What Would Columbus Do?

Us in Hudson Valley, NY

Steve Ricks

My husband and I get around a lot, and people compare us to travel expert Steve Ricks, Agent 007, and even Christopher Columbus.  Bags always packed, we're ready to leave on a moment’s notice.
  

That's what they think, but get real.
 

It takes time to pick up prescriptions, grab those small cans of hair spray, mousse, miniature bottles of shampoo, conditioner, facial cleanser, and the list keeps growing.  Would a quarter tube of toothpaste last for both of us over 17 days?  I throw it in, and then worry, and buy another.  Did I forget any makeup, some of my creams, or toner?

Jesus, the list used to be short because I used to need nothing, but now I need everything, or I might just need everything 'cause you never know.   I stare at the shoes I packed--hiking, tennis, Tevas, water sandals, flipflops, slippers, and a little something for evening.  

Christopher Columbus

 What did I forget?                                                                 

Columbus made it over to America and what did he bring?  And what did Lewis and Clark pack along?  Nobody invented polyester back then, or Goretex or microfiber, or half the other stuff that “wicks away sweat.”  But how often did their mothers tell them to change underwear, every third new moon or All Saints Day?

Thankfully, I always bring my own bottle of Woolite and skip TV—too busy watching my clothes drip-dry in front of me.

“It's all on how you organize," I tell strangers, trying to keep the myth alive to those who don't know me.

Good thing our new travel group didn’t see us a few hours earlier when I went ballistic at airport security because my husband walked off with my purse, and I thought somebody took it, and he thought somebody took it because he forgot he was carrying it!   It wasn’t until a guard pointed to the bag securely wrapped around my husband's shoulder that we both stopped and stared. 

Lewis and Clark

But all that’s forgotten.    

We’re settled now, looking relaxed, or pretending to, and morphed this past week into Lewis and Clark, hop-scotching to Puerto Rico as guests of a destination wedding.  Wedding done, we were off to explore the rain forest.

Before breakfast I dropped my cellphone into my husband’s backpack to make sure I wouldn’t forget it. (Course nobody ever called me there).  When we returned, I added insect repellent and granola bars to the bag.  Bob slipped on the backpack and started to the door. 

I stopped.  “Wait.  Where’s my phone?”   

Bob immediately called my number from his.  Everywhere he walked the phone rang.  “Gotta be in the bathroom,” he said, until he stepped back into the bedroom and it continued to sound.  We searched everywhere—the bed, the dresser, the mirror, the lamp.   The phone was omnipotent.

“The backpack,” I finally remembered.  (Today I blame it on haste--or I hate to admit, those damn senior moments).  He retrieved it from his shoulders, and I clipped it onto my belt.
We were too embarrassed to laugh.
 

But at the moment I'm composed, ready to wrangle with Columbus.  Did his wife pack him only one set of underwear?   Fine with me.  It's a personal challenge.  I’m skipping Walgreens but keeping my bottle of Woolite.