In which Murphy's hand is apparent

Still recovering from a weekend event, I boarded a plane for Albuquerque on Sunday. Reluctantly, since I had left my briefcase at home - the laptop inside is critical to performing my job. Besides, I felt rather foolish at having done so. I was offered standby on the 9:45 flight, but that seemed too chancy for someone who had to be at the station at 9:00 the next morning.

The flight was (as usual) spectacular, traveling over the landscapes that I have traveled through many, many times. North of Pike's Peak, over Salida and the Arkansas River, above the Sand Dunes, and across the San Luis Valley, down the Rio Grande to Albuquerque. Being fascinated with maps, aerial views are accordingly intersting. A window seat is a reqirement.

I had packed my sewing in one suitcase and my clothing and toiletries in another. The sewing machine was carry-on luggage. The laptop was supposed to be carry-on too. The spirit of Murphy haunted me for the entire day. The clouds obscured the landscape for part of the trip. Being very sore and tired from Saturday's event, I slept.

I fail to understand how a suitcase that was put into the luggage system in Denver and never again was to enter another plane before arriving (hopefully) with its owner at the destination, can get lost. There are no places for it to get lost. But lost it was. Adding insult to injury, Frontier does not electronically track its luggage, and so they cannot locate it. Heaping insult upon the injury, they could not deliver it to me before I would need the contents to accomplish my morning toilette. Yes, you're thinking what I'm thinking - it wasn't the sewing suitcase they lost.

I went grocery shopping (the hotel is a suite with a poorly-equipped kitchenette), and then "home" to make a green-chili stew. I caught an hour's nap, and then trekked back to the airport at 11:00, thinking that my bag might actually have made it on the 9:00 flight - the one that I'd been offered stand-by on in the first place.

I suppose Murphy had someone else to harass, and my bag was spit out midstream in the baggage from the late flight.

It's now Tuesday, and I haven't taken a stitch. No time on Sunday; Monday was recovering from Saturday and Sunday. Tonight, it's leftover green chili stew (limiting supper-cooking time), but I'm getting out of work late enough that I'm not likely to get the sewing machine out. Work is tiring me out - all I want is a glass from the bottle of wine I purchased last night. (Of course there's no corkscrew in the kitchenette.) I'm begining to wonder why I bothered to pack the blooming thing.