A few days later — less than two weeks after I contacted her — I had my reservations for the train, hotels, and rental car. I was getting excited! She was still working on several things — insurance, rides from airport to hotel, hotel to train station, and train station to airport. She was able to get the Victoria hotel that initially told her they were full. So, we were rolling right along. I asked for info about getting TSA PreCheck, which we got, so I gave her our numbers for the travel reservations.
There was trouble booking one of the cars, and I learned that my card had been deactivated. The company switched it from a MasterCard to a Visa, and I had somehow missed that. So, I called the company, and they sent me a new card, which I got in a couple of days. I asked her if she wanted me to send copies of the new card, and she said, “I don’t think there is anything left to pay for at this time. Do you?” (📌) I sent her a copy of my new card, anyway, for booking some other unrelated travel, which had a whole other set of mistakes, but that’s another story.
Then my daughter’s summer schedule changed, and she wanted to join us for a week, so I asked about that. The agent gave me a few options for flights, and I made it clear that I was willing to spend more on plane tickets to get my daughter to the Seattle airport at a decent time of day. One of the options had her arriving at about 3 p.m. So what did she book? The one that had the plane arriving at night. Because of delays, I got to pick up my daughter 📌at the airport in the middle of the night.📌 I think her flight finally got in at 1 a.m.
Before that happened, though, my son and I took off from TLH to LAX. We got there as planned with no delays. We only had to wait a few minutes before our car arrived to pick us up. We got to the hotel before check-in, but she had a room ready for us. I was messed up by the time change, and I didn’t even realize we were early. The hotel and service there was great. In the morning, the bellman got us a car to the train station. Checking in there went smoothly, and we even got free drinks and snacks in the Amtrak lounge. (I didn’t know about that.) Red Cap service took us to the platform where we would board. (I didn’t know about Red Cap service until then.) We got settled on the train, and it took off. Because we had a bedroom, we also had an attendant. (I didn’t know about that either.) The travel was nice. I got a little claustrophobic when I first got on the train, but I was able to work through it. The food was great. Our attendant, Cesar, was superb. I made sure to tell him that (and tip him).
Our train’s arrival at the King Street Station was delayed, so instead of getting there at 7:51 p.m., we got there at 8:25 p.m., the time our ride was scheduled to pick us up to take us to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport to get our rental car. We exchanged phone calls, and she said she would be there soon to get us. After getting our luggage (two big checked bags each and two carry-on bags each, as well as a backpack and bag), we loaded all that into the car that picked us up and unloaded it all again at the Delta departures sign where the driver dropped us off. We walked inside, and I kept looking for a car-rental desk. We walked the length of the airport – with all our bags – to get to a shuttle. I was exhausted by this time. I called the driver and asked why she didn’t drop us off at the car-rental area. “We aren’t allowed in there,” she said. Sigh. She also told me to double-check my car bill, because I had been booked and paid for 5 people. At this point, I don’t even know why the agent did that. I haven’t found anything about it in my receipts and emails. Only thing I can figure is she was booking something for 5 people in that other trip and got confused with the numbers. (She messed up several other things numbers-wise, so maybe that’s just her MO).
Back at the airport, we found a place to sit to wait for the next shuttle. When it got there, we loaded all our luggage and then unloaded it all again when we got to the car-rental place. We wheeled all our luggage up to the desk, and I got the contract for the car. Did I already say I was exhausted? We lugged all our luggage to an elevator and into a parking lot. It was not immediately clear where our car was. I asked someone working there how the numbers worked. We eventually found our car and then loaded all our luggage into the car and took off to find the hotel. It was about a 20-minute drive, and we checked in around midnight.
NOTE: The Seattle airport was not user-friendly for us. There was the whole shuttle thing and drivers “not being allowed in there.” And when we left for home, we had a helluva time finding TSA PreCheck, which they tucked away in a corner waaaaaaay at the other end of the building. I might be wrong, but I would think a travel agent might know some of this and be able to mitigate or at least warn clients about it. (I had asked for airport assistance, but she didn’t note that on my reservation, so we didn’t get it.)
We got all our luggage up to our room on the 11th floor in the hotel. Imagine my surprise when I opened the curtains, looked out the window and saw … the King Street train station RIGHT NEXT DOOR. We could have walked about two minutes with all our luggage from the train station to our hotel, checked in, gotten a decent night’s sleep, and worried about the rental car in the morning. This is so egregious that it felt intentional. I mean, nobody can screw up that badly, can they?
I went to the agent’s website and filled out her form, telling her what I wanted. I said I’d like to do the Starlight Coast train trip from Los Angeles to Seattle. I wanted to stay in Seattle for several days, and I also wanted to take a short trip to Canada. I said I needed a rental car because I have some health issues and can’t do a lot of walking. I said I’d like the best prices I can get but I was willing to spend more if it meant I didn’t have to be at the airport in the middle of the night. (📌Stick a pin in this.📌)
She replied right away, and we set up a time to talk on the phone. Within a week, she sent me the first of a few itineraries.
We exchanged more emails, she sent me a couple of itineraries, and we kept ironing out the details until we had a final one. Once we had that, she had to start locking everything in. She said the cost of our train ticket almost doubled, did I still want to book it? I said yes, but here’s another thing that’s frustrating about the travel industry. Why does it have to feel like I’m trying to win at a casino where we all know the house always wins? Why are they allowed to change prices with the wind?
When it was all decided, I had to pay half then and would pay the rest a month before my trip. (📌) Part of all the forms I completed for her included my credit-card info, passport, and ID. She was working on lining up cars to pick us up at various places, and she would let me know when she had those. She started booking things with my card, and I got a fraud alert text message, but it wasn’t from my credit-card company. So, before I jumped on that, I asked for dollar amounts of things she’d charged already, so I knew it was a legit fraud alert. I said that it was weird that I didn’t know what bank my credit card was affiliated with — that’s why I thought I’d better double-check. She told me the dollar amounts, and they matched.
“It’s not MY bank. It is the bank of the rental car company. You’re welcome to call me if you have any questions.
“In the state of FL, I am licensed as a travel agent and have been for more than decade. I follow the laws explicitly and the laws state that I am an intermediary between you and the travel providers. You’re not paying me. You are directly paying the suppliers and I am facilitating that payment. All of this information was in the reservation form that you signed.”
Whoa, Nellie. Well, that was uncalled for. I went back over my email to see if I had implied that she was doing anything wrong or illegal. I hadn’t. She misconstrued what I said and got all pissy about it. But I was this close to having everything scheduled for this vacation. So I ignored the red flag, I apologized to her, and I hoped maybe she was just having a bad day.
Several years ago, I dreamed of a family vacation to California because I’d never been there before. Fast forward to a time when I don’t have to ask anyone else’s permission for anything, I started planning that vacation. I knew it would be in July. I’d worked with a national travel company (the one that shows up to jump your car) to plan getaways to Orlando with the kids, so that’s where I called on a Saturday in January. I spent an hour on the phone with someone named Brian. He said he’d get some information to me by Monday. Monday came and went. I know things have been chaotic in offices everywhere, so I tried to be patient. At the end of the week, I sent him an email, saying, “There’s no rush yet to get information, but I thought I’d check in with you since you said you’d have something for me Monday. Is everything OK?” I got back an automated reply:
I am currently out of the office
Please Note: I have been out of the office for an extended period of time and am following up with member requests as quickly as possible.
Maybe everything was not OK. I checked in again about a week later. Got another automated message. A week after that, I got a real email from Brian:
I am back in the office FINALLY !!! Trying to dig out on emails and Voicemails ….. Have you given up on me or are you still looking ? Please let me know and I will get this to you !!!!
Please accept my apologies !!!!
I replied that, yes, I was still looking for help. I gave him travel dates again, and he said he would get to work on it. Almost two months later, I checked in and got the automated message again, this time with more red and all caps. The next day, I called the main number, hoping to speak with him or someone else. Michelle answered the phone.
First, I asked for Brian. He wasn’t in the office. I asked if she had access to his notes so I didn’t have to start all over again. She checked (or she said she checked) and said he had no notes in my file. What?!? How could that be? I had spent at least an hour on the phone with him in January. And now this? I started giving her details of the trip I wanted to take, and she said she would send me an itinerary. Then she said, “And going forward, what I am not gonna do is listen to you complain about anything.”
My head tipped like a dog’s would when trying to make sense of a new sound, and my brain said this to me, “Oh-huh-ho. Going forward, there will be no going forward with this shit.” Out loud, I said, “Thanks, bye.”
She sent her email, and I ignored it. I asked folks I know for travel-agent recommendations. I got three, and I chose the local one.
For some reason, Brandi Carlile has flown under my radar for a good 15 years. Granted, her feet are rooted in country music, even though she’s not necessarily a “country” country artist. I have opinions about country music — and she articulates in her book some of the things I find problematic about it — but she has performed on awards shows (that I somehow missed) and in collaboration with musical artists I adore. I somehow missed all that until just recently.
I saw her perform a Joni Mitchell song for the Kennedy Center Honors, which aired in December. I have since learned that she performs Joni’s entire Blue album. Then I saw her New Year’s performance with Miley Cyrus. And I was stunned. Who is this? Has she been here this whole time? How did I not see her before? I decided not to be mad about it but to be happy that I had something good to discover in 2022. Listening to all her music was like having a wild bird land and settle in my hand for longer than I would have ever thought possible. And it felt like I held my breath the whole time.
Listening to her book was a special treat. At the end of every chapter she sang a song or two or more. Every musical artist’s memoir should be done like this. Give me a chapter on your life, then play me the songs you wrote about that chapter of your life. And joke about Elton John if you can. I bought the Kindle version of Broken Horses, hoping to find a photo of her Honky Cat getup. Sadly, it wasn’t there. But her book and her music … what lovely things to put out in the world. Experience them if you get a chance.
Started catching up on medical stuff that had been postponed or canceled for far too long.
Started going back to the salon.
Continued grocery delivery.
Traveled for Thanksgiving (carefully & masked).
Thinking I should probably start canceling all my appointments again (if they’re not canceled for me).
Getting ready to hunker down again in 2022.
Sigh.
Betty White died on New Year’s Eve.
Dammit.
My reading has been waning, but I did consume some interesting media and art this year.
I listened to Perversion of Justice: The Jeffrey Epstein Story by Julie K. Brown, the Miami Herald reporter who doggedly investigated and covered Epstein and was there in New York when the jury found Ghislaine Maxwell guilty of sex trafficking children.
I watched Maid on Netflix. Because of that, I had to listen to the book, Maid: Hard Work, Low Pay, and a Mother’s Will to Survive by Stephanie Land (foreword by Barbara Ehrenreich, whose work I have read and recommend). Both intense and excellent.
I subscribed to the Lyz Lenz newsletter called Men Yell at Me. I’ve read her books, and I follow her on Twitter. She lives in Iowa. She is hilarious and serious as a heart attack.
This was the most amazing thing I read on Twitter this year: “Bros., Lecce: We Eat at the Worst Michelin Starred Restaurant, Ever” (https://everywhereist.com/2021/12/bros-restaurant-lecce-we-eat-at-the-worst-michelin-starred-restaurant-ever/) by Geraldine DeRuiter. Amazing in that it just kept getting worse and worse until you thought it couldn’t get any worse. And then it did. And watching what happened online after that was amazing, too.
Now I have to listen to her book, All Over the Place: Adventures in Travel, True Love, and Petty Theft. I guess it’s about time. I’ve been following her on Twitter for a while now.
I got the hard copy of Born on the Water by Nikole Hannah-Jones and Renee Watson (illustrated by Nikkolas Smith), and I’ve started listening to The 1619 Project by Nikole Hannah-Jones.
I don’t know if I’ll get to them, but here are some books I hope to listen to this year:
(I got Bell’s Palsy a day before my first child was born. It has never completely gone away. I tried not to let it bother me for the most part. But it really hurt when someone laughed and called me “Grace” when I struggled to eat a sandwich because my face is still partially numb. I still have the numb face. I no longer have that someone in my life.)
I watched Babette’s Feast again after editing a review of a play performance of it. Such a sweet story and worth a second viewing experience.
I watched Respect, a film starring Jennifer Hudson as Aretha Franklin. She was superb.
I watched the Summer of Soul documentary. If you love music, you will love this.
I watched Field of Dreams again before watching Kevin Costner return to Iowa to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the movie with a real-life major-league baseball game. Experiencing the movie again was less bittersweet than experiencing the anniversary commemoration.
I watched Get Back, the Beatles documentary series. I couldn’t watch it all at once. I was mostly relieved that it didn’t show anyone to be a complete jerk. The most amazing parts were watching a couple of their songs being born right before our very eyes.
Some of my favorite TV shows are Yellowjackets, Kenan, and We’re Here. I got hooked on TikTok and Dave Grohl. I didn’t even know about the Hanukkah Sessions until I saw him cover “Copacabana.” Then I discovered his Night One cover of “Stay.”
Even with all of that, though, my heart this year belongs to Ted Lasso and all the weird, wonderful characters in his world. It was an extra treat that he was host on SNL. I can’t wait for the next season.
All this beauty made 2021 suck less than it would have without it. I will say to 2022 in my best RuPaul voice, “Good luck and don’t fuck it up.”
You visited me in a dream last night. That hasn’t happened for a while. As usual, you didn’t talk to me. You were busy doing something for me, though. You were working on my taxes. You wore a checked short-sleeve shirt and dress pants. You also wore fuzzy slippers. “Where did he get THOSE?” I wondered. At some point, I realized this was a dream and I might not see you again for a while. I didn’t want to waste my chance, so I walked up to you and gave you a hug. You wrapped your arms around me and held me tight. Thank you for that. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
Title:The Fiddler in the Subway (Simon & Schuster, New York, New York, 2010) Author: Gene Weingarten is a nationally syndicated humor columnist and writer for The Washington Post. He is the only two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Writing. With his son, Dan Weingarten, and cartoonist David Clark, he is the author of Barney & Clyde, a daily newspaper comic strip launched in June 2010. He lives in Washington, D.C.
What happens when you pick up the last book you will ever read? When the writing is so good that it will ruin everything else for you? Gene Weingarten’s writing did that for me. This book — The Fiddler in the Subway — is a collection of feature writing he has done at The Washington Post. Two of the pieces won Pulitzer Prizes.
Only three stories in — The Great Zucchini, The First Father and The Ghost of the Hardy Boys — and I thought, “If you want to write, read this book. If you want to teach others to write, use this book. When I write, I want to write like this.” It is beautiful, masterful stuff.
Reading further, I thought, “I can’t recommend this book. I just can’t. It will ruin every other writer for you until the end of time. I don’t know if I can read anything else after this book.”
Then I mustered my best Jimmy Dugan voice and yelled, “There’s no crying in journalism! Why is he making me cry?”
I read “Pardon My French” on the 72nd anniversary of D-Day in Normandy. It’s the one that made me laugh out loud. Then giggle at how delicious it was that he found just the right way to get the most honest responses from French folks. He calls it the Machine. I call it hilarious.
Every paragraph in “Fatal Distraction” is a punch to the gut. I almost couldn’t bear to read it. But I let Weingarten take me by the hand and gently lead me through the horrific experiences of the people in this piece.
Weingarten quotes Franz Kafka: “The meaning of life is that it ends.” This is the heart of everything he writes. This is what breathes life into every word.
Is this the last book I’ll ever read? Well, no. I could no more stop reading than I could stop breathing. I will, however, measure everything else I read against Weingarten’s writing.
——————————————–
Thanks to Jeff Sharlet, who suggests so much good writing. He led me to Weingarten. “Thanks” is not enough, but it will have to do.
I took my twins to the Twin Cities yesterday to celebrate turning 12. Since we were there, we drove by Paisley Park. We had no idea what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect what was there. Officials blocked off the turning lane. (I had to drive to the next stoplight and make a U-turn.) They posted “no parking” signs. Nearby businesses chained off their parking lots. But I still found a place to park. Hundreds of cars. Hundreds of people. Everyone in their own little world — alone or with their group — and yet together. Subdued. Quiet. Kind. Even in cars, letting someone in. Almost as if the whole thing were orchestrated. We walked along the entire length of the fence. As we made our way back to the entrance, we heard from a car making its way back out of the area the unmistakable tune and lyrics of “Little Red Corvette.” Perfect ending.
Good fortune is a giddy maid,
Fickle and restless as a fawn;
She smooths your hair; and then the jade
Kisses you quickly, and is gone.
But Madam Sorrow scorns all this;
She shows no eagerness for flitting,
But with a long and fervent kiss
Sits by your bed — and brings her knitting.
