WDW – Day 1 – Friday, 10 Dec 04

We wrapped up packing and travel prep a bit after 1:00a Friday morning. Standard kudos to Margie for managing to fit twelve suitcases of stuff into three big bags and a variety of carry-ons. Kudos to me for managing to improvised 4-foot poster tube for Margie’s big presentation (along with a midnight trip to FedExKinkos for the raw materials).

As we climbed into bed, I saw that Margie’s clock was off by an hour. I suggested she might adjust it to the correct time — 1:20 — since she was setting the alarm.

She did so …

… and the alarm started ringing, waking us out of a sound sleep, but it wasn’t the alarm, or it sounded strange, and I couldn’t figure out why, and it kept ringing on and off and on and off and …

“Hello?” Margie had answered the phone.

Ah. Jackie was downstairs. It was 4:40a, when she was going to come by to pick us up.

Pick us up!

Kudos to the two of us for going from zero to sixty — or supine to on the road to the airport — in just twenty minutes, aided by Jackie who supervised Katherine getting dressed. And double kudos to Jackie for being distinctly unperky at that hour of the morning.

And kudos to the List, the ever-growing checklist I keep in BrainForest on my PC and Palm, of things that need to be packed and done in the days leading up to, and the day of, a trip. Because of the List, I didn’t worry that we’d forgotten something, or run out the door without turning off the cat waxing machine or something. Huzzah. And, as it turned out, there was very little that didn’t get done.

Okay, one thing I discovered I’d left: my Palm stylus. And any spares I had in my briefcase were long gone. Which meant a lot of typing on the keypad and use of a pen base for tapping. Ah, well. If that’s the worst …

Got to the airport …

And more kudos to Margie for making each of those mongo suitcases marginally less than 50 lbs. each, except for one that she had to shift a few clothes between.

The Curse of Dave Hill, International Man of Mystery cropped up, as the nice lady at the American counter did all the standard double-take on the ticket and asking for my Drivers License and calling up the Master Control Program folk on the phone. Margie made jokes about it in a polite banter sort of way, which is her way of disarming folks’ concerns, though it makes me even more nervous (“So, you’ve come under suspicion before, have you? Innnnnteresting …”); I tend to take the smiling disarmingly and innocently approach, myself.

We passed that barrier, and security, with little problem. Muffins for breakfast.

And into the air …

Our trip out was actually in two legs, Denver to DFW, DFW to Orlando. That made it two relatively short trips, rather than one long one.

Margie was looking through the flight magazine and came across perhaps the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen: Bloody Mary Oyster Shots.

“Gakh is best served while still alive,” I observed.

“Well, it does have vodka in it.”

“It couldn’t possibly have enough.”

In a minor miracle to rival the appearance of the Blessed Virgin at Lourdes, we actually transferred planes at Dallas-Fort Worth without having to change concourses. In fact, our flight was out from the gate right next to the one we arrived at. Small flights of angels, singing Hosannas, wafted overhead at this unheard of occurance.

The arrival into Orlando was uneventful, aside from a deluge of rain when we hit the ground (which, once over, lent the state that delightful cloyingness I’ve come to expect). Because the rental place was offsite (we’re renting a car this time because the conference is actually offsite at the Marriott Ultra Megaplex (the Orlando World Center Marriott Resort and Convention Center) like that — and the car rental and parking and WDW resort daily cost is less than staying at the Marriott Ultra Megaplex per night, so it’s not like Margie’s employer is being hurt here), Margie went off on the bus to pick up the car, while Katherine and I and about 200 lbs. of luggage sat at the curb and waited … and waited … and …

Seems there was bad construction between airport and Thrifty lot, which means that the shuttle bus had to sit in it on the way there, and Margie had to sit in it on the way back. But, an hour-plus after landing, we were on the road.

Pulling into the Port Orleans Riverside resort was — well, not quite like coming home, but … There’s something nice about a “special” vacation spot that you return to, that has both excitement of anticipated new adventures and a scosh of familiarity. Like that. Port Orleans has done well by us as a resort, and it’s a pleasure to visit there.

Lots of folks where there, though, at least the first weekend. Okay, part of that looked to be something in conjunction with a Disney cruise, but there were also a ton of people here for some big Pop Warner cheerleading competition confab of some sort. Tons of cheerleaders. Tons. Partying by the pools. Filling up the dining hall. Chanting along pathways. Decorating their windows with photos and pennants and lights …

Mercifully, they were pretty much all gone by Sunday.

While Margie was waiting in line (and Katherine joining a dozen other kids at the coloring table), I went off to buy a new drink mug. The Disney Resorts let you buy drinks by the meal, like most places, but you can also get a specially branded insulated mug or travel cup for $12 that lets you drink all you want for the entire stay — and beyond, letting you bring it back time after time after time. It’s a cheap “brand loyalty” for the park, and drink themselves cost them very little. We had the pair we’d originally purchased back in 2001, and we figured it was time for Katherine to have her own.

Well, someone at the front office had recalculated the costs, because now the special mugs still cost the same, but were only explicitly for the length of the stay during which they were purchased. Did that mean our beloved mugs were obsolete? The new ones were a different color scheme, and I started to quake in terror that the Mouse Police would haul me off for Beverage Misappropriation in the Second Degree if I tried to use one my classic green-and-cream mugs instead of the new standard issue gold-and-purple.

I asked at the counter if that meant we couldn’t use our old mugs. “Technically, yes, I’m afraid so.”

Technically. Hmmmm.

As it turned out, it wasn’t worth worrying about. Most of the residents had new mugs (I suspect would have been true regardless), but I not only saw some other old Port Orleans mugs and a few Dixie Landings mugs, but some mugs from other Disney resorts, too (which used to be a real no-no). I think the “technically” is a don’t-ask-don’t-tell sort of thing. If you ask, the answer is, yes, you must purchase a new mug each visit. But it’s not enforced.

That said, I didn’t push it, and didn’t go through the check-out line with our old mugs. And so we had enough mugs for the three of us, with nary a Knock on the Door in the Middle of the Night to be heard.

It was afternoon by the time we were checked in and unpacked. Our Alligator Bayou building was #28, which was a lot further from the lodge than last time, with no straightforward route back. Indeed, it took until Wednesday for me to perfect the route back (after getting — not lost, properly, but certainly misdirected a few times).

We hopped onto the boat to Downtown Disney, had a tasty dinner at the Portabello Yacht Club (the first of many very rich dinners). Margie and I split a bottle of Monsanto Chianti. The winery name is actually from the Italian origin, but it reminded me of Disneyland (and Adventure Through Inner Space), so it was a natural.

We wandered the DD streetways (you can now walk through Pleasure Island, but you still pay admission to get into any of the clubs), ate some ice cream, listened to some brass carollers, took the boat back across the lake, and then the other boat back up to PO, then …

… to blissful sleep.

Last time here, we’d gotten a trundle bed for Katherine, which rolled nicely under one of the two doubles. This time, though, we’d ended up with a handicapped room.

This had the advantage of being a larger room, bigger clearances, more open spaces. The shower had no tub; instead, the shower/WC room was just one tiled expanse (with a drain) — which, actually, wasn’t bad at all. The bathroom was doored to the main bedroom, not between the sinks and the WC/shower, which was actually quite an advantage, since it meant Margie could prep for work in the morning all behind a closed door, not disturbing either Katherine or ourselves.

Which was a particular advantage, given that the beds were lower to the ground, which meant a trundle couldn’t fit under one, which meant Katherine was in her own bed.

Last time we did this, Katherine sleeping in the room was pretty problematic. This time, she did great, even (or especially) up in a “big bed” next to ours. Her bed time was always late (analogous to what it is two time zones away at home), she was always exhausted, and we got her some little ear plugs. Mission accomplished, and not only did she always crash upon bed time, but she was sleeping in until 8:30 or 9 each morning. W00t!

Not like we were, ourselves, in any condition to party loudly or crank up the stereo or watch TV until all hours. But we could talk, read, relax, etc., without worrying about awakening Kitten for the rest of the night.

Again, W00t!