Running out the door to go pick my mother up at the airport, I grab a book and bottle of water - it could be a long wait. I find this incredibly great parking space and proceed to the ticket counter in order to get a gate pass; this is my mother's first time flying as a blind person and I feel it's best if I meet her at the gate. It's only been six months since I arrived to this airport from our world travels, but somehow, even in that short period of time, they've managed to rearrange everything. I find security and line up in my cue of five - where is everyone? Isn't this the busiest travel time of the year? Why did I leave myself so much time? As the TSA agent scrutinizes my I.D. and gate pass a light bulb goes off in my head, I've got a knife in my purse. I wasn't the one traveling, so why should I have remembered to take it out of my bag? I ask the agent if there is any place to leave it for an hour or so until I come back. His lengthy reply of "No" leaves me walking back to the car to drop it off. I'm not losing this knife after finally getting it back from Easter Island!
Back at security with that Deja Vu feeling. This time I make it all the way to the x-ray machines. "Excuse me ma'am, is this your bag?" (Why do they call you ma'am? It makes you feel so old.) What could they possibly be questioning in my little tote? It's only a book, newspaper and a bottle of water for my wait. "Ma'am, you can't take this bottle of water, do you want me to throw it out?" I notice he's not giving me a whole lot of other options so I say "Yes" since it's clearly the price I have to pay to get to the other side.
I finally make it to the gate with only twenty minutes to spare. With so little time, it turns out I could have left my purse, book and bottle of water in the car and saved a lot of hassle. My mother comes off the jetway beaming like a little kid; she is so excited to be here. I grab her wheel chair and begin to push, all the while wondering, how after 358 days of travel I could have been caught by security twice. My, how quickly we do forget.