The Edge

So ... when we were in Chicago, a horrible, terrible, awful, *insert any other "feeling of doom" adjective you like here* thing occurred.

My husband has this tie. To me, it looks like any other tie --- it's blue with some kind of yellowish/beige-ish/tan-ish square pattern on it. You know ... a tie. But, this is not just any tie. It's his favorite tie. And, well, let's just say that's about in the same league as a woman's favorite pair of designer shoes. Yeah. It's sacred. It's something  you do not mess with.

Only, I did. Not intentionally, mind you. I would never intentionally harm this tie, as I know  how much my husband loves it ... and, also, I have to admit, it is a nice tie. I mean, I'm not much of a tie person, but even I like it. I guess you could say it's kind of my favorite tie, too --- for whatever that's worth. But, while we were in Chicago, I was sitting at the desk in our hotel room, busily working away on an original fic. I've been running quite behind on this project for some time, and it took me a long time to find some inspiration for it ... so, I was very engrossed in what I was doing. And, as sometimes, happens, Muse (quirky bimbo that she is) dictated that I should write the beginning of this story out by hand. I don't usually write that way. I never thought this would happen, but I have become quite a computer person, and I'm usually very comfortable seated in front of my monitor, plucking away at my keyboard in those manic-depressive spurts that, at least in me, signal true creativity. But ... sometimes ... especially when Muse has been long on writing demands and short on inspiration ... I turn to my pen and paper and tackle the task of writing "the old fashioned way". I don't know. I can't explain it, really. There's just something cathartic and almost soothing about the sound of a pen scratching across a sheet of paper. When I'm stuck, it can go a long, long way toward feeding my creative juices.

Anyhow, the tie (the favorite tie) was also on the desk, laying right close to the top of my notebook. It wasn't causing any trouble ... I mean, it's a tie, right? So, yeah. It was just there, doing the "tie thing" and laying around. (This is kind of the same thing my cat does, but she is not a tie. She is a cat ... and, yet ... I digress ...)

Somehow, in my writing frenzy, I managed to lay my pen down so that it was sitting underneath the favorite tie. And, folks, I wasn't using your standard ball-point pen. No ... we're talking gel-based ink in a nice, deep green color. If you've ever used a gel-based pen, you know ... they leak ink all over anything they touch for any length of time.

You can see where I'm headed with this, right?

Oh, yeah. Ink ... deep, dark green ink ... a huge splotch of it ... on the tie. The Favorite Tie.

I was horrified. I wanted to cry. I sat there, staring at it for quite a long time, and thinking up ways in which I could escape the hotel and slip away into the dark reaches of urban America, before my husband detected the (innocent) sacrilege I had worked on his tie. His Favorite Tie. Then, I pulled myself together and told myself to suck it up. I'm a big girl. My husband is a big boy. We both understand that accidents happen. And, besides, I couldn't go anywhere ... I was in the middle of Chicago with no car and no cab fare. So, really, running away was not an option.

Instead, I phoned downstairs to the hotel's in-house dry cleaners. I struggled to control the shaking in my voice as I explained my situation --- emphasizing that this was my husband's Favorite Tie. And, luckily, they were able to send someone up to retrieve it right away. I figured, if they tackled it while the ink was still fresh, they had a better chance of getting the stain out. I handed the tie over with a certain sense of trepidation. After all, it is The Favorite Tie. But, I figured they would not let me follow it downstairs and babysit it through the cleaning process, no matter how pitiful I looked. All I could do was hope they could save The Tie and my marriage. Not that there was any pressure associated with this transaction or anything.

And, success!! A few hours later, there was a knock on our door. The Favorite Tie had returned --- all clean and sparkly and looking better than new. Hurrah! I put The Favorite Tie in the closet, with my husband's other things and heaved a sigh of relief. The ordeal was over. I had survived ... nay, I had conquered.

Eh ... not ... so ... much.

As often happens, just when  you turn your back, Fate decides she is not yet finished with you. Or, in this case, with your tie ... er ... your husband's tie, that is.

The next day, my husband gathered his belongings out of the closet and packed them in preparation for leaving. (And, yes, for the record, I had told him about the incident with the ink and the tie and the dry cleaning ... although I left out the part about it being Muse's fault. He never has understood her.) We packed. We checked out of the hotel. We had the valet retrieve our rental car. We had a nice, leisurely drive along the lake (I think it's Lake Michigan). We headed to the airport. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. The Tie was clean and safe. God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world.

Until we stopped for gas.

I happened to look over at my husband and comment: "Wow, it sure was lucky they were able to get that ink stain out of your Favorite Tie."

I expected to receive an adoring, rather indulgent look and be praised for my resourcefulness and ingenuity in thinking to call the dry cleaners so quickly. (Of course, forgetting I was the one who inked The Tie, in the first place.) What I got, instead, was this panic-stricken, deer-in-the-headlights expression as my husband shook his head and said, "Oh, crap. I forgot my tie!"

Yes, folks ... he hadn't packed The Favorite Tie. Instead of being safely ensconced in his over-sized garment bag, The Tie (The Favorite Tie) was left hanging, forlorn and bereft ... abandoned like yesterdays coffee-ground-stained newspaper ... in the closet back at our hotel room. I couldn't believe it. After all the trouble I went to to get that darn Tie cleaned, and my husband was so ungrateful as to go off and just leave it hanging in the closet. Of course, for once in my life, I managed to hold my tongue. No need reminding him why The Favorite Tie was hanging in a separate section of the closet from his other clothes. I mean ... he had been kind enough to overlook the green ink spot 'o' DOOM, so I was determined to do the same. 

We called the hotel immediately. Keep in mind that we had only checked out two hours earlier. Luckily, it seemed the next occupants for our room had not yet checked in, so the room was empty. We were referred over to Security, since Lost and Found was closed, and one of the security guards/personnel agreed to go up to the room, retrieve The  Favorite Tie from the closet, and turn it into Lost and Found on Monday. (This was on a Sunday, and, Lost & Found is closed on the weekends. Apparently, if you lose anything in the Chicago Hyatt Regency on a weekend ... well, you're just out of luck.) The Security employee was very nice. He took down our cell phone number, and agreed to call once The Favorite Tie was safely secured.

An hour or so later, as we were sitting in the airport, engaged in that most ancient, honored pastime: people-watching, the cell phone rang. It was the Security employee. He had retrieved The Tie. He would turn it in to Lost and Found on Monday, and we could call to make arrangements to have it shipped home to us.

Hurrah! Crisis averted. The Favorite Tie was safe, locked up with Hotel Security. The ordeal was over.

Ah, Fate ... that most fickle of all mistresses. You must never, never turn your back on her. Never.

Come Monday, and I look up the number, call the hotel, reach the Lost & Found department --- which, by the way, never answers its phone ... I guess they're too busy either losing things or finding things --- and leave a detailed message about our tie adventure from the day before. And, I wait for them to call me back.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

On Wednesday, Lost & Found calls me back. They have ties ... but they're not sure they have The Favorite Tie. No one turned in a tie (much less a Favorite One) from our room. They can't seem to track down the elusive Security employee who so kindly saved The Favorite Tie. They would like for me to call and describe The Tie so that they can look in their warehouse to see if it's there. This was all on voice mail,of course, because in true, fate-twisted fashion, they called while I was out taking my mom to the mall to look for new shoes. But, as I'm sitting there, listening to the message, my first thought is: "They have a whole warehouse ... of ties?" And, my hopes of ever seeing The Favorite Tie again start to go right down the tubes. I can just see them, swirling around the drain like so much dirty bathwater.

I call back. Lost & Found is closed, already. Apparently, you also can't lose anything before 7 AM or after 3 PM, as those are the hours for that department ... and, as we've already said, they don't work weekends, either. So, I call Security again. I talk to another very nice security employee, who tells me that, unless we know the name of the person my husband talked to about the tie, it will be almost impossible to track it down. (We don't by the way ... my husband didn't think to jot it down ... an oversight I believe we will come to regret deeply.) But, my very nice Security employee tells me he would be happy to refer me to the manager. And, of course, all this time, as he's being so nice ... and I'm being so nice ... and we're all being polite ... all that's running through my mind is: "He's probably wearing the tie right now ... that Favorite Tie stealing bastard."

Well, I talk to the Assistant Manager --- who, I might add, also sounded suspiciously like someone who might have, at that very moment, been wearing The Favorite Tie.  He is very nice, and, yet, in that innocuous way service people have, very unhelpful. He tells me they will look into it, and he'll have someone call me back right away.

Today, I come in from another errand (a trip to Home Depot) to find a message on my phone. It's from ... you guessed it ... Lost and Found. The very same person who called me the first time. And, guess what? They would like to know what the tie looks like so they can look in their warehouse to see if it's there.

*sigh*

Fate ... she is a fickle, fickle bitch.

So, now, I'm still no closer to being reunited with The Favorite Tie. But, on the up side, the lady who runs the Lost & Found now hates me, since I (inadvertently) sicced the Assistant Manager on her. And, I still think people at the Hyatt are taking turns wearing The Tie ... handing it off like some badge of honor or something. Oh, sure ... it's all in my mind, you say. But ... it is The Favorite Tie.

As for me ... I think I'm going to just throw away that damn green pen.

So ... on Monday (as in the day before yesterday), my hubby and I went to Philadelphia to see U2 in concert. I really wanted to see them in DC, as it's much closer to home, but, hey ... this is U2 we're talking about, right? Most of the shows sold out within seconds of the ticket sales going online, and we felt pretty darn lucky to get halfway decent seats to any of them. Needless to say, a 3-hour drive from DC to Philly did not seem like too large of a price to pay.

And, it wasn't. The concert was incredible ... amazing ... beyond amazing. I just love U2's music, anyhow. To me, it is emotional, and seems to say so much. I can't even begin to count how many times I've heard one of their songs and had it speak right to my heart, describing exactly what I was feeling at that moment. But, to watch them perform live --- wow! This was my first time seeing them in concert, and, for me, it brought a whole new depth and dimension to their music. "Vertigo" was amazing ... with the flashing circles of light around the stage and other effects, not to mention the audience's energy feeding the rhythm of the song --- it was exactly like being caught up in a whirlwind of emotions and sensory experiences without being able to get out. I thought the meaning and feeling behind that song came through perfectly on the stage. And, when Bono sang "Sometimes You Can't Make It ..." in tribute to his late father --- well, I was just floored. I have to admit that song is not one of my favorites off their new album. Really, I hadn't ever given it much thought at all. But, to hear him perform it live and to feel the emotions he put into his performance of that song ... it was incredible. By the time he had finished singing, I had tears in my eyes. I kid you not --- honest-to-gosh tears! After having the privilege of hearing that song performed live, I don't think I'll ever hear it in the "same, old, boring" way again. My feelings for that song are forever changed ... and for the better.

So, since my parents were in town to keep our little ankle-biter, my hubby and I figured we would just stay overnight in Philly after the concert --- sort of like a mini vacation, if you will. We had a free hotel room, thanks to the points he's earned from his extensive business traveling. It's always nice when stuff like that works for you. And, as parents of a very active, very energetic two-year old ... well, it's always nice to steal away a little "grown up" time. Stuff like that can be a very rare commodity.

And, so it was that on a gorgeous, October day, we headed back toward DC down I-95 from Philadelphia. The sun was shining ... the sky was that color of blue that's so pure and sharp it just hurts your eyes if you look at it for too long ... the feeling of fall was in the air --- such a relief after the long, hot, haul that is summer ... God was in His Heaven, and all was right with the world. In short, a perfect day for a road trip. Perfect in every way.

You know where this is going, right? Yeah ... we're talking almost too much of a good thing. You know ... the kind of situation where you just know life is going to have to rear its ugly head and smack you down because you're having too damn much fun.

So, where was I? Oh yes .. hurtling down I-95 on one of the most perfect autumn days I've ever seen. I think we were about thirty minutes or so outside of Baltimore when I realized nature was calling to me. But, I figured ... no big deal. We're almost to Baltimore and then it's a short drive left to DC. Either we'll pull off at a McDonald's or a rest stop outside Baltimore, or I can (probably) make it all the way home without too much of a panic or strain. No biggie. No problem. After all, it's a beautiful day and I'm enjoying the freedom of the moment.

And, then ... tragedy struck. OK ... not so much "tragedy" as terrorism ... or the threat of terrorism.

Right on the outskirts of Baltimore, we find traffic stopped, with a sign indicating there is some sort of traffic congestion up ahead. We didn't think too much about it, though, as traffic snarls are pretty commonplace around here. After a few minutes ... maybe thirty or so ... we managed to clear the first knot of stopped traffic. Now, of course, by this time, Nature is being a bit more insistent ... but, I figure ... hey, it's still no big deal. We're past the stopped traffic, and home free. Right?

Yeah ... not so much. A bit further up the road, we encounter more stopped/slow traffic --- a line of cars stretching as far as the eye can see ahead of us. We're moving, but very very slowly. Let's just say I could have gotten out and walked faster than we were driving. But, all the same --- if  you've driven in traffic like this, you know, as long as you're moving, you don't complain. Now, to get into Baltimore, you have to go through a tunnel --- either the Harbor Tunnel, or the Ft. McHenry tunnel.  After inching our way forward a bit more, we spot a sign that indicates the Harbor Tunnel is closed, so that all its traffic is being routed into the Ft. McHenry Tunnel ... but, the Ft. McHenry Tunnel only has one "tube" (2 lanes of traffic) open. Needless to say, this was particularly bad news to me, as Nature had, now, skyrocketed past the "politely insistent" stage and started banging a fist against the wall of my bladder. Yeah ... I had to pee. And, bad. And, right then. But, here I was stuck in traffic that was only barely inching forward. Did I say this was on a beautiful autumn day? Well, right about that time, the day started to look cold and gray as my bladder screamed for mercy and the depression of winter settled into my soul to stay. Still ... we were moving, albeit slowly. In my heart, I continued to hold hope that we could make it through the tunnel and find a rest stop or McDonalds ... or even a large, fairly secluded tree or something. At this point, I was not in a mood to be picky, if you get my drift.

We continued to inch forward until, finally, we were in sight of the toll booth. It was like getting your first eyeful of The Promised Land. I am not kidding you ... I have never, ever seen a more beautiful sight than that toll booth. Because that meant the tunnel was just on the other side. And, on the other side of the tunnel ... if I could hold out for that long ... was the promise of sweet relief.

Alas, it was not meant to be. Mere yards from toll booth, traffic stopped. Totally. Completely. Like it would never move again. Yes, folks ... life can be just damn cruel sometimes. Here we were, so close, and, yet so very, very far away. And, have I mentioned that I really, really needed to pee? Yeah. When we finally had to turn off our car to save gas, I just felt like crying. And, I would have, too ... if I hadn't needed all my self control to keep Nature in its place.

By this time, of course, we had been listening to the radio reports and knew we were in the midst of a terrorist threat. There had been what authorities considered a credible threat made against the two tunnels and the I-95 corridor, and this "credible threat", apparently, involved some sort of plan to drive trucks full of explosives into the tunnels and then detonate them. Yeah ... I mean, this is scary stuff, right? Of course, at the time, I really couldn't spare too much thought for it. After all ... I needed to pee. I mean, Nature was no longer banging on my bladder --- instead, it had just started to sit down and cry, along with my aching kidneys. But ... there was no way we were moving. Not any time soon. And, I was so desperate. SO DESPERATE. Seriously ... if I hadn't thought it would get me arrested, I would've just gotten out and peed on my car's tires. And, I figured, after about another fifteen to twenty minutes of sitting in the parking lot that had, up until recently, been I-95, I might just try the car tire pee thing ... even if I did get arrested. The more I thought about it, the better of an idea it seemed.

As I cast around in my desperation ... coming up with fantastic ideas for ways in which I could answer Nature's call, and, then, almost immediately discarding each one ... I saw what I can only describe as an oasis of goodness rising up out of the desert of despair that had become my situation. It was big ... and tan ... and square ... and the most beautiful  hunk of tin on wheels I have ever seen. That's right ---an RV. And, what do RV's have in them? Yes! Bathrooms! Heck ... they're just like big, ol' bathrooms on wheels, after all. I just wanted to cry, it was such a beautiful sight ... but, again, I couldn't spare the muscle control needed to keep Nature in check.

I glanced over at my husband, with love, longing, and the overriding need to PEE showing in my eyes. He stared back at me with this very odd look on his face --- well, I can't really blame him. At this point, I hardly even resembled a human being at all. I think I kind of looked like my dog, when he does his "I've gotta go" dance at the back door. I smiled at my loving husband ... at the white knight who had captured my heart. He's the slayer of dragons ... the savior of my world ... surely, surely, he could arrange for something so simple as a nice heart-to-heart chat with the rolling bathroom that was the RV. I pointed at the RV. He followed my gesture. He stared at me again. He sighed and shook his head in a way that made me know I would have to pay for this later ... but, who cares? He made his way to the RV, and, after a short chat with the driver, waved me over. GLORY HALLELUJAH! I WAS SAVED!!!

And that, dear friends, is how I found such sweet relief in the terrorist-caused traffic snarl on I-95 that lovely autumn day. When I emerged from the RV ... refreshed and happy ... the sun was, once again, shining ... the sky was, once again, the purest color of blue imaginable ... God was, again, in His Heaven and all was right with the world. Well, if you didn't count the possiblity of a bomb and the fact that we were still stuck in the impromptu I-95 parking lot. And, somehow, in the back of my mind, I almost felt like my mom was getting a little revenge. After all, she is the one who always told me to "go before I leave" ... "just in case".