I should be writing this post from Minneapolis where we planned to have supper last night with friends who were also traveling east. Instead I’m writing it from our condo in Winnipeg. Sunday morning we got up at 5:30 am and were in the car by 6:00 heading down Pembina Highway and out of the city. “Check for your passport,” my husband Dave said. It’s a tradition we learned from our favorite Hong Kong cab driver Alex who never set off for the airport till we had both shown him our passports.
We did the obilgatory check as a formality but lo and behold my passport was not in the zipped up section of my purse where I’d placed it a couple days ago to be sure I’d have it with me. I searched all my bags. We stopped at a Tim Hortons, took my bags inside where the light was better and searched again. The passport was nowhere to be found.
We headed home and checked everywhere in our condo. No passport. I went back to, or phoned every place I’d been with my purse since placing the passport in it. No one had seen it. There was only one restaurant I’d been to that wasn’t open on Sunday. But I sent e-mails and Facebook messages to the manager after spending hours hunting for her name. No reply. I went to the police station. No one had turned my passport in. I must hasten to add that the officer who served me immediately upon my entering the downtown Winnipeg police station could not have been kinder, more sympathetic or helpful. She was great!
I printed up all the paperwork for a new passport application and filled it out yesterday. I went and took passport photos. So this morning I’ll be at the passport office when it opens hoping I can convince them to speed up my application. In some cases they will do 24 hour passports. If not we won’t be leaving for ten or twelve days till my new passport arrives and then we’ll be hard pressed to get to Florida on time to catch our flight to Jamaica where a tutoring job awaits us. Our visit to my husband’s family will need to be canceled or postponed. We’ll miss a New Year’s Eve event with family and some of my husband’s old friends and a New Year’s Day celebration with Dave’s cousins and aunts and uncles as well as a chance to visit with my father-in-law just before his 93rd birthday. I feel really terrible about that.
I have no idea what happened to my passport. How could it have fallen out of my purse without me noticing it? Did I absent mindedly put it somewhere else? I just don’t know. It’s a mystery. Thankfully I have an understanding husband, a father who listened patiently to my tale of woe on the phone and I am trying to remember that far worse things could have happened.