My husband is the world traveler. I am the woman that goes with him but not too often. Mostly, I’m the woman who stays at home in my easy chair, staring at a vintage atlas . . . happy . . . that I am not being yelled at by TSA agents.
I know that traveling is the goal of all smarty types. Ask a college student what’s on their future agenda and you’ll hear, “Graduate. Work for a non-profit. Travel.” Apparently, non-profits pay more than they used to pay.
Wishing them well, I say, “Bon voyage” and “Don’t over pack because you’ll be mocked by strangers.”
Seriously, not only is traveling the new standard of “all things meaningful,” it’s traveling while carrying a single pair of underwear and a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer in a worn backpack slung over one languid shoulder. Anything else is considered over packing.
As an older traveler, packing that light can be challenging. I need stuff: shoes that work with a variety of outfits and foot stiffness; a variety of outfits; gummy fiber and other assorted supplements; lotions and potions designed to relieve stiffness, dryness, soreness, hairiness, and rumpledness; enough makeup to cover the ravages of life out in the open, and, of course, a makeup mirror with enough magnification to see craters on the moon.
On a recent trip to North Carolina, I forget the mirror and my face disappeared. It was distressing.
I literally had to stab at where I thought my eyelashes might be when I put on mascara, hoping that I wouldn’t wind up looking like that lady I saw coming out of Home Depot one day. She looked like she’d forgotten her makeup mirror and had used crayons to sketch in the missing bits.
So I travel, once in a while and with way too much luggage. Better that, then wondering where my face went off to without me, and wishing for my vintage atlas and an easy chair.
Linda (Blink Twice) Zern