Tonight we celebrate a travel miracle, and a travel tragedy. The tragedy is that our flight to Florida was cancelled. Just like that, JetBlue gave us the ole shaftarooni and forced us to push our trip back a day.

The miracle, however, was amazing and wonderful. It was performed by Roberta, Lu's Mom, from approximately 3053 miles away. Her timing was beyond perfect, beyond impeccable. It was divine. It was praiseworthy. It was in every sense of the word perfect.

The door was open. The front door of our apartment was open and I may have even had a foot out the door, wheelie-bag spry and proper at my heel, when Lu's phone rang.

Seconds before that, I asked Lu, "you ready for travel-mode?" "You bet," she replied.

Lu's mom asked us when we were leaving. "We're literally walking out the door," Lu replied. Did we check our flight status, Roberta asked. We hadn't, so we paused to see what the interwebs could tell us. A mere formality, we figured. We could not have been more wrong.

Cancelled, the website told us, and 50 minutes of hold music later, so did the harried, defeated, deflated woman at JetBlue customer disservice confirm.

We're going nowhere but to the couch tonight and it sucks that we can't leave until tomorrow. But what would have sucked even more would have been to travel MUNI and BART all the way to Oakland, only to find out that we were going no where, fast.