Yes, We Did Make It Home. Sorry I Didn't Mention That.

[Note: I don't mean to make it sound like we didn't have fun at the retreats, or that my gritching about travel means that it was bad travel. No, indeed: everything was fabulous, and the travel was planned fabulously. I just have issues with the way we (the public) have allowed them (the airlines, mostly) to treat us like cattle. And suspect cattle, at that--The EGE was searched (first time for him), I was patted down (Midland) and got the full body scan (can't remember where that was) and we were both addressed rudely for failing to get in the right line, as if we do this kind of thing every day and were just being difficult, rather than what was actually the case: we never do this and, without a map, really have no inkling what all those lines are all about.]

Sheesh. I'm sorry I haven't posted sooner, letting you know we're home and telling about our whirlwind trip. But, what with the unexpected stay in Denver, putting us a day behind schedule, it's been crazy-playing-catch-up ever since we finally got home.

To re-cap, we went to Art Is Petaluma and Art & Soul Portland. We were gone a little less than a week. That's the short version. Here's what really happened:

We got up Thursday morning and caught a flight to Dallas, where we hurried through DFW and got on another, thankfully *bigger* plane and flew to San Francisco. Why we couldn't catch a flight in Midland, which is--ahem--an International Airport, I have no clue. None.

OK, so we flew into San Francisco and caught a bus for the hour-and-a-half trip to Petaluma, where we caught a cab to the hotel. I moderated a panel discussion at breakfast the next morning and did a book signing on Saturday night at Art Trunk, and then Sunday we took a cab back to the Fairgrounds and caught the bus back to San Francisco and took a plane--a tiny little PROP PLANE, in which I had previously--you may remember--vowed never to fly ever again--to Portland, where we caught a shuttle to the hotel. That night I hosted the opening night fun in which The Ever-Gorgeous Earl, Ty Schultz, and Dan Carrel were dressed and coifed and blinged out by six participating instructors. (Sadly, I was able to post very little of this because we didn't have wifi at the hotel--I did what I could via iPhone.)

The next day, Monday, we were supposed to have a book signing, but when I went downstairs to set up, we discovered that there were no books. I'm still not sure what happened--they said they would order the books and have them there--but it no longer matters. Lesson learned and moving on.

The next day, Tuesday, we got up, took a shuttle to the airport, and flew on a too-small (again! but at least I couldn't see propellers, which kind of freak me out just the tiniest bit and make me think of some not-quite-remembered Stephen King short story) plane to Denver, where we hiked hurriedly through their never-ending (they said it's a mile long. Also, I gather, a mile high, since Denver is The Mile High City) terminal, finally arriving in some remote ghetto of a gate area, off where all the buildings are those temporary structures that look as if they're reconfigured every night just for fun so that the workers can sit in the morning with their stout coffees and watch their confused co-workers trying to find Gate 95. "I'm sure it was right here yesterday, Gretchen. I swear."

At that end of the Fake Terminal, the gates--in the 90s--are tiny and stacked one on top of another, leading me to fear, once again, for the size of our plane. Turns out I needn't have worried, because we arrive in plenty of time only to find that we've been bumped. Or, rather, that The EGE has been bumped. I, however, am free to fly home alone.

By this time, it's late. Dark. I'm tired and grouchy. We haven't eaten. The MacBook has grown amazingly heavy in its case. There's no way I'm going to fly home alone, haul everything to the car, drive home, blah, blah, blah.

So there's a long story in here about being bumped and bumping yourself voluntarily, about compensation and vouchers, and blah, blah, blah. We were very nice, and they responded by making everything as pleasant as possible. They put us up at the DoubleTree and gave us meal vouchers (although what they think you can buy for a meal for $15 each is pretty much beyond me (I think they're thinking "airport McDonald's = yum!" is what I think they're thinking, and all was happy in the land.

Uh. Not really. Because we don't fly a lot, and because we had never even entertained the possibility of being bumped and have never even had a discussion with anyone who has been, the possibility never entered our minds. Consequently, we would never have thought to pack, in our carry-on stuff, things like, you know: CLEAN UNDERWEAR! Or dental floss. Toothbrushes.

You know.

Now, you've heard me talk many times about how I've never mastered the trick of Traveling Lite, how I generally take a TON of stuff with me, everything I might conceivably need for, well, an overland trek to India (with, yeah, OK, some sea travel thrown in there somewhere). For this trip, because we were having to fly, I was so, so proud of myself: I packed one suitcase. Just one. And more than that: I sucked it up and went out and bought two new suitcases. The ones we had were huge, and every time we've flown with them, we have to pay an overweight charge. Those suckers weigh about 30 lbs empty, and if you put your socks in them, you're going to have to pay.

So I'd gone out and found us two smaller suitcases, hardsided ones on sale for 50% off because why, oh, why, would I spend a bunch of money on something I really don't want and don't plan on using very much? I ask you.

So we'd each packed a suitcase, oh-so-carefully, getting everything we needed but nothing extra, making sure we didn't Go Over. Only to find that, for every leg of the journey, we had to pay $25 ($20 once) for EACH SUITCASE. Not because they were overweight. Oh, no! Because they were checked baggage, and since they don't really want us to travel in the first place and certainly don't want us to take anything with us if we DO travel, they make you pay. They snark at you about carry-on, forcing you to check it at the door of the plane if the plane is tiny, but they don't want you to check it, either. In short, they'd prefer you sit at home in front of the TV and order stuff on QVC and never, ever go anywhere. Stay off the roads! Out of the airports! Don't congregate!

So in addition to everything else, I had to hand over my credit card each time we checked in. I'm still grouchy about that. I don't want to talk about it any more. Let's just say: even though we scrimped and packed the bare minimum, at least there was stuff in there that we needed. Shaving stuff. Toothcleaning stuff. Clothes-to-put-on-your-body stuff.

And, at the DoubleTree in Denver? We had none of that. It went home without us, and we got the little sample toiletries from the front desk. A flexible toothbrush that deposited bristles in my mouth, a feeling akin to having coarse dog hairs wedged in your teeth. Deodorant that was SCENTED. I don't know about you people, but I do not want my toiletries to smell like lavender or mint or Spring Valley. I want them to smell like nothing and to do the same for me: make me smell like nothing, as well. But, oh, no: their toiletries all came in various odors, and I couldn't use any of them. I hate it when people whine about their allergies, so I try to keep it to a minimum, but let's just say that we're really, really careful. We don't buy scented stuff, and the few products I use are ones I've used forever. I can live without the three-day non-stop headaches and the hives that are so bad people give me wide, frightened berth, thank you very much.

In short? We. Did. Not. Shower.

I know. Ick, right? There was much, much gritching in the land.

And then--and then!--someone tells me later that we could have had the custom complementary breakfast the next morning. Now they tell me, after we wake up and have nothing except bad coffee. It was OK, though: on our way out, the guy at the front desk gave us not one, not two, but FIVE warm chocolate chip cookies (we still have one left!).

And then we took the hotel shuttle back to the airport--I forgot to mention this, but it was 25 minutes each way--we got on another too-small plane and came home and were warm for the first time in days and got immediately to work.  I try to take Friday afternoons to do something fun, but not this week. I worked in my pajamas until almost 3:00 pm before I even got far enough to shower and get dressed.

The good news: late yesterday evening we got some Wardrobe Photos, so I've got some of those to show you in the next little while. I've got everything ready for the blog hop next week, and that's going to be fun. And I've got projects to work on--I took only the most minimal stitching with me on the trip--and that's perfectly lovely. I missed beading!

So check back for more cool stuff as things return--I hope, I hope, I hope!--to normal around here.

XO