PACKING

Within forty-eight hours Art and I will be on a (gulp) plane bound for Connecticut. I am doing what I always do – vowing that I will not wait until the last minute to pack. Mentally taking stock of what we’ll need, and realizing that no matter what I take or don’t take, it will be wrong.

To begin with, Art does not believe in checking baggage. He doesn’t like the wait at the end of the trip for luggage that may or may not be coming down the ramp. So, we are one of those couples who have maxed out our carry-on allowance. Art carries his computer (of course), and I carry my purse (of course). That’s the end of our “personal items”. Then we each have one of those little rolling suitcases. Mine is the one that has the bum wheel – like one of those carts at the supermarket that doesn’t quite work.

Now for Art, packing is a relatively simple matter, since he refuses to wear anything but his “uniform”. His “uniform” consists of the following: a pair of jeans, a t-shirt with a pocket (has to have a pocket for his glasses), and an over shirt (with a pocket for the same reason as the T-shirt) with long sleeves. So if I pack him a week’s worth of underwear and socks, one pair of jeans (as an alternative to the ones he wears on the plane), one sweater (he only wears Shetland wool crewnecks in traditional colors) and his toothbrush, we’ve pretty much got him covered.

I’m a different story. After all, I am a woman. I have tried to emulate Art’s simplicity of dress, but I can’t quite pull it off. I look hideous in T-shirts. I get tired of jeans. And man-tailored shirts look less and less attractive to me. So I have cardigans and turtlenecks and boat necks and Peter Pan collars and mandarin collars and shrink tops and big tops and blue jeans and black jeans and black slacks and brown slacks and cords and denims and . . . As Joni Mitchell once said, “ . . .the crazies you get from too much choice”.

Once I got so caught up in deciding what to wear that I completely forgot to pack socks. For a woman who wears trousers all the time, forgetting socks is about as bad as forgetting underwear. (I have done that, too).

Also – I keep trying to push this question out of my already-crowded mind: What are we going to do with our great big winter coats once we get on the plane? I think wearing them all the way to Connecticut may be our only option!

Furthermore, when you’re traveling, your purse becomes a small suitcase. More than likely, Art will hand me various and sundry items like his wallet, his keys, his glasses, and his sunglasses, and he will entreat me to keep them for him. So they go into the purse. Then I always have to carry my address book when we travel (even though Art swears all those numbers are in his computer). Then, of course, there is make-up. But when I travel, I take more with me (I don’t know why – I never use it). Then there are my “comfort” items: I must have the following: chewing gum, nasal spray, bottled water, Kleenex, Ear Planes, headset, my little white pills to keep me from panicking, and my reading material and knitting. (Yes, they let you carry knitting needles on the plane. If anyone tries to highjack us, I will be the best-armed passenger in this side of the Mississippi. I can just imagine the scene: “Alright, fella. I’ve got a pair of Number 10s here and I’m not afraid to use them”! All in all – I don’t know how I’m going to stuff my purse with all that junk.

Complicating matters is the fact that we have just gotten ourselves a little condo in Connecticut so that we will have, not only a place to stay when we visit Art’s family, but (and this is crucial) so that we won’t have to schlep everything we own across the country every time we travel. The only trouble is, we don’t have a comprehensive list of what’s there, so we both have to scratch our heads and ask each other questions like, “Do you remember if I left a brown jacket in Connecticut”? Chances are, I did. Chances are, I’ll still pack another jacket “just in case”. If I don’t pack it, then I didn’t leave the jacket there after all. That much is guaranteed.

So. It’s Wednesday morning. By this time Friday morning we’ll be somewhere over the Mojave Desert – too late to turn back for the forgotten shampoo. But as my very wise grandmother used to always say, “It’s not like you’re going to the vilderness”! That’s why God invented 24-hour drug stores.

© 2004, Robin Munson

PACKING

Tomorrow we’re getting on a plane to go to visit family in Connecticut.

We’ve known about this trip for several weeks. This time tomorrow I will be on the plane. All I’ve got packed so far is socks, underwear and t-shirts.

Every time we travel I imagine that the next time I will be more organized and efficient. I imagine that I will make a list a week ahead of time and will check each item off the list as I pack. The night before leaving, I imagine Art and me enjoying a candlelight supper, our bags packed and waiting by the front door. I imagine that I will get on the plane knowing that all is in order. I imagine that I will not panic as the plane takes off, thinking that I have left the stove on. I swear to myself that I will not forget one of the following items: bras (it was awful), sweaters, nightgowns, vitamins, toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo, camera, umbrella, socks. . . all of which I have forgotten before.

Now, as my grandmother used to say, it’s not like we’re going off to the wilderness; we can find just about anything we need wherever we’re going (except for prescription medicine, which we can’t buy in another state). But it gets expensive and inconvenient, buying stuff that we already had at home. And you wind up spending more time at Wal-mart than you had planned. Usually, maddeningly, the forgotten item is left sitting on top of the bathroom sink or the nightstand where I specifically left it so that I would not forget to pack it.

I tell myself I will make a list. Then I sit down to type out my list. I start with the obvious: underwear, socks, shoes, toothbrushes, toothpaste. . .and I feel like an idiot. I am embarassed to type the list. I abandon the list. Who could forget anything so obvious as, say, underwear? Well, I have.

Now, part of the problem is that we don’t want to check any bags. So, here we are planning a three week trip. We each get one carry-on bag that has to fit underneath the seat, and one “personal item”. I have learned to stash my pocketbook in my carry-on, which allows my “personal item” to be a small bag for toiletries, my books, and my endless array of comfort items for the plane. My husband has to bring his computer, of course. That leaves us with our carry-ons. (Mine is the green one with the wobbly wheels.)

So, you might ask how in the world can you pack for three weeks with only one carry-on a piece? Well, you take two pairs of jeans, a week’s worth of underwear and socks, a couple of t-shirts, one sweater, one pair of shoes, and you do your laundry once a week. (Then you just ship anything else U.P.S.).

The day before a trip I always have the vague feeling that I am forgetting to do something important. I usually am. Besides the packing, there are the cats to be taken care of, the paper to be stopped, the mail to be handled and the plants to be watered. The garbage has to be taken out so that your house doesn’t smell like a dump when you get home. Emergency numbers have to be given to friends and loved ones. The taxi has to be called for 6:00 a.m. so that you can make your 8:00 a.m. flight. Some lights are left on. Some lights have to be left off. The house has to be locked, front and back.

And I have to check the stove yet one more time.