I sat down no less than *eyes roll back, tallying* oh, at least eight times to write something yesterday, but I would get nine minutes into a post and my computer would just shut down. Didn't matter if I was connected to the internet or not. And for some reason, no matter how many times it happened, it surprised the snot out of me when it happened AGAIN. Every time, I would jump like someone stuck me with a cattle prod, which the birds all interpret as "Momma's dancing-must be time to do the Good Morning, Jesus song" which of course necessitated doing the Good Morning Jesus song even though by that time it was well into the afternoon. I'm sure the neighbors thought I was having a revival over here what with all the stomping and clapping and little bursts of feathers flying out the sliding glass door.
HA. Another case of need to pay attention when I'm writing. I was all ready to count the number of 'sleeps' (28, count'em, TWENTY EIGHT. FOUR SHORT WEEKS!) until I leave for our trip when I sat down here, but I got distracted. Musta got sidetracked by something shiny.
Anyway, twenty eight days. I am all packed and ready to go, of course, but there is a nightly 'refining' of the contents of both my everso groovy new Samsonite and my 'personal item'... *watches the monitor bounce as she giggles uncontrollably* *considers all of her personal items* *and their contents* *blushes*...Um...Where was I?
Oh, yes. Packing. Part of the challenge of packing in this case is that we will be dealing with two very different climates, so I have to take things that I can layer in Amsterdam but that can be worn separately for the more moderate temperatures in Barcelona. Fortunately for me, my mother never throws anything away as far as shoes and clothes go. She doesn't have closets full of clothes, she has ROOMS full. I went over yesterday to try on a pair of slacks she had found for me and ended up coming home with several mix and match outfits as well as two very groovy pairs of boots, one pair that hasn't even been worn. How I think I'm going to manage to wedge all of this into what is essentially a carryon bag I have no idea. I keep thinking of Anne Frank's family wearing five layers of clothing as they left their home to go into hiding, and see myself getting on the plane looking like the Michelin Man-but with very manageable baggage.
The thing that gets me is that no matter what I pack, I will come home with clothes I never wore. It never fails. We only do carryon luggage-kind of hard for the airline to lose your stuff if you don't ever give them the chance. Each trip, I pare down what goes into the bag, swearing to take only the bare minimum, and I still end up taking too much. *looks at the purty boots all lined up expectantly*
Poor things. I have a feeling I'm going to have to break it to them that they are domestic shoes, not cleared for international travel. But not yet. You never know. The only thing constant is change.
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