Ghosts of Vacations Past

Three planes, two days, and a major migraine later, we descended upon the motherland. As if getting here was not enough of a hoop la, we have been playing dodge ball with a scurry of unseen mighty enemies in the shape of viruses, bacteria and insect borne diseases. 

We left Canada tired already. My Christmas cactus, which is the only plant in living history I did not bump off, was left to fend for itself, and the keys to our apartment were left with my friend Janine. You might remember her as the one who is fond of trespassing. 

I was hoping Janine would be so inclined to check out our place considering she has access and all. I knew if I could just get her through that door, she wouldn't be able to resist doing a quick clean here and there while she was doing her inspections. She is the type that takes a mesh door off its hinges to give it a good clean.

Sadly, she is not into the whole ghetto fabulous decor thing, and is more into snooping Pacific Northwest chic, so the odds of her popping over without my official request are slim to none. Oh well. I kept the vacuum by the door just in case.

After the usual drama of packing gifts for everyone's third cousin and his neighbor's goat, we were on our way. The first flight was bumpy because they were expecting not one but three major thunder storms in Chicago, our first port of transit.

To make it worse, we were stuck in a holding pattern and we were informed we might be diverted to Minneapolis, which meant us missing our next two connections. After much praying and fuel loss, our flight was given clearance to land and a panic attack was suitably averted.

Suddenly, the plane dipped down and there was a collective gasp.  Lanes and I thought it was great fun, despite our stomachs being up in our throats.  Considering it was a North American airline, besides our free sodas, that was as much action as our stomachs saw on that leg.

When I turned to check on P after looking out for Lanes, I found him looking rather pale. He looked like the poster child for an Indian face whitening commercial.

Two more long flights later, Lanes had spilled water on herself and gone through more outfit changes than an actress in scene I of a Bollywood film. She was chattering incessantly trying to figure out who was coming to the airport to pick her up. That kid’s got her priorities straight.

We got to the homeland amid more threats of storms. I was exhausted from two days of no sleep. Our baggage arrived with a gaping hole in the back. P was out of it but didn't notice, but thanks to my hours of watching random TV shows way past my bed time, I checked each piece and called it to his attention and insisted he file a complaint.

So it turns out, like mixing plaid with tights, it was not one of my best ideas. The person in charge looked like she was an extra from the "Invasion of the Body Snatchers".  She kept staring at the computer and the paper before her with big round eyes that looked even more vacant thanks to an unfortunate choice of thick black eye liner.

She wouldn't blink, talk, or even move.  It was like the airline placed a dummy (pun intended) in front of the counter after hours. I’ve seen cardboard cutouts with more animation than this.

I was tempted to check for a pulse, and P, an avid micromanager, was trying his best not to swivel the computer around and do the work himself.  Lanes, like a runner who trips before the finish line, was staring at the doors, waiting to get out and jump into the arms of her grandparents and grand aunt and uncle. 

I was left to appease Lanes, who after all that pent up anticipation looked like her little heart was going to break. Eventually, after empty eyed lady got two other people to look blankly at the computer, we got a voucher to get our bag fixed. In the time they took to do that, I could have reared and raised half a dozen farm animals.

I was looking forward to passing out in my childhood bedroom but there was no rest for the weary. My parents had hired someone to help them at the house because my sister and her brood were also to come for a visit.

Sadly, this lady contracted viral fever, but decided to grin and roam around the house freely, like a like the Ghost of Vacations Past. P, Lanes and I were petrified because it brought back the nightmare that was our previous vacation here wherein we contracted viral fever and missed our flight back to Canada.

This lady was blissfully oblivious to our horror and she was floating around, gleefully infecting doorknobs, table tops, banisters, and kitchen utensils, all to her heart’s content. Meanwhile, every germaphobic cell in my body was going into shock.

I missed my Chlorox wipes so immensely that I wrote the company several love songs. In between that, we were told to be careful of mosquitoes, and everywhere we turn, we seem to have one as an appendage. They are speedy and annoying, and seem to have spread the word that my arms are the new twenty four hour buffet in town.

While I was scratching at my limbs, to add to our misery, P and Lanes started throwing up. They had caught a stomach bug that is going around.

P often misguidedly thinks he is some sort of physician, so he medicated himself. Poor little Lanes was up chucking for a number of days. Luckily, my mom’s cousins are very kind pediatricians and we have been pestering them every day. I bet they are wondering what stroke of fate landed us as their next of kin.

The next day, I felt queasy and then there you go, I was down. I had twenty four hours to fix myself up because I had to be dolled up to go to my father-in-law’s 80^th birthday, a fancy costume do at that.

Thanks to the barrage of anti-vomitting medication that P supplied me, I was able to put a cork in it so to speak and show up to the big bash—present but not present. It was really great to catch up with everyone we have been missing, but my head started spinning and I found myself confined to a small area willing myself not to pass out and/or run to use the public facilities.

As an avid food lover, I was rather depressed to give funky canapés, the buffet table and the desert assortment a miss, but I felt it best to be prudent. P’s cousin, realizing my discomfort, was kind enough to sit and chatter with me and keep Lanes amused until it was time to go home.

So that was week one in the Motherland. So far, not so good. I’m exhausted. Let’s hope that the rest of the vacation will be much much better—or else I’m going to need a back up holiday. Someplace wrapped in a sterile bubble sponsored by Chlorox perhaps. More musings not from BC next week…