We have bad luck with Planes

 A couple weeks ago, my family had a mini reunion in Nashville. Which is the same city Mark and I got stuck in last December after the Southwest meltdown, which happened to coordinate with our grounded Allegiant flight.

Well, for monetary reasons, we chose Allegiant again to get down to Nashville. And whaddaya know, our flight had problems again, before we even got out of DC. We sat at the departure gate as the listed
boarding time came and went, hour by hour, with no information from Allegiant representatives by phone or by person. The evening became incredibly-early morning, and still no clue as to what was happening. Finally, somebody showed up, accompanied by security [I guess they thought we would riot??] to tell us that the airplane had a maintenance problem, that our flight would leave later that morning, and that we should come back to the airport in a few hours. [I'll add that she wasn't the most organized representative...people would ask a question, she would make an announcement, and then forget to answer that question.]

By this time of night/day, the Metro trains weren't running, so Mark and I took a taxi home [which is better than having to get a hotel, I will admit] so that we could sleep a few hours before going back.

We show back up at the airport, and there isn't anyone at the Allegiant desk that can check our bag in. And our flight wasn't listed on the board. And the poor volunteer information lady said she had already called and left a message with her contact person for Allegiant, and didn't have any better idea of what was going on than we had.

Hours later, the same Allegiant representative showed up at the desk, checked our bag, got our tickets, and after another delay of the flight, we finally got on the plane and off to Tennessee.

Which was worth it, because the nieces are adorbs.

The Airbnb where we stayed had a cornhole toss, and it was a big hit with Angela and Ana. Angela called it "trash can." She would stand right over the hole and drop the beanbag in, which actually was more advanced than Ana's play, who would crouch over the board with the beanbag and put the beanbag AND her hand in the hole. It makes the game foolproof.

I thought the doors of the Opry were more impressive than the inside.

Ana liked me to carry her; she'd often walk up to me with her hands upstretched for me to pick her up. I did it frequently enough that I got a good upper-body workout from it, and people mistook me for her mother.

We'll see if any of that lasts.