It's a Long Story.

Once upon a time, on an unseasonably warm December 31^st, I went online and purchased two one-way bus tickets to Logan International Airport. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 5:30 am on New Year’s Day and the bus would leave the station at 2:30 am, getting us to the airport at 4:15 am. After some anxious second-guessing, we agreed that 45 minutes would be enough time to check in, get through security, and get to our gate in time for boarding. We carefully chose shoes that could slip off easily, and went without belts so that we could hurry along through security.

And so, after a wonderful New Year’s Eve gathering and subsequent late-night talk with Mother/Mother-in-law, we drove to the C&J bus station in Portsmouth, bursting through the front door with our bags at about 2:25 am. I already felt an anxious need to HURRY (though we were on time and we had no control over how quickly the bus would reach the airport). We sat in the waiting area with our bags for several minutes before resting a worried gaze on the large clock, which tick-tocked its way slowly to 2:45. 15 minutes late. What? I hurried over to the front desk and was informed that the bus didn’t leave until 3:00. HOW COULD THAT BE? I checked and re-checked the bus schedule so many times! It was a holiday AND weekend. There was no chance that I had confused the regular schedule with the weekend/holiday schedule. As I nervously thought about arriving at the airport at 4:45, I was already starting to wonder if we could somehow take a later flight. We weren’t going to make it. In an effort to help the concern he saw on my face, the nice man behind the desk clarified, “The bus leaves the Dover station at 2:30 and gets here at 3. It will be at the airport by 4:15.” Then angels came down from heaven and rested on his shoulders as they sang a heavenly song. I’d been looking at the DOVER column! We WOULD be there on time! Hurray!

That problem settled, I returned to my seat and waited, then boarded the very full bus right on time and proceeded to sleep (not particularly soundly) until the driver announced that we would be stopping at the first check-in terminal. We had already established that we would be stopping at the third terminal-- the big red and blue “U” symbol (for United Airways) confirmed this as I looked at my printed-out itinerary. By the time the bus made it to the third terminal, it was almost 4:30, and I could see huge lines at the check-in counters inside. The anxious feeling was returning. As soon as I hopped off the bus I grabbed the two small bags that had been pulled out from under the bus and left Jesse to get the others while I secured a spot in line. I ran in, huffing and puffing (wearing my big winter boots and warm new winter coat—because they wouldn’t fit in the suitcase, of course), could not figure out for the life of me which line I was supposed to be in, and received very unhelpful help from the lady who appeared to be directing traffic and finally landed myself in a line I was pretty sure was the right one. It was huge. And mom’s hairdresser was in line behind me! I was, however, too worried to feel like making small talk and did my best not to make eye contact. Jesse eventually joined me in the line and we finally were next in line for the counter, meaning it was our turn to use the kiosk to print out our boarding passes. I hurriedly poked at the screen, found our itinerary…and was promptly told that this kiosk could not check me in because my reservation was with another airline. WHAT? I repeated the process and received the same message. FREAK OUT TIME.

PAUSE. Somewhat relevant to the story: Naomi and I had planned our long run for Friday (New Year’s Eve day). We’d planned on doing 10 miles, thinking we were not quite prepared to go that far, but we were really determined that we were going to do it. It was a glorious run, except for the wretched stiffening that happened between miles 6 and 8. The last 4 miles were pretty terrible, as was the heaviness in my legs the rest of the night and the irritated, chafed-up parts of my body. When we returned we learned that we’d actually gone 12 miles instead of ten. No wonder it hurt! Note also that I hadn’t slept since that adventure. My legs were like lead…very STIFF lead…by the time we got to the airport.

Resume freaking out. I pulled out my printed itinerary and saw with horror the fine print under the gigantic “United Airways” symbol: “Operated by US Airways.” Horror of horrors (which I did not mention to Jesse)—I actually remembered at that moment that the confirmation email HAD in fact said at the top, “your check-in will be with US Airways” but that part hadn’t ended up on the print-out. AHHHHHHHH. We ran up to the nearest airport employee and asked where the check-in counters were for US Airways and we were told that it was all the way back in the second check-in terminal. So we ran like the wind, with sore legs stuffed in big boots, wearing our warmest set of clothes and with my hair flying everywhere, each of us wearing a backpack and dragging two bags behind us. We ran. I wanted to curse the day I bought my glasses which aren’t quite small enough and kept sliding completely off my face as I ran along. The layer of sweat that was quickly forming wasn’t helping either. My exceptionally foul mood was beginning. I think it took us a solid ten minutes to run to the other terminal. There were dimly-lit little hallways and escalators that didn’t seem to get a whole lot of use and I was wondering if we were still going in the right direction when we at last saw the check-in counters coming into view. So with my hair in a tangled mess and the front part all sweaty and sticking to my face (and with the unsettling realization that my sweatiest parts were not likely to dry out for several hours—and who in the world enjoys sweaty jeans?) we joined the line. The first kiosk that we made it to rejected us. I tried again and it let us pay for our bags, but didn’t give us boarding passes. The nice lady directing traffic did not seem concerned that we were only five minutes from boarding time at this point.

After finally checking our bags, we took up running yet again, this time in the direction of security. Of course, OF COURSE, my backpack got stopped and they had to look all through it and send it back through the scanner 55 times before finally letting us go. As we ran toward the gate we could hear them calling people to board the plane. Then we stood, panting, sweaty, and not in any mood to smile…for like FIFTEEN MINUTES waiting to get our seat assignments from the ladies behind the desk. So we didn’t need to run and get sweaty and angry and tired? Darn.

Flight # 1 was uneventful for the most part. We flew, we slept, we conquered.

At our layover in Philadelphia, we discovered that we then needed to go back to the United Airways terminal, check the screens to find our gate, and print out our boarding passes. This too, was uneventful, and we soon found ourselves with two hours to fill. So, still in foul moods, we staked out an area on the floor and curled up (quite uncomfortably) to sleep.

Flight #2 came and went.

In Chicago, we were pleasantly surprised by how nice the airport was (we’d heard less-than-appealing rumors) and enjoyed our slow meandering to our gate and the short amount of time we had to wait until our next flight.

Flight #3 was almost 4 hours. It felt long, but again we slept for pieces of it, I read some of the Voyage of the Dawn Treader and Jesse started a suspenseful movie about a runaway train called Unstoppable. We landed in Spokane, called our friends who were going to pick us up, and then made our way down to baggage claim. None of the carousels were marked so it took us some time to figure out which one was ours, but people seemed to retrieve their baggage quickly and soon we were just about the only ones left standing around with our eyes glued to the empty belt. We looked at our baggage claim tickets and noticed a possible problem, which the nice guy behind the counter confirmed. Our bags were left in Chicago.

Thankfully, he could confirm that they really were there, and he had us fill out a quick form and told us that our bags would go straight to the little airport in Kalispell and someone could bring them right to our house! PRAISE GOD! And thankfully we left plenty of clothes and toiletries and things at the house, so we’d be fine for a day or two without our bags. We still had our carry-on bags (including laptops, Bibles, books, makeup! and such) and the only thing I’ve really missed so far is deodorant. I’m an eensy bit disappointed because I was planning on pulling out my new cookbook (thanks Mom & Dad!) and trying a recipe or two, but alas, I’ll have to wait till next weekend.

So anyway, our friends picked us up and brought us back to their house for a quick break before heading out onto the road. Spokane got a couple of feet of snow over the past two weeks, so our car was pretty buried. While the men cleared it off I sat inside with the girls and had gingersnaps and talked about crocheting (which I don’t do, but they were all happily stitching as we talked). Finally we got ourselves back into the car, drove about half an hour before stopping to do our grocery shopping for the week (because Spokane is the only place with a grocery store that we’d pass during the whole four hours and we didn’t want to have to go into Kalispell on Sunday) and continued onward. I never thought four (or five) hours in the car could feel so long! It feels a lot worse AFTER a day of flying than before. I kept having flashbacks to when I was in sixth grade and mom would take me with her to pick up Naomi and her friends from youth group. She always said that she’d bring me because my constant chattering would help keep her awake. I was just positive that if I didn’t keep Jesse entertained he would fall asleep (because I was having a hard time keeping myself awake). So we drove…and drove…and drove and drove and drove…and this one road that we were on for 40 miles was supposed to be a highway but it looks like an abandoned back road (hey! Like Route 140!) and Jesse saw a big yellow “Deer Crossing” sign and was just about to comment that it was kind of unusual that the sign didn’t say “For ____ miles” when he just about jumped out of his seat as the headlights hit a couple of elk on the side of the road RIGHT next to the sign! Haha, just like they were intentionally crossing at that specific spot! When we were almost done on that road we couldn’t handle it any longer and stopped at a subway to go to the bathroom and get a chocolate chip cookie and some iced tea then settled our tired, depressed selves back into the car. When we made it home we were pretty dead tired. We brought our bags inside and pretty much INSTANTLY fell asleep. It was awesome! I didn’t even crack my eyelids open until 9 this morning (at which point we’d been sleeping for a solid 11 hours) and I showered and had breakfast and I’m just now feeling human again. Whew! Thanks for your prayers for safe travels! So glad to be here!