California, Here I Come & That Old Bag

I wish I had a little red bouncing ball feature so that we could all sing together! Do you even remember the songs on TV and in movies, where the audience was asked to follow the bouncing ball and sing along? I guess you have to be really, really old... like me! (Oh, but I'm not that old bag! You have to read on to find out about that!)

California, Here I Come

Colorado’s where I started from

where bowers of flowers

bloom in the spring

each morning at dawning

birdies sing at everything

my oldest son says, "Don't be late!"

that's why I can hardly wait

open up that golden gate

California, Here I Come!!

Hubby and I are taking a few days off from reconstruction and will visit number 1 son in San Francisco while number 2 son has been coerced into holding down the fort. Last night we took a trip drive into town (Oh... I am so loving being 5 miles from 'town'!!) to get a new suitcase for me. I love new suitcases. I love exploring their zippered compartments... most of which I never use!

I had to 'let go' of my previous carry-on. It seems that my carry-on no longer met carry-on standards.  We went on a fabulous trip to Europe last year. On our way there I travelled on two airplanes... and carried on my carry-on with no problems. But, on our return, at 4:30 in the morning,  the ticket attendant said I would have to check my bag and that would be an extra $50 fee. I am a morning person... but I think I was grumpy because I didn't want to go home, and I probably wasn't really looking forward to a 6-hour layover at the Munich airport. Also trying to communicate in broken English sets me on edge... why is it that I feel like I have to talk louder and slower for the person to understand me?! I tried to explain that the bag hadn't been a problem on other flights. She marched me over to the 'bag tester' where I tried to prove my bag was a carryon by trying to wedge it into and between the metal bars. 

She had an attitude and kinda crossed her arms and hmphed at me, as if to say, "I told you so." I got my back up. Remember... it was only 4:30 in the morning, oh, and did I mention that we had already traveled an hour by bus? I moved out of the line. Plunked the offensive oversize carry-on... which really at one time was a carry-on (do they, like some people, increase in size with age?) on the floor of the airport. I guess I had a presentiment about this as I had a smaller zippered bag in the carry-on. I pulled that out. Stuffed my belongings into it and got back in line. When I got to the attendant again I handed her the offensive oversize outdated old...very old and worn, carry-on. I told her she could throw it out. I proceeded to get my boarding pass, leaving my old friend, who had seen lots of travel with me, at the Marseilles airport. Her time had come. She was tired and worn and probably wouldn't have been able to travel anymore anyway. Her zippers were failing and couldn't handle the strain of rough treatment. Picture the baggage truck heading out to the airplane leaving a trail of my clothing behind. But, I do wish I could have given her a private burial with a bit more dignity than being dumped at the airport! Farewell, old bag. We had some great times together.