John always gets tense when I start to pack. He doesn't want to do it himself, but he always has a fit thinking it won't all fit in the car. He sees the lists; he sees the folded clothing; he starts acting like Billy Goat Gruff. "Clip Clop Clip Clop. Who's that piling more stuff on my" ....you get the idea.
So how many books do I need for a month on the road? Does the guitar absolutely have to come along? (Yes...) The snack bag will certainly fit in, but that yarn bag might be too big. Now I had to make things worse by telling him we'd actually need jackets and rubber soled shoes to go sailing on the tall ships in Bar Harbor. (In August?) and sheets and towels for the cabin in Wisconsin. I think he should be locked out while I pack. Once it's in the bags, it's obviously manageable, and he just has to play Sherpa, hauling things in and out, loading and unloading. He's very cheerful about that. It's just watching me do my part that drives him nuts.
Tomorrow that part will end, and on Thursday we'll be "on the road again," singing and laughing, listening to baseball games on XM, and audio books on the iPod, taking side trips and photos, making memories and leaving footprints. We're both good at that part.
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