Time Traveler

Time Traveler

By Marylou Ambrose

You never sleep well before taking a trip, and last night was no exception. You tossed and turned, going over your packing list in your mind, wondering what you’d forgotten. Wondering if the suitcase was over 50 pounds. Wondering if you packed the right clothes. Wondering if you forgot and stashed a sharp object in your carry-on bag or maybe some liquid that was too many ounces.

Once, you packed a manicure scissors in your purse, and TSA confiscated it. Another time, you shoved a gel hand warmer in your ski boot, and they unpacked the whole bag looking for it. Another time – and this was really dumb of you – you packed an eight-piece place setting of silver flatware in your carry-on. It was a wedding present for your son. You can imagine the affect that had on the TSA folks. Knives! They unwrapped the whole package and said it was a good thing the knives weren’t serrated, or they would’ve seized them.

So you worry about what you packed, or didn’t pack. You never worry about the plane crashing. Not this soon, anyway. That happens during takeoff, when you clutch the silver cross around your neck and say a prayer. For some reason, you don’t worry much about landings, even though you’ve been through some pretty rough ones. Go figure.

You pull the quilt up to your neck, turn on your left side (your favorite, and you have the wrinkles to prove it), and try to go back to sleep. The clock says 6:12, and your flight isn’t until 12:30, so you don’t have to leave the house till 10. But your eyes pop open, and you start thinking again. You decide to get up, no point in trying to sleep. Your husband Art is still snoring, because he leaves all the packing – and worrying – to you.

“Don’t over pack!” he always warns. So this time, you tried hard not to. But this is a ski trip, and winter clothes are heavy, so it’s hard to keep it under 50 pounds. Once, your bag was overweight, and you ended up repacking at the airport, stuffing jeans into outside pockets in the carry-on to “make weight,” like a jockey before a race. You don’t want to go through that again.

An hour later, you’ve had coffee and it’s time to get back to work on the packing. You thought it was done last night, so you could have a worry-free morning, but now you’re second guessing yourself. When Art gets up, you tell him it’s time for the weigh-in. He weighs himself (155 pounds), then he picks up the suitcase and steps on the scale. You hold your breath. It’s 212 pounds – 7 pounds overweight. You have to get rid of 7 pounds of clothes.

Jeans are the first to go. One pair of yours, one pair of Art’s. Next, two sweaters. Art climbs back on the scale with the bag: 202 pounds. What can you get rid of that weighs at least 2 pounds?

You dig into the bag and find a pair of your sneakers. You probably didn’t need them anyway. Weigh again. Finally, 199 pounds. Success!

You really wanted to take that sweater and jeans. You had your outfits all figured out for each day. Not skiing outfits – those are pretty much the same every day. But dinner outfits. Art couldn’t care less if he has to wear the same pair of jeans all week, but you’re fussy.

Finally, you zip up the suitcase. Then you put the overflow clothes away. You check the clock: 8:30 a.m. Yikes! How did it get so late? You take a quick shower, relieved you went to the hairdresser yesterday and got a blowout. One less thing to worry about. Art takes a shower next. Lucky him, never having to worry about his hair.

You have both your and Art’s travel outfits all laid out in the guest room, including underwear. You’re nothing if not organized. Not for the first time, you think: Isn’t Art lucky someone else plans the vacations, makes all the reservations, and does all the packing? These are things he takes for granted. He calls you “the vacation planner.” You’re happy to do it, because, bless his heart, he  pays for most of it!

At 9:30, Jimmy, the housesitter/dogsitter arrives. He’s Art’s golf partner and a close friend. He and our dog Sadie are buddies. You go over a few things with him – reminding him what time Sadie eats, showing Jimmy what food you bought for him to eat, telling him when you’ll be home. You feel confident everything will go fine.

It’s so much easier to take a vacation now that Mom is in assisted living and not living with you. Before, you had to have a Mom sitter as well, and there were so many details. Leave the sitter a long list of instructions, make sure Mom’s meds were up to date, worry that Mom would get a UTI or some other illness before you left. Life is so much easier now that someone else is taking care of her.

Art loads the suitcases into the truck, and you head to airport. It’s a 45-minute drive. On the way, you obsess over what you might have forgotten. “Big deal. It’s not like they don’t have stores in Park City. You can buy it there,” Art says. He’s right, but you still worry.

The worst part of the drive is the traffic circle right before the airport. It’s been there a couple years, but people are still confused about how to navigate it. Once, when you were picking up your sister coming from Nashville, you were so nervous driving around the circle, you went to the airport chapel to calm down afterwards. Even Art got goofed up once, to his embarrassment. It put him in a bad mood because men hate to look incompetent driving, even in front of their wives.

Once you arrive at the airport, the next obstacle is finding a spot in the parking garage. Art drives around and around until he finds a spot on the top level.  He hauls the bags out of the truck. He takes the big bag to check; you take the carry-on and the huge purse that you bought just for travelling. You, Art, and the bags roll toward the door to the airport.

You’re excited -- the ski vacation is officially starting!

Except it isn’t. It’s 6:12, February 25, 2021, and there’s still no vaccine for COVID-19. You had a nice dream, but now it’s the real world. You’re afraid to fly, afraid to travel out West, afraid of catching the virus, afraid of being in crowds. You’re in the high-risk group, actually even higher risk, because you’re a year older than when the virus started. You pull the quilt up to your neck, turn over on your left side (your favorite, and you have even more wrinkles to prove it), and go back to sleep.

Maybe next year …