Do You Believe in Miracles?

Or when something extraordinary happens, do you just chalk it up to beating the odds? (For those of you who argue with me about math's usefulness – here's another example ;-) Let me tell you what happened last week, and you tell me: miracle or odds.

For our 20^th wedding anniversary last year, The Engineer bought me a gorgeous, pink sapphire ring with diamond accents. OK, that's not entirely true. He PAID for the ring which I picked out.

Ever since he gave me a toaster oven for Christmas the first year we were dating, I've picked out my own gifts and said, “Here honey, look what you got me!” We joke about it. “How did you know that a this would be perfect? You're such a good shopper!” I've worn it everyday since.

Monday was no ordinary day. I was finally starting to feel human again, the boys were leaving for hunting on Wednesday, and I had to buy their groceries, and get all the clothes washed so they could pack.

I filled a cart over the brim at the grocery store. It was meticulously packed. The checker, as he was filling bag after bag, decided I needed two carts to get everything out to the car because he wasn't a good packer. I got everything inside the house. I put everything away, I packed the food for the trip. During this outing, I'd used every reusable cloth grocery bag I own.

As I was folding load of laundry number five, I needed lotion. As I was putting it on, I noticed, to my horror, that the stone was missing from my ring. I was despondent. What are the odds of finding something of that size after all that my hands had done in the last four hours? NOT VERY GOOD. Chances slim to none. It could be hiding literally anywhere in the house, a bag, the store, the parking lot...

I don't give up easily though, so I called the store and asked them to look out for it. I tore apart my bed, where I fold laundry. I started to think about where I might have dinged my hand and realized that shoving all the sandwich makings into the meat drawer might have put some pressure on my hand. I took the drawer all apart. No stone.

Next I decided that why not go through all the cloth grocery bags that I'd folded and put away after emptying them. I had to do something, and might as well do a complete-able task. Most have that rubbery bottom flap thingie to stabilize them. I took it out when possible, and ran my hands under the ones that were attached. I came to a bag with no bottom rubber thing, so I just shook it out.

“Tink, tink, tink.”

Something fell out of the bag. Pebble, probably. But I looked around on the wood floor, and there was my pink heart. INCONCEIVABLE! I was floored. I cried. I called the store back, and told the same nice lady in customer service that I'd found it. “That's completely amazing!” I agreed.

So you tell me, miracle, or just beating the (almost impossible) odds? I'm voting miracle.

Have you ever lost, and then found something precious that you were unlikely to ever see again? Do you believe in miracles? Do you buy your own gifts because you're married to such a great shopper like I am?

~Tina

The 45-Minute Waiting Area

I didn't think that there were people ruder than those I've met in my son's carline at his school. I was wrong. The people in the “45 Minute Waiting Area” at the airport are by far worse.

What's up with the 45 minutes anyway? Is that some magic time that represents how early most people are? Does it mean that when a flight arrives at a certain time, it's going to be 45 minutes until your pick-up-ee is standing at the curb ready for said pick-up? Or does it mean that there's some secret parking enforcement surveillance that will come after 45 minutes and send you on your way? Why not just call it the “you-won't-find-a-spot-here-because-I-used-up-three-so-that-my-girlfriend-could-watch-the-planes-land area”?

Or we could call it the “yes, I see that you're signaling and about to pull into that spot, so that's why I'm accelerating around you, will cut you off, and take that spot. Or “the I don't know how to park, and neither does the guy two spots away, so the spot between us will only fit a motorcycle.” Or maybe it could be the “if I drive up close enough to your bumper you'll move the extra 6” so that YOU'RE on the guy in front of you's bumper and none of us can move, should we get the magic call.” Pick one. Or name it all of them. Just don't make me wait there again.

When we finally did get the call (an hour after arriving), four cars had to move because they'd parked us in. There wasn't a lot of room left to maneuver. The parking lot had become like one of those 4x4 sliding puzzles where there are 15 tiles and you move them around to put them in order, only someone shoved a 16^th tile in there and now nothing's moving...

(photo credit wikipedie free images)

The fun wasn't over, though. After we picked up our friend, I was to drive her car home. She'd injured herself on her trip and couldn't walk. I also had to find that car. All was fine until I hit a dead end at West M. I was going for West N. I'd been heading down the alphabet from C just fine (I am rather familiar with the alphabet, right Gary?). Then no N. I wandered around a bit. Reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Kramer is carrying the air-conditioner, Elaine has the goldfish, and Jerry ends up urinating in public.

Finally the airport parking enforcement (aHA! Please, head out to the waiting area from hell and kick some of those yahoos outta there, would ya'?) truck comes driving along. I flag them down and explain that I need N but the garage ends with M. One of them turns to the other and says,

“Do we have an N now?”

“Yup, it's in the other pod.”

“OK, how do I get there?”

“Oh, he'd better take you. It's kinda confusing. I'll stay here and finish up.”

So I get into the enforcement truck, and the man ATTEMPTS to help me find her car. We drive around for quite a while until he figures out how to get to “the other pod.” It's close by, but seeing it and finding a road/path to it are two different things.

We finally get over there, after several tries up and down the ramps, and we actually find the car! I was so relieved, and thought that the hard part of my day was over. But no, because the friend we picked up ended up needing the ER, so that's where I spent the night. But that's another post, if she'll let me. I was THIS close to laying down on the tile floor at 4:30 a.m...I'm too old to stay up that late. Especially after braving the waiting area, and the parking garage, and worries about my friend's health. I need a nap...

Do you have any travel/airport/parking lot horror stories? Or would you rather be in carline?