Erin Go? Not

I heard Kayne say my name in that drawn-out, questioning tone that, in my experience, never precedes good news:

JOOOOOOEEEEEEE....?

Uh-oh, I thought.

We were five days away from boarding a KLM flight to Dublin. For a week we would explore the Emerald Isle, or such parts as we could get to.

Pubs! The Guinness brewery! Jameson distillery! More pubs!

And of course many cultural, historic and artistic sites. I hear Ireland has them, too.

But then Kayne came into the room, peering closely at something in her hands. A book? Blue, it appeared. My brain ran through the possibilities, and quickly got a hit:

Passport.

Uh-oh.

I like to think of myself as a reasonably seasoned traveler. I do my homework, search for the best fares, investigate suitable lodging, check the weather forecast, take notes on attractions, collect tips from people who have been to my destination before.

Lacking, in this case, was due diligence to the little document that, if you are leaving the country, pretty much trumps everything else in terms of importance. I last renewed in February 1999. Which meant that it expired ... in February 2009. Six months ago, almost to the day.

Kayne, bless her, uttered not one word of reproach, but I had plenty for myself. Efforts to schedule an emergency renewal appointment went for naught. The passport officials, while polite, did not feel obliged to let me butt in line.

So we started trying to formulate fallback travel plans - domestic, obviously. Maybe something within driving distance, even, for three or four days. Upstate New York, say.. Or ... uh ...

Every possibility seemed to me likely to suffer from the comparison: We’re here, when we could have been in Ireland?

Which is why, as I write this, Kayne is on that KLM flight to Dublin. I don’t mind paying for my mistakes. But I can’t let the innocent be punished.

She gets back next week. I look forward to seeing the pictures.