The Blogher conference is 72 hours away! I’ve checked the weather in Chicago. I’ve got 500 business cards with my new logo (and I’ve even practiced the “quick draw” to get them out of the holder…I kid you not). I’ve borrowed a notebook computer so I can look like the cool kids when it’s time to take notes. I went to the grocery store and stocked up on things G can cook easily when he’s taking care of the kids for four nights. I’ve done the laundry. Twice (darn you, cats).
Now it’s time to pack. And I don’t feel ready.
Whenever I am nervous about going on some new adventure, I recall another piece of travel advice dispensed by Richard many years ago. “They sell underwear in Europe, Ashley.”
Scene: It’s 24 hours before our flight to another country. I’ve got three lists–purse, carry-on, checked bag–and they’re organized by item type. I’m crossing through each item and double-checking. I’ve already got backup copies of my credit cards, passport and insurance cards zipped into the lining of my jacket AND in the inner pocket of my purse. All toiletries are organized in clear containers and ziploc bags, with double bagging around the more gooey items. But I’m still nervous about forgetting something.
Richard, on the other hand, walks to the dryer and pulls out a load of clothes, folds them loosely and slings them into a bag. Zips it up and he’s done.
As I’m dithering about forgetting something, he says, “Let’s go! As long as we have a credit card, we’re good. They sell underwear in Europe.”
It reminded me of the line from Absolutely Fabulous, when Eddy and Patsy are trying to leave on holiday and Eddy keeps running around saying, “Money! Tickets! Passport!” And then she runs out to the car but has to return three times to get…you know. Money. Tickets. Passport.
Overthinking things? Perhaps.
But there was that one time that G and I flew to Brasil with the kids and realized that we had left Vivi’s beloved Pengy in the car. Try scrounging through the Sao Paolo airport in search of a replacement penguin. Or the time Richard and I went to Bermuda with a broken camera (Grant had dropped it while taking pictures of his feet) and came back with three rolls of pictures that cut our heads off. Or the time I needed Imodium RIGHT AWAY in Oxford on a Sunday morning.
What’s your thing that you just can’t travel without?