The Queen Victoria vs. Oma's Guest Room

Eric and I had decided on a mini-vacation to Victoria for our spring break. His was the week before mine, so we really only had a weekend. We had it all planned out: a visit to Sequim to see Oma, and then on to Port Angeles and the Coho ferry, docking in Victoria's quaint little harbour (did you see how I spelled "harbor?" That's 'cause it's in Canada. You know, when in Rome and all that) and two nights at the Queen Victoria Hotel downtown.

On the agenda: sushi in Chinatown, a visit to my favorite jewelry store, a tour of Miniature World, and evenings spent alternating between the hot tub and scandalous Showtime late-night movies. I had arranged to take the kitties over to my folks house and had come up with an ingenious combination of clothes that allowed for minimum weight in my tiny carry-on bag and maximum cuteness while touring the town. We were all set!

Except, of course, life got in the way.

We received word that Oma had taken a spill and was being transferred from the hospital to a rehabilitation center, where she could receive constant care and physical therapy in the hopes that she will regain the ability to walk and can return home. We decided to continue with the plan regardless, with a nice long visit with Oma and then on to Victoria. As I was about to confirm our ferry reservations, Eric suddenly remembered that his passport was expired. Sigh.So, our mini-vacay was not to be, or at least not as planned.

We did get out of town for a couple of nights, and were able to stay at Oma's house in Sequim, visit Cliff and Jaime, and have a delicious homemade lunch with Eric's aunt and uncle at their house. We got to meet some nice chickens, raid the local Goodwill (where we bought several cassette tapes for the ride home in Eric's old Mercedes; I won't divulge all of the tapes we bought, because that would be way too embarrassing, but let's just say that our selections ran the gamut from Bob Seger to C&C Music Factory), and we did indeed have two long visits with Oma. She told us about the fire drill that occurred during her first day in the rehabilitation center and the tall handsome Kenyan nurse who came to rescue her during the drill--she said she could picture him shirtless--ha!; and we talked about how there's not enough sex education in schools. She's afraid that her mind is getting soft, but I assured her that she is still as sharp as a tack.

We are home tonight, and although our trip had nary a hot tub or a kappa maki roll in sight, it was gentle a reminder that life will waylay even the best laid plans every time, and that as long as you are with those that you love, it is, as they say, all good.

I can roll my own sushi, right?