Vacation Epilogue - Where Have All the Beaches Gone?

And so it was. . .

A blond silly woman with her trusted service dog RockDog, got up before dawn to arrive at SeaTac Airport for the flight back to Alaska. But first, a 25-year old RV called Odie, must be stowed in a friend's secured yard to await our return in the fall. We made the 40-minute drive to West Seattle in spitting rain, with the windshield wipers running double-time. Unlocking the combination cable, pulling back the sliding metal fence, and driving diagonally into the area was the first of many challenges in the wee morning hours. I was jumping in and out of Odie, while backing up or pulling forward, to see just how many inches were available in any one direction to avoid smashing into the wall, the fence, the boat or the support post. The rain continued to blow, sideways.

All 21-feet of Odie had to bump and grind a few inches at a time, eventually getting into a position to pull forward, slipping into a narrow stall in the carport. With limited space on either side, we had to suck it up to squeeze out the door. The whole process took over an hour. Two light covers were knocked off, and Odie suffered a nasty gouge when backed into a basketball hoop. Who looks up, when the obvious obstacles are eye level? One of the support beams holding up the carport was also bumped, followed by visions of the entire structure crashing down on us. Obviously this was a two-person job, but no one was available at 6 a.m. A practice run might have been a good idea.

That said, we arrived at the airport with two hours to relax before leaving for Anchorage. What started out as an easy check-in, quickly went south without warning. Imagine my surprise, WHEN . . .

A representative from Alaska Airlines called my cell while I was having coffee at Seattle's Best, next to the departing gate. After asking me where I was, he requested meeting him in the corridor ASAP, where he then proceeded to escort me out of the secured area. He couldn't explain why I was being marched into the TSA office, where six agents AND an Alaska Airlines executive began interrogating me. 

So, my old computer is in my checked bag. The battery has exploded out of the case but it stills runs the computer. I bought an external hard drive and a new computer from a Seattle Apple Store, to transfer all my data before it dies for good. TSA had removed the swollen battery and are holding it in front of me, eying me suspiciously. RockDog is in a down-stay position while the only female agent there oooohs and aaaahs over him. After answering multiple questions, and showing them the NEW computer in my carry-on, they decided that maybe I was okay, and not the terrorist they first suspected. BUT still, the battery had to go. Will the ancient laptop ever startup again? It was tenuous at best, but the deformed battery is now history. Maybe I have just witnessed the actual death, or murder, of my first beloved Mac Book.

TSA is now ready to repack my bag in time to make the flight. I wish them luck in doing so because it was bulging, tight as a pregnant cow, when they decided to open it. Eliminating a computer battery would do little to help with space. But, not my monkeys or my circus.

After releasing me, I had to do the whole security thing again, and for the first time ever, RockDog's collar set off the alarm—3 times!  By dismantling his collar along with the service harness, and carrying him through the scanner, we were finally able to pass through security for the second time. Thank goodness we were still TSA pre-approved so undressing at the scanner was not required. 

We arrived at the gate for pre-boarding, breezed onto the plane, and fell into 26F. RockDog went straight to sleep. We got up very early to have all this fun. In hindsight, what started out as a nightmare turned into a hilarious comedy show. I only hope our bag arrives in Anchorage with us. 

Touching down at Ted Stevens Airport I hear the familiar sound of a text message arriving. My friend in Seattle, where I stowed Odie, asked: “Did you go in the house?” I had the pass code for the garage so I could drop the keys on the work bench. Knowing the airport was still an hour away,

"I used the bathroom next to the garage (definitely in the house) for a quick pee," I explained.
“Did you hear an alarm,” she replied?
"When I sat down on the pot, I did hear a faint beeping but thought it was the garage door I had left open in my haste to take a whiz," I said.

But apparently. . . 

It was the burglar alarm causing her to get a call from the West Seattle police. Meanwhile her friend arrived, heard the alarm and with a drawn pistol, went from room to room looking for the culprit. And then, the police arrived. It’s a good thing we were out of there or TSA would have been the least of our worries. RockDog and I could have been in the back of a black and white cruiser trying to explain ourselves. . . . .

All the while wondering: Where have all the beaches gone?