Datebook: Monday, July 30th ~ 2007

Packing is really an art form.

There are various components to it that range from how to pack, what to pack, and what to pack it in.

Some people pack each item in a thin sheet of plastic to prevent wrinkles and others roll their clothes so they look like ham and cheese pinwheel hour devours. I, of course, use a variety of these methods and invent my own—I keep my clothes in the plastic from the cleaners and I roll my socks and underwear and keep them as far away from my shoe bottoms as possible—I’m not sure why except I have a phobia of having a dirty shoe outline imprinted on the back of my ladies briefs—maybe it is just too symbolic. The rest is in a kind of “Squatters Rights” arrangement.

Truthfully, my suitcase looks neat and orderly until it is time to put in the afterthoughts.

The afterthoughts are the extra part of black pants, a sweater, another short or long-sleeved top, and tennis shoes and work-out gear in case I fall and hit my head and wake up with amnesia and think I have a daily exercise routine (Otherwise they are good accent pieces—much like a candle-- to leave around the room in case a judge or skater walks by as your door is open and looks in—it gives the impression the whole family is into ‘going for the burn’). These items I generally stuff in through a partially unzipped opening while the suitcase is in an upright position.

The end result is that upon arrival my bag always looks like the authorities had the drug dogs go through my luggage looking for contraband—seriously, I found a tennis ball in my Samsonite upon arrival in Portland, how else could it have got there?

I love to go to events that do not require air travel because I can just keep adding piles in the car in shopping bags or in the various patterns and sizes of Vera Bradley totes that I’ve accumulated through the years. I don’t have to stick to the plan of what I packed to wear as I can take extras—something I can’t do if I am flying because I have to keep spare room for my daughter’s ‘essentials’.

My daughter’s partner’s mom is a genius when it comes to packing.

Seriously, she could hold seminars. Last year she went to Europe with one small, carry-on-type piece of luggage. Each day she displayed a clean, fresh, outfit that she zapped from its little spot in her Mary Poppins-like bottomless bag, and came to the lobby each day as if she were a walking advertisement for Travel-Smith magazine.

I, on the other hand, went to breakfast on the second day with a sock stuck on the back of my blouse from all of the static.

I also never plan for the return packing. Some people fold and pack the dirty clothes in their suitcase for the trip home. I know this makes more sense, but I tend to treat the return packing like I do the hamper at home—“off and toss”. If my husband saw that you can fold dirty clothes and make neat piles he might insist that we all start doing that everyday at home—he might insist that we mate dirty socks and fold them together before placing them gently with like colors in the clothes hamper, that we fold dirty towel corners together to form a military square before stacking them in the used bin.

As it is, he occasionally is the one to open my suitcase when I return home.

“Did your suitcase sit out in the rain today?”

“No, why”?

“I don’t know, the clothes seem a little damp.”

“Oh, that’s probably just from the dogs…it’ll wash out.”

Mombo