A Heart Stopping Moment

I had a last few hours with Carter this morning before my journey home began. We had such a fun four days and I was sad to leave. My Uber driver was unable to figure out how to get me to Logan, but he happily took directions from me for the very short drive. All good I got to the airport.

When time came to board my flight I discovered two very tiny Chinese women sitting in my row, one in my seat. I asked her if she was in the correct seat. She asked if I would switch with her and sit on the other side of the aisle. I purposely pick the left side aisle seat because I needlepoint on the plane and that way my needlepointing hand moves out into the aisle and not into the person next to me. I really didn’t want to sit on the other side, but I didn’t want to separate these very old women. So I agreed.

A man was at the window and a nice middle aged women was in the middle seat of my new row. I apologized as I sat down, “I’m sorry I needlepoint and I promise not to stab you.” The man asked me if I wanted the window seat so I would only stab the window. So we all got up and rearranged.

I have done about a third of this giant canvas and I need to work on it everyday to try and finish it in this calendar year. So I stitched the whole flight, packing up my bag right as we landed.

It was great to get home to Russ and Shay who met me with a lot of wagging. That’s Shay, not Russ. Russ carried my bags upstairs and I looked at mail. I called the jury duty number to see if I was required to report for jury duty tomorrow. Thankfully I was released.

After dinner I started to unpack my bags. My needlepoint bag was not in my carry-on. I looked all around the downstairs route to my bedroom. My heart stopped. Had I not put my needlepoint bag inside my carry-on? Had I perhaps thought I had, but instead slipped it down the outside of the bag. Since I was in the window seat I did not have a good view of the floor around my seat.

I know what happens to left onboard needlepoint. I have more than a few friends who have left their stitching in the seat back pocket, never to see it again. I did not have any identification on my needlepoint bag. Not that an airline gives a damn about what is left on board.

I grabbed my keys and went out to my car. Just before I was about to throw up from the thought of having to recreate that whole canvas I saw my needlepoint bag on the front seat.

Now I am happy to be home.