Ms. Lavigne (a Canadian, appropriately enough) recorded that song in 2002. She was 18 years old. I vaguely (very vaguely) remember being 18 years old. That was a time when I could’ve thought ... “wow, I’d really like to go backpacking in the Rockies ... think maybe I’ll throw a few things in a frame pack and head out in a couple of hours”. Granted, at that point in my life I probably wouldn’t have had the money to actually MAKE such a trip, but the mechanics of going and doing it would’ve been relatively uncomplicated (provided the Chevette could’ve made it that far).
Pushing forward a few years, I do most definitely remember being 24, putting a couple of backpacks, two sleeping bags, a big Prince tennis bag filled with clothes, and maybe a couple of ice chests in the back of my truck and leaving Tucson (with Paige) on a Saturday morning at 6 a.m. Just over 16 hours (and 1,000 miles) later we pulled into Pocatello, Idaho with less than 500 miles standing between us and our destination in northern Montana / southern Alberta. On that trip we alternated between sleeping in the back of the truck (under the camper shell) and finding decent places with hot showers. Was there a little planning? Yeah, because we were super-excited about it. But serious preparation?? Not hardly.
Push forward 19 years and we have worked non-stop for ten days in an attempt to “be ready” to drive to Austin after lunch today to get on an airplane. It’s gotten to be a bit of a joke at this point, given all of the long trips that we’ve taken and how many times we’ve found ourselves in this situation. What, precisely, entails “getting ready”? One would think that it shouldn’t be QUITE so complicated, particularly since we have a couple of young, able-bodied, highly responsible housesitters (thank you muchly, Sarah and Rebecca) who will be handling things while we’re gone. And by and large that is true. But because we HAVE housesitters, the house itself has to be clean enough (a) so that we won’t be embarrassed to have them stay here and (b) so that everything will be OK if by some strange twist of Fate the Queen Mother and the Pope happen to stop by ... and decide that they would like to experience High Tea, Texas-style ... and decide, further, that they would like for their crumpets to be served on a toilet seat taken from a randomly selected bathroom. Just how crazy do things get around here in pre-trip mode? Well, Paige actually cleaned out the dreaded “utility” drawer by the telephone in the kitchen last night and even straightened her walk-in as well. No, I am not kidding. We couldn’t remember what color the carpet in there was, but as it turns out it’s blue (just like the carpet in the Master Bedroom, which makes sense). And me? Our two-car garage now actually houses two cars (very comfortably, I might add), plus the massive storage areas under both sets of staircases in the house are now completely cleaned out and organized. Are any of these things vital to our having a successful trip to the Canadian Rockies? Ummmm ... no.
Admittedly, a good deal of our extensive preparations stem from the fact that we are, in fact, traveling with (i.e., packing for / with) four largely helpless kids ... and that if we complete, say, seven units of cleaning in a given day, two or three of the kids are guaranteed to have taken back at least three of those units by nightfall. It’s a little like Gettysburg ... there’s not much doubt about which side is going to win, but that doesn’t keep Pickett from making his Charge. The fact that we have to pack with Type 1 Diabetes, asthma, and growth hormone deficiency in mind doesn’t make things any easier, either. Our medical kits are not to be trifled with. And of course we do have to make absolutely certain that Sarah and Rebecca know exactly what to do with two Labradors, two guinea pigs, and a hermit crab. But at the end of the day, the only real explanation I can come up with is that most of these cleaning and organizing compulsions -- just like creaky joints, an expanding waistline, and Swiss cheese memory -- simply come with age. Before you know it I’ll be pulling my shorts up to my chest and shaking my fist at those young whippersnappers who insist on cutting across the edge of my lawn ...
At about 1:00 today, we’ll load up in the van, go get a hamburger somewhere, and drive to the Austin airport. But if that laaaaaaaaaaaaast bit of laundry isn’t being folded or countertops aren’t being wiped down “just one last time” at 12:59, I will dress in drag and do the hula. Why? Because to quote my favorite line from Babe, “that’s just the way things are ...”
As is customary, I’ll use this space to touch base every day or two while we’re away. In the meantime, if we die in a big fiery ball somewhere between here and Seattle (or thereafter), it’s been real.
Peace,
Mike
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