My aunt discovered the item after our visit: one white sweater, abandoned on the back of the sofa.

She placed the sweater in a box, adding a few of her special oatmeal cookies to keep it company. A cousin stopped by, noticed the box all set to be shipped and offered to mail it.

My aunt phoned my mother with the news that her sweater would soon be returned.

When the box arrived my mother was surprised to find a sweater she’d never seen before. She checked the drawer where she usually keeps her white sweater and there it was, safely tucked away.

So who did this roaming sweater belong to? The cousin who mailed the package.

What’d ya know, turns out I’m one of the bigger threats to airline safety. I had no idea, which may or may not have worked in my favor.

It’s been two years since I’ve flown but I remembered to put my teeny-tiny liquids in the quart size baggie.

Well, most of them.

By the time of my return flight I was exhausted, a weepy, whiny, emotional mess. I thought I’d pulled myself together enough to pass through screening.

I was mistaken.

Both my purse and my carry-on were considered suspect. A female screener held up a small bottle of hand sanitizer I’d forgotten in the bottom of my purse: “Is this yours?”

Oops. Sorry.

An anxious male screener had the unwieldy task of dealing with my toiletries bag. He kept holding up items and when I’d bend forward to see them he’d advise me to back away from the table.

My quart bag contained a 4 oz. bottle of lotion that I’d forgotten to return to my checked luggage---too big, pitch it.

My cosmetics bag held a nail file, which I could take on the plane but should have been visibly displayed.

An almost empty tube of toothpaste was deemed too big and thrown out.

My bags were swabbed and scanned again.

“If you wish to avoid this kind of attention in the future (YES PLEASE) I suggest you either check these items with your luggage or limit yourself to one quart bag.” He gave me a bag to demonstrate and I refrained from pointing out that he was already holding my quart bag in his other hand and the rest of the items in my cosmetics bag weren’t liquids -- I mean, come on, he was getting all worked up about my dental guard, some floss and a bar of soap, except, oops, there’s that nearly empty bottle of foundation that I forgot to put in my quart bag, and a small vial of eye drops.

I get it. I deserved the third degree. I’m not a terrorist, but they don’t know that, not for sure. I made their job harder and probably annoyed a lot of people by not having control of my stuff even if I did remove my shoes and coat, set out my camera and cell phone in a prompt manner.

The irony behind all of this is that I’ve always been something of a packing freak and I’m pretty good at following the rules when they are designed to keep us all safe, even if it means treating us like we are all guilty until proven innocent.

In hindsight, it was almost as unnerving as the four-hour flight delay and whooping turbulance I experienced on the first leg of the trip.

Oh well, at least I was spared the wand and other indignities.

And that guy at the end of my row? The one with the hacking cough? I'm sure that was nothing. And this respiratory bug I seem to have now? Probably a complete coincidence. Definitely not swine flu. I hope.

Travel. It makes staying home seem like a pretty good idea.

Why did the fish cross the road?

At first I thought it was another pat rat, except it shimmered, its head an unusual tufted orange, its rounded body a lemon-lime phosphorescent green.

It moved quickly, scampering on small feet.

Fish. Feet. Orange and green.

Someone’s been out in the sun too long.

A quick internet search failed to provide an adequate photo, but I was thrilled to have seen a bearded lizard.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve been seduced by fabric.

The garment was soft, supple yet strong; the design streamlined, fresh with good features.

Despite a time crunch, I stepped into the nearest dressing room, slipping the garment on, only to be confounded by the front clasp. In my hurry I also overlooked another key factor: adjusting the straps.

With a simple ‘sprung!’ I was held hostage by a brassier, my arms pinned behind, my image bouncing off of double mirrors as I curled forward, helpless with laughter.

Here’s hoping a security staff person didn’t capture the incident for the glory of U-Tube.

Wow. Two whole posts in April.

That's got to be some new minimalistic, underachiever record for me.

One might draw the conclusion that I was busy with other things, which wouldn't be entirely wrong. There has been no shortage of distractions, including my far too frequent companion, Merry Migraine.

I used to love Spring, a time of possibilities-- new flowers, fresh breezes, mud. This year there has been a lot of WIND and allergies like I haven't seen in awhile.

Still, it's May, time to frolic. You might want to begin by turning off the news, unless you have yet to attain a suitable level of panic over the swine flu epidemic.

As I once sang in a high school production of Camelot, "Tra-la, it's May!"

(Apologies to noble Squire Dap, who was such a nice guy and put up with far too much crap from the rest of us as we wrangled with teenage angst, shyness, and uncertainties--or was that just me?)