Travel

I like being in new and exciting places, but getting there exacts a real toll on my nervous system. Take yesterday, for example.

It started, well, when we landed in Atlanta early (after 10 hours in the air!) but then had to wait on the tarmac until we were very, very late. And I had a connecting flight to Chicago with not a lot of leeway for delay. We finally pulled up to what had to be the farthest possible gate from Customs. I skipped the moving sidewalk (why do people stand still on a moving sidewalk when they can be going twice as fast if they move on it?) and found the Customs area, which seemed to be relatively empty. My bad! We were escorted to the other side, where hundreds of our co-nationals were ahead of us in line. Thing moved steadily enough, and I was through, though I was able to wave to Karen and Barbara as they processed through just a few yards behind me. So much for power-walking the sidewalk route. Then, when I reached for my cell phone to call the superior and tell her I was in the country. The phone was not tucked into the corner where it has dwelt for two weeks. Immediate panic. The cell phone is gone! Did it fall out? Was it somehow confiscated by Italian security without my realizing it? What would I do now???? All I could do was keep power-walking to Gate B-36. In the shuttle train from the International Terminal, I suddenly realized that I had not seen the throwaway cameras since... Italian security. I knew Karen had them and was putting them in the white plastic bag I had brought, but then what? They weren't in my under-the-seat carry on. They weren't in my backpack. Panic! They're gone! How do I call the Fiumicino security desk? But all I could do was keep heading to Gate B-36 to see if, hoping beyond hope, I would make my flight. Then I got there, and could see that Gate 36 was boarding. But it was to San Antonio, not Chicago! Mild panic. My flight was only changed to the next gate. Whew. And they were slightly delayed. Whew. But where was my boarding pass? It was not in the left-hand pocket where I always slip boarding passes! Panic! "Don't tell me I lost the ticket, too!" I said in a tone that was so tinged with despair that a man near me gave me a quizzical look. "It's been a rough three days," I said sheepishly. Then I pulled my wheelie into a corner and clawed through it. There was a paper shopping bag from Compostela--and the cameras safely tucked inside. (Now all I have to worry about in that regard is whether the many X-ray encounters between Italy, Spain and then the Customs area damaged the film... and wonder how the Lord will use all this for the mission.)