Stacy Innerst, Post-Gazette Click illustration for larger image.

Given the opportunity, most people would jump at a chance to visit Singapore. The island, about 85 miles from the equator, has a tropical temperature that is usually no more that 91 degrees in the day, 70 degrees at night. The high humidity, rarely less than 80 percent, is tempered with constant breezes.

Singapore is also beautiful, sophisticated and high-tech. It has quite an exotic side, at least to a Western mind, stemming from its dense population of Chinese, Malay, Indian, Indonesian, Japanese, Philippine and every other national representative of Southeast Asia. Expats from the Americas are in the minority.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I visit Singapore every year for a long visit with family. My youngest son, Jack, lives there with his wife, Umarin, and their 5-year-old daughter Samantha Marlene. A baby boy will be born in September.

My tickets for a June departure are bought in January.

This is an 18-hour flight, but you hardly take notice of time. Singapore Airlines is considered the best airline in the world. Tourist class feels and looks like business class. When you book ahead, you are assured an aisle seat in the first cabin. Every passenger has a reclining chair and footrest, personal entertainment center for movies or music, choice of meals, snacks and beverages all served with china, flatware and glass. There's a lounge in the back of the plane where you can do yoga stretches, make a snack or hang out with fellow passengers. Charming attendants are so alert and caring of your needs, they would surely sing you to sleep if you asked.

Sometime in January, also, I look in the mirror and vow to myself, "I gotta lose that six pounds I've been trying to lose for two years." Because Singapore has more malls than any place I've ever been with millions of mirrors lining the walls, I'll see myself coming, going, sideways, backward, top down and bottom up. Asian women are small-boned and narrow, and by contrast, I'm acutely aware of my Eastern European shape. I join WeightWatchers.

Getting ready and packing for the almost four-week stay are gently on my mind for several months prior to leaving. In April, I open a large suitcase in the corner of a bedroom. Any time I think of something I might need, it gets tossed into the suitcase.

Marshalls becomes a destination. I look for off-season breezy white linen pants, sleeveless tops and filmy dresses. I learned my lesson the first year I visited when I took Lands' End polo shirts and cotton capris. My daughter-in-law laughed, "You'll die of the heat, Mum. And you need something sophisticated. This is Singapore, please, not Pittsburgh."

Borders Books & Music is another hot stop. I'll need good books to switch off during quiet hours. Books and CDs make good gifts for the family. A couple of prints of Pittsburgh and stationery are good for hosts, because everybody gets presents at the drop of an invitation.

For a month before, I cook dinners that will yield lots of leftovers for my husband. Chicken, chili, stews. Those I pack in one-serving containers for the times when he doesn't feel like cooking for himself.

A couple of weeks before D-for-departing-day, I switch to chopsticks at dinner. There's nothing more embarrassing than using a fork in Asia. I alter my chili-heat tolerance, too, by putting Tabasco on eggs, adding chiles to stir-fries, doing anything I can to get my digestion ready for the upcoming fabulous assault of Thai and Indian food.

I find time for a pedicure. Sandals are the shoes of choice, and we remove them upon entering a home, any home. Feet are on display at all times.

My shots are up to date. I refill prescriptions, fill small-size cosmetic containers and charge my camera battery.

I'm ready and hyped.

On the morning of the flight, I phone Singapore Airlines, once again, to confirm my reservation. The attendant assures me that all systems are go, "if Continental gets you here." (What the heck does that mean, I wonder.)

At 3 p.m. my husband drives me to the airport. We kiss goodbye. "See you on the other side," I say. "I'll bring presents. Send e-mail. I'll call you."

Heading to the Continental check-in counter, I see a bunch of disgruntled looking people in front of the kiosks. The mutter is, "Storms in Newark. the airport is shut down." Oh, NO. Can't BE, I think. I finally take my turn at the counter. "Checking in, please, with baggage to check through Newark to Singapore."

"You aren't going to Newark tonight on ANY airline," says a gum-chewing, pony-tailed, stressed-looking Continental staffer. "Nothing going in, nothing going out. Thunderstorms. All flights for every airline are canceled. I can try to get you there on Sunday."

Oh NO. Can't BE.

Oh yes. IS.

I almost stagger away from the desk. I spot a nice-looking gent with a cell phone. I have a big problem, I say. Can you make a local call for me? I reach my husband, by now at Wal-Mart. Turn around, I groan. Pick me up. I'm grounded.

At home, I try to call Singapore Airlines. The phone banks are jammed. There's no getting through. Then the reservation office closes for the day. A recording says to call back, please, at 7 a.m. Pacific time.

Eleven o'clock p.m. comes and goes.

Flight SQ 21 takes off.

Because I am a no-show, the computer cancels my return reservation.

Next day, I reach the Singapore Air folks who are sympathetic but firm. Everything is booked solid. There are no available seats, none, for 12 to 14 days, and that's before trying to coordinate with the connecting flights. It could be longer to make good arrangements.

I call Jack and Um. The two-week delay would find Um in her eighth month, not a time for visitors.

It's a no-go, Mum. Sorry.

The trip is completely aborted.

A complete refund, less $50, will be issued.

Later that day, I unpack the books, the presents, the linen blouses, the camera, the prescriptions.

Then I go to a movie matinee just to get away from my head.

But, hey. This was no Katrina. Nobody was sick or hurt, except for feelings. Stuff does happen. A therapist once told me to identify my feelings. That's easy enough. Helplessness, disappointment, anger and sadness are right up there at the top of the heap.

But resiliency prevails in this family.

I made new reservations for a couple of weeks over Thanksgiving.

I can't wait to meet my new grandson.