I lost
my passport. That’s right. I. Lost. My. Passport… One of my most prized
possessions, the thing my family knows to grab for me in case of an exodus, the
thing this Fearless Leader preaches that should be protected even more than
money, well, I kinda lost mine. A weak excuse is that I have moved and my “packing
routine” has been messed up. You might remind me that I did travel to Asia for
three weeks, wasn’t that a passport trip? And you would be correct.
Here’s
the truth. I always pack my passport safely away in my neck wallet/name badge
and tuck it in my travel purse to be Good
to Go. As a last minute packer, I figure if I forget something or
oversleep, I can buy everything except a passport. But this time, I did my
preparation out of sequence; I packed earlier than usual, putting my pjs and
walking shoes all in “Big Red,” the suitcase.
The
morning we were to leave, I zipped my luggage, and about an hour before time to
meet the group, I pulled out my passport holder, only to discover - no
passport! Oh… no…
I take a
deep breath and try to think “when was the last time I saw it?” I begin to
search drawers and my desk and spots that little blue book might be hiding. By
now, I’ve confessed to husband Doug that I can’t find my passport because this
is pretty important to find. He quizzes me on where it might be, I go through
the purse from Asia, I dig through pockets of clothing in the closet. I even
search the sofa cushions. Oh, oh… it’s time to meet the travelers, Doug agrees
to go and says he won’t tell them what a dumb dumb I am. By now, I’m sweating
like crazy. My prayers are getting louder and more desperate. I give my “much
older” sister a 911 call; she’s there in 9 minutes and starts tossing my house.
I’m
wondering if I could have had it in my hand and gotten distracted and laid it
down? So we search bookshelves and the kitchen cabinets and the bathroom
drawers. Julia asks what my “plan B” is and I whine “ I don’t have one!” and we
dump out garbage cans and root through trash. Me, the one who has plan B, C,
& D for our travelers… don’t have one for me! I’m a wreck now, thinking
about how to resolve this catastrophe. I pick up my purse to shove the contents
back in from where I’ve searched them 17 times and I grab my wallet and open
it. Hallelujah! There’s my passport in my money wallet where I had tucked in
some Euros a few days earlier! (I never do that!) I flew out of the house like
a streak, caught up with the gang on the way to the airport. Oh my. I was
embarrassed yet relieved. My angel was looking after me.
In
Italy, we passed a cathedral dedicated to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost
items. I whispered a little “thank you” to any and all saints that might have
had anything to do with my morning of insanity ending with a find. Later that
day we visited a small village where sat on the church steps and snapped a few
photos as an Improv group performed. Our group walked down a few narrow streets
towards the bus parking. As we were waiting on the coach, a man on a bicycle
pedaled quickly up to me. He spoke English and asked me if I had lost anything.
A bit puzzled but remembering, I blurted out, “My camera!” He had seen me
taking pictures and saw I had forgotten the camera on the steps. He jumped on
his bike and took a chance finding me to return it. How about that?! A
stranger, in another country, going to extra lengths to help this dumb dumb
visitor. I thanked my saints and angels again. And again.
The end
of our tour found us in Switzerland. Our adventure to go up Mt. Titlis was even
more exciting because of the surprise snowfall. We weren’t prepared for this
weather, but we bundled up in our jackets and some wore socks for gloves.
Connie showed us the socks-now-mittens she borrowed from Betty. Hey, it worked!
Hours later on the trip down the mountain,
roommate Mindy and I rounded a corner, and there was a stray sock. “Isn’t that
Connie’s glove, Betty’s sock?” We picked it up.
At dinner that evening, it didn’t take long to hear that Connie was feeling sad about losing Betty’s borrowed sock. Mindy and I let her go on a bit before we produced the missing mate. It was so fun, to think of the slim chances that we would have seen the silly thing going up in order to be able to rescue it coming down.
Three stories of the lost being found. Three happy endings. My lessons learned?
- always pack your passport before your pjs
- There are still good people in the world
- It feels nice to be a good person in the world.
