Packing for What?

(10/25/22) It's the day before our trip and my bags are almost completely ready to go. Passport…check, Navigo Pass…check, COVID vaccination card…check. Phone power cords, plug adapters, keys to the apartment…check, check, check. Less than 24 hours from now, we will be on the road to Newark International Airport. As Newark is a 3½ -hour drive from our house, but the airport that boasts the best deals on non-stop flights, we will be leaving the car in the long-term parking lot (Economy Parking P6), rather than asking a friend or family member to sacrifice two days of their lives driving us there and back. I have reserved a parking space in advance, thereby saving a few bucks. It’s still more than $300 for the two-week stay, but I don’t know of a cheaper or more convenient way. This is one of the prices we now pay for having moved to the “country,” the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

Packing for a trip for me is always a bit nerve-wracking. I have a tendency to envision the worst – what if we get halfway to the airport and I realize I forgot my passport?? Silly thoughts like that. Once completely packed and miles down the road, I’ll have the uncontrollable urge to check and recheck my purse, my carry-on, even to stretch across to the back seat to check my suitcase, just to reassure myself that it’s all there. Bob normally gets a chuckle out of this, but he also can find my obsessive-compulsive nature a bit “too much.” In any event, I remind myself that if I forget anything, almost anything at all, aside from passport and cell phone, I can get a replacement in Paris. Paris has it all, and from our apartment situated a block off the bustling Rue du Rivoli, it’s all just steps away. As I’m packing toiletries, I soothe my nerves and give myself a little frisson of excitement to think -- well, if we get there and I realize that I forgot moisturizer or mascara, I can always pop into a French boutique or department store, or even the corner pharmacy, to buy myself a new one, one with a tantalizingly exotic label…in French. Despite my anxiety, the packing, after all, is just a part of the thrill of travel.