Travel, one of the activities I most adore, is counterbalanced by a necessary evil, packing.
Packing for me is not casual. It’s more like a military maneuver. Armed with the weather forecast, I progress to color scheme. Pared down to one base hue, companion parts can shuffle.
Black always works, as does any shade of blue, though my kids pointed out that this tactic can lead to a rare scourge: Snapshot Confusion. Perish the thought that excursions to repeat destinations, such as family reunions, look like episodes of Groundhog Day. Therefore, well before the dreaded outfit assembly phase, pre-shopping must occur.
Not to be confused with actual shopping, which in my world is completely goal-oriented, pre-shopping is a kind of randomized event. When I am out with my daughter in the dead of a Midwestern winter to buy a coat, and I run across a delicious gauze tunic that would work in 98 percent humidity, I am triumphantly “pre-shopping”.
Such foresightful behavior has a downside, though, since more often than not, I forget where I have stored said out-of-season gem. This happened to me just yesterday. I had combed all the regular places: the grown kids’ rooms; the under- bed zippered bags; even the cedar closet. I did the irrational checking and rechecking of my own closet, though there would be little chance that gauze tunics would intermingle with wool dresses.
Finally, in frustration I texted my companion in crime—I mean my daughter—and once we worked out where we were shopping that day, “Bingo!” Inside an opaque store-specific garment bag was the subject of my quest.
Constrained by airline weight limits, Amtrak dimension controls, and a distaste for checking bags, my pile of possibilities constricts. Tiny pots of cosmetic potions tuck into open spaces.
With a zip and a sigh, the mission has come to a close.
If anything is missing, after all, I can always shop. (c)
