A picture is posted. Taken under a brilliant blue sky, the characters dressed up, soft light diffused by the tiles of the expansive courtyard flattering their profiles. Among hundreds of pictures taken, this one is self-selected for impression. To cast the crew in the best light. Unbeknownst to the viewers though, infighting, anger, resentment, and disappointment lurk. (And joy, love, and laughter, but what fun is that?)Wednesday Morning
“Did you hear about the weather on Saturday?” my wife asks at her regular 8:00 AM workday call.
“Yeah, I heard. A chance of snow,” I say distracted by the day’s schedule splashed on the screen in front.
“Well, I got an email alert from the airline. They say the flight may be canceled. Why don’t we ditch the booking and drive?”
“Today is only Wednesday. It will be alright. And I am not driving to Orlando,” I said, masking a lack of conviction about my prognostication with an unreasoned resolve against driving.
Wednesday Evening
“How does this look?” my wife asks wearing a deep blue gown, which she seems to have procured in a last minute shopping binge.
“Not as good as the other one,” I say without thinking, as has been my wont lately.
“Which other one, the black or the red?”
Uh-oh. “The black … wait a minute, the red.”
“Make up your mind,” she says without irony.
“Show me the red one,” I suggest.
She comes out in the red.
“I can’t decide,” I waffle.
“You are useless,” she points out. “Let me ask Narmada,” betraying a gender bias in matters sartorial.
“You look terrific in all three,” I play the trump. Works every time.
Thursday Morning
The airline alert is nagging me. I check the weather at the BWI every hour while struggling to overcome a pathological aversion to consider a plan B. The predicted snow lowers from 3 inches to less than an inch. Things are looking good.
Thursday Evening
“Which bags are we taking?” my wife asks.
The folly of booking on the Spirit Airlines comes to the fore. I look up the Spirit website. This sets off an extended expletive-laden session. To book luggage I have to log in and to log in I have to create an account, which forces me to fork over personal information. At the end, I am rewarded with a healthy $160 charge for two checked bags, %#@!.
Friday Evening, 7:00 PM
“Are you all packed? I ask, asserting leadership in matters pertaining to travel schedules. “Everyone be ready at 8:15 AM.” I notice my daughter scampering to do her laundry.
Friday Evening, 7:30 PM
All packed, I pour a measured ounce of Dalmore, sit down in front of the laptop, and start writing a few sentences to my woefully delayed book chapter.
“They canceled the flight!” my wife announces.
Silence.
“Are you listening? The flight is canceled! Stop writing your blog and do something.”
“It's a book, not a blog,” I protest.
Carefully constructed plans are in tatters. I pour another drink and sit down. Good lord, why didn't I think of a plan B? I frantically search for later flights but find none that is nonstop to Orlando.
“There’s the same flight Sunday from BWI. How about flying Sunday?” I suggest.
My wife dismisses it. “What’s the use of getting there Sunday to spend just one evening?” I recall another dress she had proudly displayed meant for the Saturday evening dinner.
She calls her niece who is flying to Orlando out of the Reagan National airport. This makes matters decidedly worse.
“They haven’t canceled Brinda’s Jetblue flight from National. Why are they canceling only the BWI flight?” She goes off into a litany on the unfairness of flight cancellation protocols.
“There’s a flight out of Philadelphia that gets us there on time,” I declare with a can-do attitude. The confidence is short-lived. Before clicking “pay for this flight,” I look up the Philadelphia weather. It's even worse and the 2-hour drive up I-95 to reach Philly could be perilous.
Facing a canceled trip, recriminations fly culminating at 12:00 AM in the ultimatum: “We are driving to Orlando at 4:00 AM.” Cornered and caught in my inaction, I relent.
Saturday, 4:30 AM
We are on the road, a slight drizzle falling, which turns into a steady rain as we exit the beltway. Comforted by the warmth in the van, the passengers all fall asleep.
Saturday, 3:30 PM
We are approaching Savannah, Georgia. I ask my daughter, who has now woken up and is having her morning coffee, to set the GPS device to Orlando. I had Savannah, not Orlando, as the destination to make the distance look manageable hahaha but the move backfires big time. The ETA is now 8:30 PM. Seeing the revised time of arrival, the wife goes bonkers. I try to explain the logic, that regardless of how the GPS is set the trip would still take till 8:30 PM. As I should have learned long ago though, logic in these situations is a fool's errand. For the 8:30 PM arrival means we will miss the dinner gathering. Everyone will be there except us, a worse possible outcome there isn’t. The next couple of hours of driving is, let us say, distracted, trying to mollify an agitated passenger while taking in the views of the winding rivulets crisscrossing the expansive coastal Georgian grasslands.
But then luck strikes! There is sudden laughter in the van and smiles break out all around. News arrives that the impending dinner party is canceled. I use the merriment to foist driving duties upon the daughter; she drives rest of the way and after a stop to procure dinner, we reach the rental home around 9:00 PM. Rest of the family who had gathered earlier welcome us and all’s well.1
The next day afternoon, we gather for a photo session. A picture is taken. It is worth a thousand words. You are welcome to count.
1 The best part is reserved for the footnote: Thank you to the birthday boy and family for hosting the event, arranging the photo shoot, the wonderful dinner, and for saving my skin by canceling the Saturday night outing. And to Richard for the welcoming spread that melted away the weariness of the 16-hour drive.↩
