Packing It In - November 2009

I’m a little confused about the whole vacation concept, now that I am retired. What do I need a vacation from, I ask myself. Am I getting away from it all? From what exactly am I escaping?

Confused, but undaunted, I just returned from a trip to the Virgin Islands, a combination of vacation and a chance to see my beloved Rutgers Women’s Basketball team play in the Paradise Jam tournament. Jam it was, as I took this opportunity to jam all the summer clothes I could find, along with appropriate RU athletic attire, into my bag.

I actually packed fairly well this time, exceeding the weight limit by a mere few pounds (I am still talking about the suitcase here, OK?) and I wore everything I packed except for one pair of jeans and a jacket (too hot) and one t-shirt. I added only a few t-shirts to the ever-growing collection and saved hundreds – if not thousands – of dollars by not buying myself anything sparkly and expensive.

Understand that this sudden packing efficiency is not the norm for me, but I am apparently improving in the overpacking department. For example, prior to the St. Thomas trip, I spent a few days last summer at my BFF’s shore house, where she spotted my regular travel-sized suitcase and asked, “Just this one bag?”

“Yes,” I assured her, deliberately not counting the beach bag in the car full of towels, bathing suits and other beach paraphernalia.

My reputation may precede me, but I think it is genetic, since I come from a long line of overpackers.

Once Mom and Dad were preparing for a week’s vacation in the Catskills. Mom had just about finished stuffing the enormous and heavy-when-empty white suitcase when my sister and I pointed out to her than she had yet to pack anything for Dad. She pondered the spatial requirements for a minute before confidently declaring, “I’ll rearrange the shoes.” Trust me, not even a pair of bathing trunks would have made it into that suitcase after the shoes – and plenty of them – were rearranged.

My nephew spent a week at soccer camp in Pennsylvania last summer. He needed all the usual soccer stuff – t-shirts, socks, shorts, shin guards, goalie gloves, etc. I think it took my sister a week to get it all ready to go. I wondered if he was going to soccer camp or if she was shipping him off to military school.

The glamorous aspects of travel are overrated in my mind. Just once I’d like to stroll through the airport carrying nothing but a trashy novel. But instead I cram enough clothing, shoes, supplies, etc., into my luggage to stay for an extra week.

You have to understand that I don’t wear small clothes. Socks, yes, but you won’t find me in a tank top or those tiny little shorts young girls wear. My clothes are like me – substantial. I always get cold, regardless of the destination, so I’ll have at least one sweater, jacket or sweatshirt with me. You never know what the weather is like or where you might be headed, so I pack the “just in case” clothes. I’m ready for a day at the beach or to be the belle of the ball. A few extra outfits, pairs of shoes and underwear might be needed. Just in case.

Since my luggage either won’t fit in the overhead of the plane or I can’t lift it into the space, I check my bags, a costly proposition these days. Even after checking my bags, I still have a carry-on bag with my camera, chargers for the iPod, phone and camera, books and magazines to read on the plane, emergency underwear, toiletries, medication and bathing suit (in case my luggage is lost I can still get to the beach), passport, wallet, travel folder with info and phone numbers, etc. That bag alone is enough to seek chiropractic help.

The only times packing isn’t an issue are if I am driving and can stuff my stuff into the trunk at will or if I am going on a cruise and leaving from New York. Of course, I have to have my own room – just me and the suitcases. Flying anywhere is a challenge. If you travel with other people, just fitting all the suitcases into the car to start the trip is a challenge. Once a friend came to pick me up at the airport in her convertible. No trunk space and a limited backseat forced us to hold the luggage on our laps while we drove. I think she was afraid I was moving in.

That reminds me of the first time my sister allowed my nephew to sleep over at my house. She made at least three trips back and forth from car to house, lugging his overnight bag and extras – stuffed animals (I think he was five at the time, so he took only the VIPs of his animal kingdom), toothbrush, blankie, side rail for the bed (and that was after she insisted I reposition it against the wall), chocolate milk, and on and on. She tried to reassure me by saying, “Don’t worry. We are planning to pick him up tomorrow.”

I can’t imagine what it must be like to travel with kids. I’d probably pack the teddy bears and forget the bathing suits. All those tiny clothes, enough to open a small children’s store. I’m afraid I’d fail miserably.

These days, I am more accustomed to a “staycation” with only occasional days or nights any place other than home. Even so, in the summer time, you should see the collection of pool towels and related items amassed in the sunroom. There are hats, cover-ups, shorts, sunscreens of various SPF strengths, to say nothing of the full pool regalia – pool shoes, gloves and flotation belt, which all, worn together, make a unique fashion statement. All I need are goggles and a bathing cap, preferably one with a large rubber flower on the side (Esther Williams, eat your heart out).

But at least I wouldn't have to pack.