After a stubborn suitcase misadventure, the porch wins
May 2026
by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
It’s almost vacation time! Well, for most folks, it’s almost vacation season — and time to start planning. For me, these days, vacation is sitting on the screened porch with a book.
It’s sort of a shame I don’t have the desire to go on vacation anymore. I sure took advantage of it back when I could. In fact, I could safely say I was on a constant vacation from age 22 until, oh, a few years ago. When you’ve lived in places like Key West, Fla.; San Francisco, Calif.; and even Bath County, Va., you’ve lived in vacation land!
If I were to go on a vacation now, I’d probably have to drive, and I don’t enjoy driving as much as I once did. Not long ago, hopping in the car and driving five hours to Virginia Beach was simple enough. Today? I could not even imagine it! I’d have to break it up into two days.
If I were to go on vacation, matter for how long, I’d have my choice of suitcases. I hesitate to spend time counting how many sets of matching luggage I have. And I haven’t used any of them in quite some time.
Sadly, the only time I’ve used a suitcase or a tote bag is for a trip to the hospital for some surgery or other. And that’s no fun at all.
Back when I went to Greece, I learned that it does not matter whether you have one massive suitcase and several smaller ones to match it. I learned that you may as well leave that huge suitcase at home. Sure, it holds a lot of clothes, some shoes and even my pillows, but you’ll never get on the plane with it.
My Greek vacation happened to coincide with new airline restrictions: No bags on board that measured an inch over the limit or weighed more than 13 pounds.
Thank heavens we arrived at the Baltimore airport with time to spare. When they weighed my bag, the sternfaced matron decreed, “This weighs too much. You’ll have to check it.”
My experience with checked baggage has been this: The baggage always takes its own trip and never arrives when I do.
I got what I thought was a brilliant idea. Right there on the floor of the BWI airport, I opened the suitcase and started removing clothes. And putting them on. There were no restrictions about that! I think I was swathed in seven outfits by the time my case weighed in at 13 pounds. I sure didn’t feel chilly on the plane.
Once we landed in Athens, I began toting three heavy bags around to every ship and hotel we visited. By departure date, I absolutely hated my luggage. I packed the souvenirs and gifts into one small bag and checked the rest.
Upon landing back at BWI, an announcement came: Would the following passengers contact the flight attendant? One of those passengers was “Mr. Oxendine.” I prayed that there was a man with my unusual name on the manifest.
But no; it was I. My bags had not made it onto the plane and would be delivered to my home as soon as they arrived.
I had a heck of a time describing just where my rural house was in Virginia. The closest airport was Lewisburg, W.Va., so I said I’d pick it up there.
Days went by. A week passed. Still no luggage. Finally, a call from British Airways: “We’re happy to say your luggage has arrived in Luxembourg,” the lady chirped.
I still laugh when I think of that. Is it any wonder I am leery of ever flying anywhere again?
To order a copy of Margo’s “A Party of One,” call 540-468-2147 Mon.-Wed., 9 a.m.-5 p.m., or email [email protected].
