Dealing with the Stuff of Travel

Dealing with the Stuff of Travel

My start into packing for Armenia was bright and breezy, full of confidence and a sense of abundance. The assumptions underlying this sunny approach turned out to be incorrect. "We are allowed two bags, right?" I asked Denise. Her reply was unfortunately, "I don't know."

Oops. Upon actual investigation via the Delta website I just got confused, very confused. Someone has worked long and hard on that website creating charts about baggage allowances, depending on class of ticket, origin and destination, whether one traveler is blue-eyed or a frequent flyer. It was too much for me. I was happy to get Mary on the phone who explained it all to me in English while looking at my actual itinerary. Unfortunately the news was  not great.

No, we are not allowed more than one free checked bag on international flights when we fly in steerage (I don't want to get Mary in trouble--she didn't call it steerage.). Just one and not to exceed 50 lbs., plus one carry-on and one personal item (aka laptop case). My thoughts immediately ran to a complete re-thinking of the packing already done. Then I discovered that the pain of a second bag (at least going TO Armenia, where the Delta rules apply) is only $56 IF I check it in on line. The price goes up if I wait until I get to the airport. So now I am back to breezy and thinking two bags.

A work in progress. The rugs are not going.

Coming back is another story and information is not available as to the potential damage for having excess baggage. This is because our return trip involves a stopover in London (I hope you are still with me in this labyrinth) and the Delta rules don't take over until we leave London. Thus, leaving Armenia on Air Armavia, we are limited to one checked bag not to exceed 70 lbs. So fewer items but twice as heavy? Does this make sense? Is it going to matter if it makes sense?

DiploDaughter tells me to face it and get over it now. It will cost what it will cost to get out of Armenia with the stuff we have. This brings back nightmarish memories of traveling within China as if we were playing by international rules. Unfortunately internal flights have much smaller baggage allowances, it turns out. So all the great bargains I had found shopping in every big city and byway I came to in China were eliminated by the excess baggage charges to get the junk around China on our otherwise spectacular trip to Xian, home of the terra cotta warriors. It took away a little of the charm of finding stuff in China I could have bought in any Chinatown in the US, probably cheaper. So lesson learned. No cheap tschotkes from Armenia unless they are going to be within whatever damage will be inflicted anyway. In other words, some excess is probably necessary but there are limits.

Back to the packing and decisions such as as whether to take the hot water bottle. I don't want to buy another one. This one I had to buy in a very cold Salzberg for too much money several years ago. On the other hand, it is unlikely to be very cold while I am away and when we get to London the flat is likely to have one. It's not going.

The Value of Procrastination

Quite an accomplishment

Two weeks from departure. Lots of lists of to-dos but I don't seem to be able to DO the items on the list. Procrastination, though, produces some interesting results. Yesterday I started the process of cutting back the garden, for example. Yes, it is only mid-August and the tomatoes have not ripened yet. But before I leave for the fall I need to take down most of the garden as I would if I were here in late October. So why not start now while I avoid other more pressing but potentially more difficult tasks? In no time at all, dressed in a skirt and nice shell and flats (with earrings), I filled a Vermont cart full. Obviously dressed like that it was an unplanned achievement. And there is nothing to cross off the list because taking down the garden is not even on the list.

Then there is the wardrobe cleanout. This started as a  legitimate task, which was considering what to pack for this journey. Now my normally tidy bedroom looks like a tornado hit it--clothes and shoes everywhere, a pile of scarves here, and a big bag of clothes that is headed for the thrift shop. I keep finding things I think I need to take--like my knit sleeveless shells in every imaginable color. Seriously? Do I need all of them? I think to myself, "But how else am I going to spice up all the black," and I end up in a quandary. If experience is worth anything, I know I can take a medium sized suitcase and a carry on and live out of them for two-plus months. I have done it before. But the road between my messy bedroom and rolling out the door is a rough one. At some point my need for order is going to kick in and the packing will be done in no time, making me wonder what was the value of the obsessing over it for so long and putting up with this clutter? There is value, though. I know it. I just have not deciphered yet what it is.

I am having nightmares about being lost--one of my favorite ways of processing anxiety. You know the type--you can't find the hotel room to which you've been assigned and the hotel is one of those with towers that don't connect and it is partially under reconstruction, or you are driving on roads that seem familiar but are somewhere like Texas rather than Vermont and you can't quite find Route 12, which you know will get you home. When I wake up it takes a cup of coffee to get myself out of the dream. I feel exhausted.

Today I am having a little MOHS surgery to remove a squamous cell on my nose. I honestly don't think this is at the root of the anxiety. The cancer is contained. The surgeon will not let me go home until he has all of it (one great thing about MOHS surgery!) and knows he has all of it right then and there. Besides, I am getting a pedicure beforehand.

Irene an Bill enjoying breakfast at the Coffee Corner

In the back of my mind, I am becoming aware that I am putting off a call I must make before I leave.  For two months now I have been promising my parents that I will call the local funeral home and make some "pre" arrangements for them according to their wishes. All fine. Nothing has changed in their plans for years. But I am not making that call. I think about my sister and I both being gone from Vermont and what I will do in the event one of them dies while we are away. They are both remarkably healthy, so I don't really expect this to happen, but true to my usual M.O., I need a plan. I would come home but it would not be instantly and a protocol has to be worked out. The churning in my stomach confuses me. They have both lived good and long lives. My mom is tired. As she says (lots of baseball analogies and metaphors in our family), "I've had my turn at bat." Dad mostly doesn't say anything on this subject. His issue at the moment is whether he should keep driving at age 92.


Okay, so with this awareness some of the anxiety mystery is enlightened. My stomach may be churning but I will make the call, knowing that whenever I lose them in this life I will have them always with me. Back to the lists.