When not picking dandelions in the outfield at kickball, I’ve spent the past few nights sitting on the couch, thinking about blogging. So, finally…
A belated happy birthday to my dad, whom I miss more than I can ever convey, in writing or otherwise. In my dream last night, someone broke into our house, and my dad befriended him, offering him a job delivering packages. This dream can easily be traced back to my paralyzing fear of home invasion, but it also sort of makes sense in that my dad befriended everyone. The leap from random person at Saturday morning mass to fictional burglar isn’t too wide. Anyway, if you read my blog, dad, please just call the police next time. And I love you.
Speaking of dreams, Matt and I used to play the “if you could travel anywhere” game with relative frequency, usually over Chili’s chips and salsa. My anywhere was always Italy… a hologram born of Diane Lane movies and Olive Garden commercials. So when we finally got married and finally had some extra money to put toward a trip, we chose Italy.
More specifically, Rome and Venice. The path to our ultimate departure has been fraught with miscommunication, itinerary changes, unexpected expenses and the anxiety that comes with knowing you’re not as excited as you should be about something you should be excited about. We are worried we’ll get lost. Robbed. Thrown in prison for murder. We’ll run out of money. We won’t pack enough. We’ll pack too much. We’ll miss opportunity, squander time and waste something precious. For two naturally anxious people, it’s all too much to bear.
So I’m trying to be a cheerleader for this trip. We leave Saturday afternoon, and I haven’t packed yet. I mean, I’ve read about packing – tips for throwing away your underwear as you go to leave room for souvenirs. Shit like that. Tonight, I will get real, organizing my folder of tickets and printouts. Stuffing my frame pack full of black dresses, smart sandals and underwear that I will leave strewn about on Venetian streets like a breadcrumb trail, so that when we do get lost or imprisoned, we’ll be able to find our way back home. Hopefully satisfied with our anywhere.
2 comments:
First of all, I feel obliged to offer a simple solution to one of your fears. Surely if you avoid killing anyone, you'll also avoid being imprisoned for it, right? I mean, unless for some reason the Italian mafia decides to conspire against you, in which case my advice is to NOT litter the streets of Venice with your underwear, because let's face it, nothing says "come and get me" like a trail of underwear.
Which brings me to my second point. Sure, leaving underwear behind in order to procure real estate for your beautiful new Venetian glass and Italian shoes makes sense NOW, but what happens when you get home? You want to relax with a glass or three of wine while catching up on your stories, not run over to the Hi-Vee or wherever you people in Omaha go for a package of Hanes bikini briefs, only to then have to wash them because who knows what kind of dyes are in there and the last you need when you go back to work is itchy business.
Clearly, everything will be perfectly fine if you just keep your damn underwear!
Have fun!
Sage advice! I will probably hold onto my stash of Hanes (well, not hold on to them - I'll keep them in my backpack). If anything, I can use them to protect said vases from turbulence, falls, etc. On the prison front, I have my doubts about the lawfulness of the Italian justice system. Let's just say I will only be sticking my nose in things like glasses of wine and cups of melted gelato.
You enjoy your trip as well! Your weather's looking better than ours. We'll have to compare notes at Christmas.
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