It Takes a Village (To Get my Husband to the Airport)

August 1, 2020 by  
Filed under Humor, Stories

By Connie Cavanaugh –

It all started with a blanket of feathery snow during the night. My husband and I had just returned from a weeklong trip and early the next morning we were leaving again on separate jaunts. He was flying south on business and I was headed three hours west with our kids for two and a half days of skiing.

Bright and early, after a hasty goodbye, Gerry dashed out with his luggage. I woke up our three teens. If we wanted to be on the slopes by noon we’d have to get rolling.

The phone rang as I stepped out of the shower. I grabbed it, still dripping. It was my neighbor: “I noticed some luggage in the middle of the street. It had your phone number on it. I put it on the sidewalk in front of your house.” I thanked him casually, trying to act like this was the way we usually did things and said good-bye. I ran in circles for several seconds before I became rational.

I called Gerry’s cell, hoping he could return for his luggage and still make his flight. He didn’t answer. Flustered, I threw on some clothes and fetched the luggage. Dropping his computer bag and suitcase inside the door, I tried calling again. To my horror I heard a muted ringing in the foyer.

I found his phone and plane ticket inside the computer bag. This threw me into another tail-chasing frenzy, wasting more precious time. After praying for help, it occurred to me to check his itinerary. I saw that his flight was leaving an hour later than he’d thought. I could get his luggage to the airport with 30 minutes to spare!

I stationed my groggy son by the phone. “When dad calls, tell him I’m on my way!” I headed for the airport 45 minutes away. My fuel gauge was dangerously low. Can’t stop now! When I tried to wash the salt spray from a passing semi off my windshield; I got a small drool and nothing more. The wipers spread the slurry around. I drove into the glare of the rising sun, barely able to see the road. My mood darkened. I confess, the African proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child,” crossed my mind rather uncharitably.

Not far down the road, my son called to report his dad had phoned and would be watching for me. “I guess this means we won’t be able to ski this afternoon?” he asked.

I arrived at the terminal squinting through the white haze in search of Gerry. I saw him frantically waving and pulled over. He yanked open the passenger door, saw my dour expression and blurted, “I’m so sorry!” His apologies poured forth. He felt terrible for ruining our plans but his sincerity and appreciation softened my heart.

Even though he had no time to spare, I just had to ask: “How, exactly, did your luggage wind up stranded in the street like a couple of gunslingers at high noon?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he confessed, sheepishly. “And I think I figured it out.”
I felt the corners of my lips begin to twitch.

“When I left the house, I set my suitcases down behind the car so I could open the trunk,” he began. “Then I noticed I had your keys, not mine so I dashed inside to exchange keys. When I came back out, I forgot about the bags. I jumped in the driver’s seat, backed out, and drove off!”

I started to chuckle as I pictured the bags gently rolling, nudged by the bumper over the slippery snow to where they would remain, abandoned in the middle of the road.

“When I got to the airport and opened my trunk I thought, ‘I’ve been robbed!’” I snorted, unable to hold back the laughter. He leaned in for a kiss, grabbed his bags and was gone.

I was still grinning as I headed for the nearest gas station with one eye on the big E and the other eye on the single clean streak that narrowed my view to a slit. Yes I had forfeited a ski day but it wasn’t a loss. It was an investment. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I needed Gerry to be part of my village too!

By yourself you’re unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst. Can you round up a third? A three-stranded rope isn’t easily snapped (Ecclesiastes 4:12. MSG).

About Connie Cavanaugh

Connie Cavanaugh is a speaker, humor columnist, and author of From Faking it to Finding Grace and Following God One Yes at a Time. She and her husband Gerry Taiilon live in Alberta, Canada with their kids and grandkids nearby. You can find out more at
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8 Responses to “It Takes a Village (To Get my Husband to the Airport)”
  1. What a fun article, Connie. You started my day with a smile and I needed one!

  2. Connie Cavanaugh says:

    Thanks Karen. You’ve done the same for me and I look forward to many more!

  3. This is so true to life and so funny. Thank you for sharing this with us.

  4. Steph Prichard says:

    Any more, if I don’t complete a task I forget I ever started it … and then, like your husband, I’m in trouble. Funny, funny story–thanks for making me laugh!

    • Connie Cavanaugh says:

      My husband attribiutes his forgetfulness to A.D.D and I never understood it until I hit menopause and came down with the same affliction! Now we just stumble around in circles and pick up after each other.

  5. Dianne says:

    I love this Carol. Funny!

  6. Dianne says:

    Ach. Can’t edit what I just pressed “enter” on. Sorry Connie (for typing Carol!). Great story. But how’d he forget his cell phone and plane ticket?!

    • Connie Cavanaugh says:

      Good question Dianne! He “forgot” both cell phone and plane ticket because they were tucked safely into his carry-on bag which he intended to take with him to the airport. The carry-on as well as his suitcase never made it into the car.

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