Making Other Plans

Life is what happens while you make other plans.  John Lennon

A week ago, I loaded the dogs in the car and drove with my sister, Jane, from Jupiter Island, Florida, up to Washington, DC. The plan was for me to spend at least a month and a half up at our loft apartment in the Tysons Corner area. Jane would visit and then fly back to Florida.

Packing for any trip is a challenge, as my blog sisters will attest. But when you are changing climates and in the midst of creative projects, it's especially daunting. Jane and I both suffer from RLS (Restless Legs Syndrome), a neurological problem that results in discomfort and pain in your legs, aggravated by sitting for long stretches. There had to be a lot of stops along the way so we could stretch. We arrived in McLean, VA, at 3 a.m. If you haven't been to the area lately, you can't imagine what a mess it is. They are adding three new Metro stations to the area. We found ourselves dodging orange barrels and trying to find our way along 9-lane roads marked "Changing Traffic Patterns" and newly constructed exits that were poorly marked. Even the GPS got confused. We wound up on a short dirt spit surrounded by construction vehicles. I sat there a minute, did a U-turn, and crept along until I found a familiar landmark and made it to the condo.

We arrived at 2 a.m.

Sadly, it became quickly apparent that the dogs would not adjust well to life on the 7th floor. The engineered wood floors--while beautiful--were too slick for poor Rafferty. The poor dude's three feet went out from under him! The floor in the elevator was marble and might as well have been pure glass. Once you got out of the elevator, you had to get both dogs across the marble foyer. Then you had to get them to walk almost a block away to "do their business." When we signed the lease, dogs were allowed in the green space directly in front of the building. But as my character Mert might say, "Not no more."

After getting the pooches settled as best I could, My husband and I flew on to St. Louis for my scheduled signings and Bouchercon. It was great to be back in the Gateway to the West, but I felt a little sick at heart. How would we deal with the dogs and the housing situation? How would my sister manage two dogs? One that couldn't stand up and one that HATES to walk on a leash? That's right; Victoria finds walking on a leash beneath her dignity. We've had dog trainers work with her to no avail.

Victoria (in the pink) is annoyed. "I asked for a limo! Not a grocery cart!" Raffi says, "To infinity and beyond! Hurry, lady, I've got to go potty."

Auntie Jane came up with an ingenious idea for getting both dogs outside at the same time. She put Vicki and Rafferty in a grocery cart. You see, there's a 24-hour Harris Teeter grocery store on the first floor of the condo building. All the residents borrow the grocery carts and take their bags of food up in the elevator, then return the carts. Jane realized that she could fit two dogs in the cart, navigate the elevator, guide the cart down the sidewalk to the grass where dogs were at least tolerated, unload her furry cargo, let them do their business, re-load them and go home.

"Auntie Jane? Um, is this safe? Hello?"

Smart cookie! Needless to say, the dogs and Jane received a lot of interested glances and comments.

Meanwhile, I was racing from signing to signing and to a doctor's appointment with my heart in my throat. How was this going to work? Sure, the cart was a good stop-gap measure, but long term? What would happen when there was snow and ice? Or rain? How would we manage when we had to call a dog sitter?

But I'm a lucky girl. My darling husband brought up the subject. "I don't think this is fair to Rafferty. He can't cope. If we just had Vicki, we could carry her. But Raffi weighs nearly 30 pounds! I think you'd better go back to Florida."

So Jane and I re-loaded the car. We arrived back here in Florida a little after midnight. The dogs hopped out of the car and puttered around in the grass. Both of them seemed relieved.

How about you? Are you often forced to make other plans?

Missing My Mother--and the Contest Winner

Margaret, Me, Jane and Mom circa 1972 at Ball State University

Today was a wild and crazy Mother's Day. I spent most of the morning trying to sort through my books and scrapbooking supplies. We've decided to move from the house we've rented in Vienna, VA, to a condo in Tysons Corner, a nifty 7th floor loft. I think the new place will be good for us.  We can walk to Tysons Corner (where David's store is) or to the Galleria. There's a Harris Teeter 24-hour grocery store on the first floor. Once the Tysons Corner Metro stations are operational (sometime in 2012), we'll be able to go to either Dulles or Reagan on the train--and taking the Metro into DC proper should be a snap. Anything, anything! to avoid the dreaded DC traffic!

But this is the second time I've downsized in two years, and my third move in the same, so perhaps I can be forgiven for getting a bit weepy. My son called to wish me happy Mother's Day, and I felt so far from him and so discombobulated that I finally did wipe a few tears away before I went back to my sorting.

And somehow David and I lost track of time. We needed to leave Vienna at 1:30 for me to make it to Reagan in time to make my plane. Somehow, while we were packing and discussing what to keep/give away/sell/ move to the stores/ move to storage/ and send to Florida, we stopped watching the clock. When we noticed it was ten 'til two, we went racing to the car, threw my stuff in, and hit the streets.

"Don't worry," said David. "It's Sunday. There won't be any traffic."

I don't know where HE'S been living the past two years. The only times I've never seen traffic in DC was one morning at 5:30 a.m. Oh, yeah, and the day we got five feet of snow. Of course there was traffic. It was like driving through a molasses drip in January.

We were both in a lather when we pulled up to the US Airways curb-side check-in. US Air has decided that you, dear paying customer, must operate the check-in computer on your own. And just to make that nearly impossible, all the directions have been worn off the machines. There are slots, and a bar code scanner, but what does any of that mean? Hmmm? What do you put where? By the time I got my boarding pass, I was frantic. I kissed David goodbye and sprinted for the gate.

Hauling my heavy backpack, my purse, and the bouquet of roses David had given me for Mother's Day, I made it to security. I was waiting my turn in line when I heard them announce over the airport loud speaker: "Will the owner of a black Blackberry left at the US Airways curb-side check-in, please come back and claim it?"

They were talking about David's Blackberry.

I started calling him to confirm that it wasn't his--and wondering what to do if it was. When I finally got him on the phone, he laughed and said he'd realized it was missing and swung  back by to pick it up.
By now, I was drenched in sweat. I made it to security where the TSA agent demanded that I remove the scarf from around my neck. I have NO idea what they thought I was hiding in my scarf besides my aging neck.

The plane was boarding as I walked up to the gate.

My sister Jane picked me after I landed at the West Palm Beach airport. "Something strange happened. I got an email yesterday. It was addressed to Mom."

"Wow," I said. Mom's been dead two years now.

"The email came from you," said Jane.

Over the weekend, I sent out my email blast announcing my upcoming signings. I'd forgotten that my mom's email address was still on the Constant Contact list. Since Mom's email account is on Jane's computer, Jane saw the email message addressed to Mom, opened it, and realized it came from me.
"I just can't bring myself to delete her name from everything, every list, every place it might appear," said Jane. "I miss her."

I know what she means. I still have Mom's email address on my computer address book, her phone number in my phone, and her mailing address in my Rolodex. It's like I'm pretending she's still here. But, of course, she's not.

After Jane went to work, I took a walk on the beach, drank a glass of wine, and opened my computer to write my weekly post. That's when I saw that Jane had posted this photo of the four of us--the three of us Campbell girls and our mother--on her Facebook page.

I remember the day the photo was taken. It happened during a hard time in our lives. My father had left us, and we were on welfare. I don't know how we found the courage to smile, but we did. And a friend snapped this photo. We were all so young, so broke, so frightened, but we had each other.

Once again, I'm sitting here crying.

How can it be Mother's Day when my mother isn't here? I think about that kid's book with the little bird looking for his mother. He asks the dog, "Are you my mother?" and the cat, "Are you my mother?"

Eventually he finds his mother.

But I won't. Mine is gone.

CONTEST WINNER

Sarita, you won the copy of Pumped for Murder by Elaine Viets. Email me at joannaslan@aol.com and share your postal address so I can mail it to you, please.