outside, though. We had fresh vegetables in broth, shrimp and pork belly charred and stir fried with lemon grass, and a whole fried fish. Delicious.Afterwards, we drove the 40 minutes from Des Moines (pronounced with the "s") back to Edmonds, thinking Raymond might have shoveled the drive for us, and I could take Mom to work today instead of bothering Di Sau another day. However, the whole cul de sac was still in six inches of snow, and some places we trudged through on the lawn where at least eight inches deep. When we asked Ray why he didn't shovel, he said there wasn't a shovel to be found in the garage.
Upon inspection, I found a rake and a asian dust pan (long vertical handle). No shovel. And a quarter bag of ice. *shrug* Where are we going to find a snow shovel in a snow storm? I'm not sure, but I'm home today, at Duong Sau's mercy, hoping he will take me to the airport and then in search of a snow and garden shovel to dig out Mom's driveway. There is lots of ice under the lots of snow.
I'm without clean clothes and computer (currently on Di Sau's desktop), but I'm glad I'm not sleeping in some airport somewhere.
PS - my favorite part of the trip was listening to my iPod, which is now back in action with a few technological glitches, but it works again. Hooray.
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