Tuesday was a perfect day of air travel. That isn’t something anyone can say very often these days. Our Uber driver in AZ was not only on time, but about 15 minutes early. We made our way to the Phoenix airport with our driver, Christopher, who was very pleasant, and only tried to persuade me to accept Jesus as my personal savior once. Ironically, after he dropped us off, he was going to play poker at one of the casinos.

Our plane was on time. Thanks to Bill’s cane, we were allowed to board early, providing us the opportunity to get seats only a few rows back from the front of the plane. Our flight was an hour and five minutes, wheels up to wheels down, not even time to sip a glass of free Coke Zero. Our Denver Lyft driver was waiting for us when we walked up to the curb. Aside from the fact that he drove as slow as Grandma Moses, he was pleasant enough. He didn’t mention Jesus once. He was too busy slowing down for curves in the toll road.

I’m no longer mad at Southwest. We all make mistakes. Even though they canceled our Christmas Day flight, they made up for it this week. We had made our reservations to fly out on March 29, but decided suddenly we wanted to leave sooner. I got online to Southwest, and with the click of a button, I was able to make new reservations without a single hitch or the need to talk to a single person. That doesn’t happen these days very often.

And then came the only glitch: when we walked in the door, the first thing I noticed was that our car keys were not hanging where they normally hang. After we were settled, we began looking, to no avail. No car keys. That used to not be that big of a problem in the old days when cars — and their fobs — weren’t computers. It’s totally different these days,

Yesterday morning, I called our dealer and asked how I go about replacing a lost key. The answer: Bring the car into the dealership, and then wait until mid-April when the new fobs will get in. Yikes. I called every Honda dealer in Denver and the story was the same. No fobs without special order, I guess from Japan.

People kept asking me, “Don’t you have a spare fob?”

Maybe. But if we do, it’s in the lockbox that is locked and the key is long gone because of our move. But, since desperate times call for desperate measures, Bill the Bandito got his hammer and chisel and broke into the thief-proof lockbox.

Voila! There was a spare key. A spare key that I will now guard with my life.

We’re glad to be back at Wind Crest.