Packing

A trip is a journey or an excursion, but it can also be a stumble or misstep. To avoid the latter, I bought a copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette, which confirmed my strengths as a guest:

I am quiet and don’t have any food allergies.

I’m not a heavy or light sleeper, an early or late riser.

I don’t get cold easily.

I am not good at “curling up.” I’ve never been comfortable putting my feet on another person’s sofa.

I like wine and you never have to make me decaf.

I don’t need ice cream, fudge, taffy, or a T-shirt to feel like I’ve been somewhere.

I take a professional interest in botanical gardens and arboretums, obviously, but that doesn’t mean I must see them everywhere I go. They’re not always as good as people think they are.

I enjoy seeing a good river, but I’ve never climbed an observation tower that wasn’t a waste of time.

I like zoos and aquariums in the presence of a child, but small museums make me nervous.

My friends had all referred to “catching up” and I wanted to do that, probably while “curling up,” but I wondered, is that when you ask the questions you can only ask the people who have known you longest? When do you say, What do you remember? What was I like? Was I nice? I hate the word nice, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. It seems to me that your oldest friends can offer a glimpse of who you were from a time before you had a sense of yourself and that’s what I’m after. When do you say, I know you probably have better friends, but my father is old, my brother is absent, and I need to know who is near.

What I packed: two pairs of jeans, one dress, more shoes than I’d probably need, several tank tops, cardigans, and scarves (because layering is to travel as tuning is to music), the Emily Post, the usual underthings and toiletries, a flashlight, and a thermos.