This past weekend was the bi-annual trek back to the East Coast to visit my 92-year-old grandmother. A delightful person, that due to the ravages of age is now house-bound and can barely hear. Her only entertainment is book after book and the occassional visit from far flung family members.

My daughter comes with me on these cross country treks. At 12 years old she is an accomplished flyer. Me, I still prefer to be where I can touch the ground. But I do what I have to do to live what I consider a balanced life. Bringing some joy to my favorite grandma seems more than an adequate thing to overcome a dislike of flying.

We had to get up before the sun on Friday morning in order to get to the airport in time for an early morning flight. I am an expert at getting lost. I don’t know how many times I have been to St. Louis Lambert International in the last 8 years, but it is more than a normal person would need to manage to get there without mishap. I am a terrible driver. I seem to be getting worse with age, to boot. Anyway, I end up in the “short term parking” garage instead of the long term parking place. You know the one where they pick you up, drive you to your terminal and keep a minimal eye on your car? But by the time I figure out where I should be is not where I am, it is too late to go back, we might miss our flight.

So I find out that the terminal we ARE at is the wrong one as well and we need to haul our luggage and ourselves to the Metro and get to the other terminal before we can check in. All this is fine and dandy but I have a bum hand which I am trying not to injure further by dragging heavy suitcases with it. I drag the bags and keep an eye on the child who needs constant direction to move foward and we manage to get on the Metro, get off the Metro and to the right terminal to check our luggage and go through the security check point.

I had my daughter show me everything she packed in her carry-on luggage before we left home to make sure there were no sharp, pointy or otherwise “scary” items in the backpack filled with toys to keep her occupied during the flight. Silly me. I did not have a clue that wind-up toys were suspect. She had a toy bunny and a toy rat in the back pack. The clerks at the check point had to pass her bag through 3 times before they decided to un pack the whole bag. I don’t know how many of you have ever traveled with a budding artist, but she managed to have at least 4 dozen pencils of various sorts in that bag. Normally this would not be an issue as she would be the one opening and closing her own bag. We had pencils falling everywhere while the clerk rummaged through the bag looking for the “scary” toys. Meanwhile, I had been pulled aside because of the ace bandage on my hand. It had to be scanned for chemicals.

Well, we passed through security eventually, toys, pencils and ace bandage not withstanding and arrived in time to board the airplane. Whew!

What followed has got to have been the most enjoyable flight I have ever been on, including the one where we got bumped to First Class because of a snow storm causing our original flight to be cancelled. But that is another story. The crew was helpful and friendly as well as a bit silly. Their antics even made my daughter smile in spite of her perpetual preteen frown. As we were leaving the plane I commented to one flight attendant that I so enjoyed their flight that I would become a loyal customer of their airline. She actually squealled with joy and hugged me.

We managed to get our rental car without incident and I thought I was well prepared for the drive from the airport to my grandmother’s apartment complex. I had direction printed out and a map from one of those on-line map services. What could be simpler. As it turned out, I might have been better off just winging it. I followed the directions to Camden where they told me to turn north to find the turnpike entrance at .8 miles from the ramp. We drove north looking for said ramp for at least five miles. No ramp, no highway and no place even remotely safe looking to ask for directions. I finally decided to turn around in a side street and head back the way we had come. We passed the point where we had entered the street and saw signage for the turnpike as we headed south past the off ramp. My daughter took this moment to observe, “Hey Mom, isn’t that where we got off the highway?” Um yeah it was. We were now headed south instead of north, we found the turnpike on ramp with no further troubel and I promptly crumbled up the directions and decided to wing it from there.

We had a lovely visit with my grandmother. She gets smaller every time we visit. I now tower a good two feet above her. It’s funny how life plays turn about at the ends. I often wonder what will become of me when I am so old, which is a good possibility as I still have two living grandparents and they are both in their 90s.

Driving back to the airport I fared no better. I swear I am the champion of getting lost. It is hard for me to believe I could travel to a foreign country and make my way around by bus and taxi without being fluent in the local language but put me behind the wheel of a car and I get lost in my own backyard. At least I have gotten good at “being lost.” I used to panic. Now I just keep going until I manage to muddle my way though. Long story short, I managed to make it back to the airport and return the rental car, catch the airplane and arrive safely back at my own front door.

I had better get better at this following directiosn thing before I start touring with my book this summer or I am going to be spend far too much time and money on travelling in circles!