The days leading up to my recent trip to Dallas were busy for me at home, but my excitement was building.  The frequency of emails between my girlfriends kept increasing, which contributed greatly to my anticipation. We must have exchanged about sixty-five emails the day before we left, covering a multitude of topics including; logistics, our fabulous plans, what we were bringing, and packing.

Packing was a big topic, but it wasn’t what to pack, it was how to pack.  Airlines have become more stringent in the last little while, so checking even one bag now costs real money and there are pretty clear regulations about what you are allowed to carry on a plane.  I know this, because it is printed on the documents that were emailed to me when I booked my ticket, it was on the email that was sent to me when I checked in online, and it is easily available on the airline’s website. Given that we are all rule followers, we knew that we would each need to check a bag. We were all carrying our cameras and associated gear, laptops, and tablets, which left little room for the clothes that we would need for a week away. These valuables are all items items that we would never dream of checking, but that the airlines also specifically tell you not to check, so we ensured that our carry-ons followed the rules in terms of size and number.

When we arrived at our gate on tuesday, we were surprised to see the number of travellers whose carry-on baggage clearly exceeded the allowances for both size and number.  The three of us talked about how it was unfair to those of us who followed the rules, and how we not-so-secretly hoped that they would be asked to jam their bag into the contraption that ensures they are regulation, and that offenders would be forced to check their bags.  To our amazement, a number were asked, and some of the large bags, after their owners tried to twist and turn them to make them fit, were removed and stowed with the checked baggage.

Still, each time a flight was called, people started jockeying for position, trying to inch themselves and their bags into the closest available space that would get them on to the plane sooner. They shuffled together and moved in rows as they were called to board. Space on planes is limited and the airlines are trying their best to add more seats without changing the physical size, meaning the we all have less place to stow our bags. I think that the new fees are forcing people to try and carry more and more onto planes.  I had to fight for space in the overhead bins on all four of my flights, despite the fact that I was only trying to stow a small camera bag. People struggled to jam their just small enough bags into the overhead, twisting and turning them like puzzle pieces, some fitting, some being removed and “checked” for the traveller.

While I first secretly cheered as bags were removed, a comment made by one of my girlfriends as we were boarding our last flight made me stop. I think that these are the actual winners in this game. They are momentarily inconvenienced, but none seemed to fight the decree that their bag was too large. It was still travelling with them, and they had now saved themselves the fee, for one flight at least.

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You expect that things will change when you move away from home for a year, or at least your perception of certain things will change. Squirrels were one thing that we did not see a lot if in India, most likely because the snakes and eagles would get them. I barely even noticed that they were missing, other than to once note their absence.

When we left for India, we left behind some pretty low-key squirrels.

They were of no bother to us, so for the most part we coexisted in blissful ignorance of each other. We have noisy small people, so they quite often make themselves scarce when we are out and about. Then we left.

The yard that we came home to was vastly different. The little buggers had had gotten bigger, fatter, and had taken over. They have eaten through our garbage can lid; have eaten the lid off of our green bin; have ripped all the padding out of the cover to the barbeque, putting many large holes in it along the way; and they have eaten the plastic knob off the igniter button on the ‘que!

I am pretty sure that they are the large animals that knock over the green bin every time that I turn around. There are way more of them taking over the yard and they have attitude.

It used to be that I could just knock on the window and they would scamper with their busy tails tucked firmly between their legs. Now the tails are mangy and thin, and they just look at me as I knock, then open the door, step outside, yell at them to stop destroying our stuff. Lately, the looks have been filed with disdain, and the only thing that gets them off the patio is me throwing a snow shovel at them. I don’t know what I am going to do when the snow melts… Sling shots are out of the question, right?

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Willy has been anxiously awaiting the call from his doctor to let him know the date for his ear surgery. His excitement was tempered a little when a January call to the doctor resulted in him being told that he could expect to be notified of the date sometime in the next three to nine months! So he waited and hoped it would come sooner. I know that it is something he thinks of often, and not just when we both get frustrated when he can’t hear what I say, but also when he tries to plan for family and work during the recovery period.

I was excited to get a call from his doctor’s office when he was in India, excited until they told me the date of his surgery. It was proposed for this coming Monday, March 18th. Willy would be in town, and likely ecstatic to hear that it was so soon, my heart sank. I was planning on going to Dallas on the 19th, a trip with two friends that I have been planning for 6 months, and really, really looking forward to. I debated not telling him that they had called at all, but I knew that I could not do that to him, so I offered to stay home, even though it was really, really hard.

His immediate reaction was that I had to keep my plans, so we started to strategize how we could make it happen. Willy has already had this surgery done on one ear, so we know that the first week consists of him “recovering” in bed. He can’t really move around too much, and can’t lift anything over ten pounds. Asking either of our mothers to care for three children (one of whom is essentially helpless) seemed like too much.

The truth is, after Willy told me that he still wanted me to go to Dallas, my heart really wasn’t into our discussions about how to make it work if I still went. I had offered to stay behind, but I really wanted him to turn me down. We talked about having someone help, but I might have oversold how much work he was post-surgery last time (he did sleep eighteen hours a day for a week, after all). When we looked into ways that I could leave a bit later for my trip, my heart wasn’t anywhere near committed to that option. I want this trip, this adventure, and I don’t want to give it up. It’s selfish and I feel guilty, but not guilty enough…

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