History the White House Doesn’t Like: The List of Exhibits Trump Wants Gone
It’s a strange honor to have exhibits selected that the President wants gone. As in Literature, when you read through the list, you learn a lot about the fears and the prejudices of the creator. In recent decades, the United States of America has had a greater tolerance for the idiosyncratic views of artists, appreciating their differing perceptions. The list below is taken word for word from the White House Post called The President is Right About the Smithsonian.
- The National Museum of African American History and Culture debuted a series to educate people on “a society that privileges white people and whiteness” — defining so-called “white dominant culture“ as “ways white people and their traditions, attitudes, and ways of life have been normalized over time” and portraying “the nuclear family,” “work ethic,” and “intellect” as white qualities rooted in racism.
- The campaign featured content from hardcore woke activist Ibram X. Kendi
As part of its campaign to stop being “wealthy, pale, and male,” the National Portrait Gallery featured a choreographed “modern dance performance“ detailing the “ramifications“ of the southern border wall and commissioned an entire series to examine “American portraiture and institutional history… through the lens of historical exclusion.”
The National Portrait Gallery features art commemorating the act of illegally crossing the “inclusive and exclusionary” southern border — even making it a finalist for one of its awards.
(Intlxpatr comment: This painting reminds me of the painting of Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus escaping to Egypt to avoid King Herod’s massacre of the innocents)
The National Museum of African Art displayed an exhibit on “works of speculative fiction that bring to life an immersive, feminist and sacred aquatopia inspired by the legend of Drexciya,” an “underwater kingdom populated by the children of pregnant women who had been thrown overboard or jumped into the ocean during the Middle Passage.”
The American History Museum’s “LGBTQ+ History” exhibit seeks to “understand evolving and overlapping identities such as lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, transgender, queer, transsexual, transvestite, mahu, homosexual, fluid, invert, urning, third sex, two sex, gender-bender, sapphist, hijra, friend of Dorothy, drag queen/king, and many other experiences,” and includes articles on “LGBTQ+ inclusion and skateboarding“ and “the rise of drag ball culture in the 1920s.”
The National Museum of the American Latino features programming highlighting “animated Latinos and Latinas with disabilities” — with content from “a disabled, plus-sized actress” and an “ambulatory wheelchair user” who “educates on their identity being Latinx, LGBTQ+, and disabled.”
The National Museum of the American Latino characterizes the Texas Revolution as a “massive defense of slavery waged by ‘white Anglo Saxon’ settlers against anti-slavery Mexicans fighting for freedom, not a Texan war of independence from Mexico,” and frames the Mexican-American War as “the North American invasion” that was “unprovoked and motivated by pro-slavery politicians.”
According to the National Museum of the American Latino, “what unites Latinas and Latinos“ is “the Black Lives Matter movement.”
The National Portrait Gallery commissioned a “stop-motion drawing animation” that “examines the career“ of Anthony Fauci.
The American History Museum’s exhibit marking the 50th anniversary of Title IX includesbiological men competing in women’s sports and argues in favor of “transgender” athletes competing in sports against the opposite biological sex.
A exhibit at the American History Museum depicts migrants watching Independence Day fireworks “through an opening in the U.S.-Mexico border wall” and says America’s founders “feared non-White immigration.”
The American History Museum features a display that refers to the founding of America as “a profound unsettling of the continent.”
The American History Museum’s “American Democracy” exhibit claims voter integrity measures are “attempts to minimize the political power” of “new and diverse groups of Americans,” while its section on “demonstrations” includes only leftist causes.
An American History Museum exhibit features a depiction of the Statue of Liberty “holding a tomato in her right hand instead of a torch, and a basket of tomatoes in her left hand instead of a tablet.”
- The National Museum of the American Latino features an anti-American exhibit that defines Latino history as centuries of victimhood and exploitation, suggests the U.S. is stolen land, and characterizes U.S. history as rooted in “colonization.”
- The exhibit features writing from illegal immigrants “fighting to belong.”
- The exhibit displays a quote from Claudia de la Cruz, the socialist nominee for president and a director an anti-American hate group, as well as another quote that reads, “We didn’t cross the border; the border crossed us.”
- The exhibit remains prominently featured on its website alongside a quote from the Communist Party USA’s Angela Davis, who was once among the FBI’s Top 10 Most Wanted Fugitives.
- The National Museum of the American Latino features an anti-American exhibit that defines Latino history as centuries of victimhood and exploitation, suggests the U.S. is stolen land, and characterizes U.S. history as rooted in “colonization.”
- The exhibit features writing from illegal immigrants “fighting to belong.”
- The exhibit displays a quote from Claudia de la Cruz, the socialist nominee for president and a director an anti-American hate group, as well as another quote that reads, “We didn’t cross the border; the border crossed us.”
- The exhibit remains prominently featured on its website alongside a quote from the Communist Party USA’s Angela Davis, who was once among the FBI’s Top 10 Most Wanted Fugitives.
The former interim director of the future Smithsonian American Women’s History Museum declared the museum will be “inclusive” of biological men posing as women.
Commentary from The Hill, August 22, 2025:
White House lists 20 objectionable Smithsonian exhibits, artworks
BY ASHLEIGH FIELDS – 08/22/25 10:34 AM ET
The Trump administration specifically targeted the American history museum’s “LGBTQ+ History” exhibit and condemned a separate display lauding the 50th anniversary of Title IX with a focus on transgender athletes. President Trump signed an executive order in February barring transgender women from competing in women’s sports.
The decision to highlight more than a dozen exhibits and artworks as “woke” comes days after Trump criticized the history museum for its depiction of slavery and its impact on Black Americans.
“The Smithsonian is OUT OF CONTROL, where everything discussed is how horrible our Country is, how bad Slavery was, and how unaccomplished the downtrodden have been — Nothing about Success, nothing about Brightness, nothing about the Future,” the president wrote Tuesday in a Truth Social post.
“We are not going to allow this to happen, and I have instructed my attorneys to go through the Museums, and start the exact same process that has been done with Colleges and Universities where tremendous progress has been made,” he added. “This Country cannot be WOKE, because WOKE IS BROKE.”
During his first term, Trump lauded the opening of the National Museum of African American History and Culture for its portrayal of harsh truths and storied victories for disenfranchised Black citizens.
Trump’s issue with the depiction of slavery in museums has been widely challenged by Black historians and community leaders.
“Just as the Holocaust is remembered in all its brutality, so must America reckon with the truth of chattel slavery, Jim Crow and racial terror,” Toni Draper, publisher of the Afro-American Newspaper — the archives of which were used to help curate the museum — wrote in a recent op-ed for Afro.com. “Anything less is historical erasure, a rewriting of facts to make the nation appear more palatable.”
“But history is not meant to comfort — it is meant to confront. And only in confrontation do we find the lessons that lead us forward,” she added.
Morocco Malta and the Med: Casablanca and El Jadida
I can’t be staying in bed when we are coming into port in a new city.
This was seriously disturbing.
That mist looks sulfuric!
We are warned that Casablanca is an industrial port. No kidding!
Quick breakfast and we are off to El Jadida, an old Portuguese fortress city. We were actually here ten years ago on our very first cruise, The Moors in Spain and Morocco. We really love Morocco. One year we came here at Christmas, which was also Ramadan, rented a car and drove all around Morocco with our son. We had such a great time.
Our guide tells us this area near El Jadida is famous for raising horses for racing and showing.
Me and my stone walls!
Getting close to El Jadida:
An old Portuguese Catholic Church in El Jadida. The people around Casablanca make it a point to discuss frequently how tolerant the area is, with Jewish and Christian populations as well as Muslim and Berber. Our guide was proudly Berber.
We had been warned that the beautiful old Portuguese Cisterns were closed for restoration, so the photo below is the exterior only, but I have a treat for you. Below the shot of the exterior is a photo of the interior I took ten years ago. I still love to look at it. The cisterns are so beautiful as well as functional.
I don’t consider this cheating; I consider it . . . um . . . illustrating. . . or embellishing to show you what you might see when you go to El Jadida.
Below are Moroccan silk weavings.
I believe this is the old Jewish bakery.
When you read old histories or bible stories about prisoners being cast into a well, it could look a lot like this:
This picture below is hilarious because I am wearing an expensive pair of shoes that I find clunky. The trip description said it was challenging, with uneven hikes, rocks, and hills. It was a very mild hike; I could have worn my sandals.
My husband took this photo below; he loved the contrast of the drawing of the cisterns and the laundry hung to dry over the cisterns.
It’s going to be a couple hours ride back to the ship, but the guide has a treat for us – “Snacks” at a local restaurant, part of the tour, no extra charge. The small restaurant was just big enough to hold all of us, had a nice clean restroom and place to wash up, and served these delicious sandwiches, followed by a selection of house baked Moroccan cookies, and Turkish coffee or Mint Tea. The owner and his wife were so hospitable. They made us feel like very special guests. It really was a treat!
As we sail away from Casablanca, that same ship continues to be surrounded with that yellow steamy cloud.
For us, we have seen everything we wanted to see. We think Cadiz and Malaga will be pretty tame after the excitement of Ajaccio, Malta, Tunis and Algiers. (We were wrong!)
Saying Goodbye to Al Marai Coffee Cups
All my nomadic life, I have had to sift, sort and weigh the value of my belongings – literally. As an Army wife and later a corporate wife, I had a weight allowance as we moved from country to country. My life was full of leaving things behind – friends, churches, social groups, jobs, my identity – as well as belongings.
Unlikely items made the cut. In 2003, when we moved to Doha, Qatar, I discovered a nearby store, the LuLu (which means lovely large pearl), where a gallon of Al Rifai milk came with a free coffee cup sturdily taped to it. I was delighted. I’ve always believed good design does not necessarily correlate with price – and these cups were a perfect size and had these wonderful scenes from Doha life, where there was a dhow harbor in the center of town, dhows in the harbor, and camel races with human riders on Saturdays. Look! The dhow coffee cup even has a wind tower in the background.
So yesterday, Christmas Day, as I opened two beautiful new coffee cups, one from Giverney and one from Barcelona, my husband looked at me sorrowfully, and approached the subject gently.
“It’s time we give up the Doha coffee cups,” he said.
“They have served us well. They are over 20 years old. They were free, probably made in China from materials we don’t even want to think about. I use them all the time, and even as I do, I wonder what might be leaching into my drink.”
I know he is right. There is no marking of any kind to indicate origin. After all these years, marks are appearing where we have stirred for twenty years. And yet – these cups have served me loyally. They are still bright and unmarred. I love their memorialization of a slower time in Doha. And I have options.
At Christmas breakfast, I have the cups out on display and offer them to my son. He is a discerning collector of first editions by selected authors, first edition Legos from the space exploration collections, edged weapons, and selected items that catch his attention. He also knows how to buy and sell on the Internet when he wants to refine his collections.
He expresses interest but does not take them with him. Their departure, however, is Christmas Day chaotic – bags full of presents, the food divided to be used for quick meals in the coming week (even our grandchildren contributed to our Christmas Eve dinner, my grandson a crab dip and my granddaughter a wreath made of crescent roll wrapped little smokies. My son, who was never interested in cooking, astonished us with a baked Brie!) and last-minute check-ins on upcoming family plans.
I am a patient woman. I know those cups deserve to find new appreciation in a new home. I believe my son will get involved but if not, I have other options.
Update: This is what it is like to be me. It is not that I am getting older, it is that I will tell you things I believe to be true, and they are close, but not the same.
My friend Yusuf, below, said he thought it must be Al Marai, and that sounded familiar. AdventureMan said maybe really we should keep the cups, and as he handled them, He found Al Marai logos on the cups. Not just one. Two on each cup.
In our family, we are all very very sure we are right. When we are not right, we are required to humbly state it. I was wrong, so very very wrong; the cups were labeled, Al Marai, not Al Rifai, and YOU, Yusef and AdventureMan, were RIGHT.
And we are keeping the cups!
Taos, So Beautiful, We’ll Be Back
Some places, when you arrive, you just feel at home. We felt that way arriving in Taos. Our active-aging demographic went hand in hand with the young skier/snowboarder/rafter athletic demographic, and the two seemed to co-exist well.
We met a man in town who loves petroglyphs as I do, knows the secrets of where to find them and also has a vibrant and active mind. We found great walking, and beautiful spaces. We can’t wait to go back to Taos.
Mesa Verde, Cliff House Loop and Coyote Village
We decide to head back to Mesa Verde for our last full day and see some of the sights we didn’t get to yesterday. We started with the Cliff House loop, and were amazed to see how many people were there before us. There was a bus full of Italians, and a bus full of French people. There were all kinds of people our age waiting for the Ranger tour of the Cliff House; you need reservations and the numbers are limited. We did it the last time so felt comfortable skipping it this time, and went on to view other sites, some of which were open, and some not.
The most productive site for us was the Far View site, where archeologists have excavated much of a village and reservoir from ancient times.
The Docent Ranger tells us that they may have to close the exhibit soon because some of the walls are so fragile that even with careful visitors, the stress on ancient stones and foundations are too fragile to survive the number of visitors, which is affecting their condition.
We were able to see the storage rooms and the kivas. People talk about the ceremonial functions of the kivas – they look to me like they had functional purposes, perhaps keeping people out of the heat and out of the elements, perhaps gatherings, yes, and it made me think of Thanksgiving and how a very casual gathering could be described as ceremonial.
I think we toss that word around too lightly. I think we are often discussing customary, daily doings and elevating these daily rituals by calling them ceremonial. Am I ceremonial while I wash my dishes, or hang my laundry? Do I ceremonially cook our dinner?
I love visiting these sites and having these conversations in my head.
We take a chance on getting a table at the Absolute Bakery in Mancos, a place we love. Very casual, everything home made and delicious, and we are lucky, they have enlarged and have a room in the back which they open for us, and then others, too.
Back at the cabin, we finish off the spaghetti and garlic bread back at the cabin for our last dinner in Cortez, and the last few bites of Gustavo’s lemon pie. I check with Cecilia and Alison about what is required for check out (every B&B has its own requirements) and they tell me just to leave our food, that they will use what they can and take care of the rest. We won’t be doing our own cooking for the rest of the trip.
Exploring Kelley’s Ancient Echoes
I got up early, caught up on e-mails, and lectionary readings, then AdventureMan got up and we had breakfast. We dressed for hiking, took our full water bottles and headed out, eager to explore the grounds at Ancient Echoes at Kelly’s. The Canyon of the Ancients is in our backyard! We are good hikers, confident hikers. We are eager!
We visited the old pueblo house and the underground kiva, saw Cecelia, one of the owners, making mounds for planting corn, beans and squash (the three sisters of the ancients in these parts), and asked her some questions about the grounds, and then headed off past the casitas, past up into the hills to visit more ancient ruins. It was shady and cool, and an easy path. “Just follow the cairns” Cecelia had told us, to the top of the ridge. Keep your eye on the spire.
We crossed the arroyo and headed up and down the trail until we reached the barbed wire at the top of the ridge, passing the ancient ruins. Deciding to turn back – it was getting hotter – we backtracked, following cairns (rocks piled in a deliberate style to guide trekkers) we crossed the arroyo and headed for a cairn on the opposite ridge. It was much more difficult, as we had to find a diagonal way up a sheer red stone face, which, huffing and puffing, we did.
Looking for the next cairn, AM found a circle of stones, and we looked at each other – we didn’t remember seeing a circle of stones before. We couldn’t find any more cairns, either. We roamed back and forth on the ridge, circling back to a tree where we would rest. It kept getting hotter, and our water was running shorter. In the steeper areas we were rock climbing, on hands and knees, not as easy as when we were younger. We crossed to the next ridge, from which we could see Kelly’s camp clearly, see our own suite clearly, but from which we could not descend because it was steep and ended in an overhang with a drop.
Finally, knowing where we needed to be, we headed back to the arroyo, and down the arroyo a little farther where we found our missing trail. We were so delighted to find our way home again after being on the trail over three hours more than a little afraid we would be “those elderly people who were found by the rescue team.” We were so thankful when we found the right trail. We were probably dehydrated as well as exhausted. We fell into bed and slept, awakening stiff from climbing up and down the hills and arroyo. We finished our BBQ sandwiches and spent the afternoon reading and relaxing.
Re-energized, we went into Cortez for dinner at the Farm Bistro, a popular local restaurant specializing in local sourcing. I had a yak burger, made from real local yaks, and AM had the French Onion soup and an Antipasto platter, with local meats and cheeses. It was very good, and a relaxing way to end our day.
We found the City Market and picked up parsley and garlic bread for the next day, and gassed up the car.
In the middle of the night, I heard the weirdest scratching, like something was in the walls. It woke AM, too, and we banged on the walls and told it to go away – and it did, then it would come back again. After about an hour and a half, we made it feel unwelcome enough that it never came back, and we allowed ourselves to sleep in. We told the owners the next morning. I don’t know what they did, but we were never bothered again.
The Ute Tribal Museum in Montrose, Colorado
Our next stop was the Ute Tribal Museum in Montrose, a two-hour stop in a museum full of meaningful information on Ute daily life, the long history of the Utes on this continent, and the shameful treatment they received at the hand of our government, cynically breaking treaties and steadily eroding Ute territorial holdings.
There are all kinds of educational segments using materials to give a hands-on understanding of how teepees were raised, for example, and how beading was accomplished.
There were weaponry displays and best of all, there were many short visual film segments on a variety of topics, including a 22-minute film on the Bear Dance, which was absolutely fascinating. They had a gift shop full of wonderful jewelry and art pieces, as well as the usual books and souvenirs.
The Ute Museum was one of the highlights of our trip. It came at just the right time, as we were still at the beginning of our trip, and could relate much of what we learned to what we saw along the way.
Barcelona to Abu Dhabi: Abu Dhabi to Pensacola
Ashok brings breakfast to our room just as we finish dressing and we are able to say our last goodbyes.
The new Abu Dhabi Louvre, which will feature the painting bought by Prince Badr bin Abdullah Al Saud, attributed to Leonardo Da Vinci for $450.3 million at auction.
We are excited. We have a lot planned for Abu Dhabi, and we are eager to begin our journey home. We can hear the baggage being unloaded, ready to be claimed by disembarking passengers.
Buses are waiting to take other passengers on tours, or to hotels.
Compared to other disembarkations, when we had to leave at 3:00 a.m. to catch flights back to the US, this is very civilized; breakfast at 6:30, and departure scheduled for 8:00. As it turns out because we have made independent arrangements, we can depart before the groups, and we do.
Our driver is not there, but there is an Azamara ship parked just next to ours so AdventureMan leaves me with the bags and walks over to the next parking lot to find our driver, waiting with a sign with our name on it. He directs him to our ship, we say goodbye to our Belgian friends, who are also expecting a driver, and we load up. He takes us to the Marriott, where we are given a beautiful room on the 21st floor and we look out in awe and the sheer awesomeness of Abu Dhabi architecture.
It is already really hot outside, even at 8 in the morning. We shower. We settle in.
I can’t believe it. There’s a mall, and a LuLu within walking distance. AdventureMan promises to take me there at nightfall. The LuLu was one of my favorite stores in Doha – we did a lot of our grocery shopping there. It had a lot of prepared foods, mostly Indian, and a lot of foods we had never seen before. One time the LuLu had a Mango-Fest. Who knew there were so many kinds of mango, like more than 80 kinds?
This is a qibla. We haven’t seen a qibla in a long time. It is the mark on the ceiling that tells us in which direction, in which we would find Mecca.
We have the same driver at 10:00, and he takes us to Abu Dhabi’s Heritage Village, which we love. Abu Dhabi has gathered craftspeople from all over the Middle East to demonstrate dying crafts – boatbuilding, wool-spinning, weaving, making thobes trimmed in real silver and gold threads, made of the finest camel wool, beating copper into pots and bowls, making silver-trimmed daggers (khanjars), weaving tent bands. It was lovely, stimulating – and also very hot.
We take a photo of our driver’s car so we can find him when we are through at the Heritage Park.
The boatbuilder
The man who made elegant traditional winter robes, bisht, for men and women
The weaver of wool, and of pictures
The maker of Khanjar, the curved daggars worn at the waist, and also maker of the sheaths which protect them.
Next stop was the Abu Dhabi “souks” – more stores selling souvenirs and handicrafts, but a level up from the tourist-oriented markets.
AdventureMan spotted the shop I had been looking for, a shop selling fresh saffron, but it had so much more! Camel milk soap in natural and in black, with varied scents, loofahs and treats for bathing, and thousands of spices, some of which we had no idea how to use. I invested in saffron, for us, for our foodie friends, and loved knowing we had found just the right shop, Wadi al Zafran.
We were hungry, and the concierge at the hotel had given us the name of a good family restaurant, Zahrat Lubnan on Defense Street, where we could get good food at local prices. We found it, and I laughed, it was just what we had asked for, full of families, and it was noisy! But one look at the menu and we knew we were in the right place, the food is the food we have learned to love with all our years in the Middle East, all our favorites. The noisiest of the families leave, and we enjoy our lunch thoroughly, including more very fresh pomegranate juice and strawberry juice.
This gave me a giggle; I had forgotten how traditional restaurants used tissue for napkins.
Muhammara! My favorite! To my delight, it tastes a lot like mine, made with a recipe given to me by a generous Kuwait blogger many years ago, thank you, Yousef!
The stuffed vegetables and lamb special – if only we had been six people we might have been able to eat it all. It was delicious.
Back at the hotel, in the heat of the afternoon, we nap, knowing we have a long night ahead of us. We are so thankful for a nice room, a good shower, and a breathtaking view.
At 11:00 pm our driver takes us to the airport, we get checked in, ticketed, and we go to the lounge to pass the hours before our flight would begin loading.
Processing our shipboard experience is ongoing. At the very beginning of the trip, we met Ed and Alan. I saw them at breakfast in Barcelona and liked them. We became acquainted on the bus to the ship and kept running into one another and having good conversations the entire trip. In the end, AdventureMan saw them as he was retrieving his passport and said our goodbyes. We really enjoyed knowing them.
We met a Belgian couple; he was 59 and had had a stroke that left him immobile and unable to talk, but he was still alive and lively in his head and his desire to participate. His wife is 50 and very committed to living as normally as possible, wheeling him everywhere in his chair, taking him on excursions where possible, and giving him every experience they are able to arrange. I liked them both and admired their courage and resilience, and persistence in the face of daunting circumstances.
We felt very fortunate to have next-door neighbors we also really liked, Miguel and Margarita, so sweet and so kind to one another, and with such an interesting history.
I admire the staff. For passengers, we get on and it’s like the party begins. For the staff, with endless cycles of passengers, it’s like the party never ends, and they are the hosts. It is exhausting to be so chipper, so helpful, so willing to facilitate, and to make it look so easy. It is hard work, and we admire their commitment to making every experience good for the passengers, often at great sacrifice in their private lives.
We had a great flight on Etihad en route to Brussels. We slept well and had a nice breakfast. I had yogurt but AdventureMan shared his “Brioche” which was hot and goopy and fancy with a huge burst of flavor from the first bite.
Brussels was easy. We settled in the lounge until our flight was called. Then the flight was delayed waiting for some passengers, and delayed, and the passengers never came. As we sit, waiting to depart, we are now scheduled to land about 25 minutes before the next flight is scheduled to depart. AdventureMan talked to the flight attendants; they say our connecting flight probably won’t be held and we will have to schedule on the next flight. That throws the flight out of Atlanta into question, too. We’ll need to make arrangements for our cats to be covered another day, or two until we can get back to Pensacola.
Afterword:
Montreal was a nightmare. When we arrived and were shuttled through the arrivals, we assumed we would go to transit, but all passengers to the USA were directed into a third line which went into US Customs. We had given ourselves extra time in Atlanta to go through customs. We had never heard a word about the “convenience” of going through US Customs in Montreal. It was confusing, it was cumbersome, and we had our faces scanned for facial recognition software. We were tired. This was new and unexpected. There is also a new system of baggage screening so you wait until your bag shows up as “cleared” on a screen, then you can pick your bag up and head for your next flight.
Do I need to say we missed our flight to Atlanta? We were directed to a customer service man who would direct us to our next flight. There was one man, a very patient and long-suffering clerk in a booth, and 20 agitated people in front of us. The line behind us grew quickly; the line in front of us moved slowly. One woman, who needed to get a flight to Paris, he told to sit and wait while he took care of all the others – and the line is stretching on into oblivion by this point. I went to the Air Canada lounge to see if they could help; they could not.
Finally, we were put on a Delta flight, and we would not make it to Atlanta in time to catch our flight to Pensacola. While AdventureMan gleaned two seats in the Air Canada Lounge, I tried to find a quiet place (the lounge was in an uproar with the customs change and all the people who had missed their ongoing flights) to connect with Delta and arrange for a later flight. After a lengthy conversation, we determined there was no flight for which we had a hope of connection, so she booked us for the next day.
Here is one ray of sunshine. It is Thanksgiving weekend. When Oceania had told us they would only book us out of Atlanta, and that Pensacola to Atlanta and back was on us, the only ticket I could find on Delta were two full-fare first-class tickets. They were the only tickets on the flight. I bit the bullet, way back months ago, and bought the tickets. Good thing, as it turned out, because with a full fare ticket, and calling before we actually missed the flight, we were able to book a flight for the next day with no extra fees charged.
I found AdventureMan and explained the situation to him. The lounge was packed, and getting unruly as more disturbed and tired passengers entered. I suggested we leave, find the gate (which changed twice as we waited), and that I really needed him to find us a room in Atlanta; I was fried and needed his help. My hero, he pulled out his trusty mobile phone, looked at Atlanta, found the nearest hotel to the airport and reserved a room.
We had one checked bag, which Customs had shown us arrived and was cleared, but it had not been booked on the flight on which we were scheduled. We checked the Apple AirTag Find My Carry-On, and it showed us exactly where our bag was in the airport and some very good Delta agents tracked it down and had it put on the cart for our plane. I will never travel anywhere again without AirTags in my bags.
At this point, something very odd showed up. “Find My” showed my “backpack,” which just before departure from Pensacola had actually turned into a duffle. It was shown to be in Cadiz, Spain, which was very odd, because I had it with me, I was holding it. Only later did I discover the AirTag was not in the “backpack,” it must have disappeared somewhere in Barcelona (I had last checked on it when we were boarding the ship, and it was on the dock) but while the bag was with me, and that is what matters, the AirTag had been liberated and was leading a life all its own.
We were exhausted. We had been traveling for about 20 hours at this point, and had hoped to be home. The flight from Montreal to Atlanta was sheer hell; we were hoping to sleep and there was a (sweet) family behind us with an 18-month-old baby. It is late at night, the baby is fussy and the Mom, God bless her, is tossing the baby up and squealing loudly, to keep him from crying and disturbing other passengers. So we would be nodding off and (SQUEAL!) or (SCREECH!) and then we would be not sleeping.
I have full sympathy for anyone traveling with infants and children. I had to do it for many years myself. The Mom was doing her best. It’s not easy traveling with a very young child.
After what seemed like an eternity, we landed in Atlanta, a very COLD Atlanta, late at night and we are still in our Abu Dhabi hot-weather clothes. Our checked bag shows up on the AirTag finder as having arrived with us (another blessing we don’t take for granted) and we picked it up and got in the line for bus transportation to the terminal where airport hotel buses pick up.
Fortunately, I had a sweater in my duffel, which I pulled out and put on. Buses for hotels came and went, but not ours. Then, it came and it was a large bus, for the Airport Marriott Hotel, and it was just us and the crews from two or three different airlines, chatting about mutual friends and funny things happening on flights.
When we got to the hotel, we loved it. The lobby was full of young people, mostly with computers, some working intently (it was 11 pm by this point), some socializing, all laid-back and having a good time. It was so relaxed, it felt like a college dorm. We were quickly checked in and reached our very simple but quiet room where we were delighted to have hot showers and get to bed. Well done, AdventureMan!
Sunrise in Atlanta
We slept and slept, and woke with plenty of time to dress and get ourselves back to the airport, to check in for our flight, and even to have some breakfast in a familiar bookshop where we have eaten before. We decided having the unexpected overnight in Atlanta was really not such a bad thing.
Our big worry would have been our cats, but our caretaker was able to stay another day and the cats were fine. We got to sleep without unpacking, unconcerned with transitioning back to our normal life, and the short flight to Pensacola was uneventful. We had a great cab ride home, unpacked, went to lunch, and had a very unhurried day as we began to sink back into our Pensacola lives, and prepare for Christmas. 🙂
Creme Chantilly: Happy Easter, Mom
Easter week, and I allow myself Creme Chantilly with my morning coffee.
Cream whipped with powdered sugar and a little vanilla for Easter morning crepes with the ham and other Easter dishes, it is a bittersweet treat this year; sweet and joyful that we can gather as a family to celebrate Easter, our good health, our hopes for the years to come, and sad, too, because most of what I have learned in terms of meal preparation and entertaining, I learned from my Mom.
My Mom died a year ago this week, in Seattle, one of the earliest victims of the COVID virus. I am still coming to grips with the way she died. When she went into the hospital, they were trying to figure out what this virus was, and how do deal with it. Even those already in Seattle could not visit nor sit by her bed. Flying from Pensacola to Seattle was unthinkable, but such a temptation. She was brave. We all FaceTimed, and she told us we were good, and we were loved. She faced her demise valiantly.
Rest in Peace, Mom. I am thinking of you all this week, and drinking your Creme Chantilly in my coffee.
“Plenty of Sunshine Heading our Way”
We’ve been having Seattle weather – weeks of cold, dreary, cloudy days and heavy fog some mornings causing bad accidents. We are ready for some Spring. And it’s coming, starting today:
Plenty of sunshine heading our way!
The original Disney version of this song
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