You know you’ve reached the age of mental saturation when, in spite of everything that’ll be happening between now and New Year’s Day, your major concern isn’t whether you’ll take the Polar Plunge into the sea to welcome in the new year, but where and when you’ll manage to change into your bathing suit and wading slippers. As an enthusiastic alumnus of Outward Bound, I know I can handle the excruciating momentary agony of the Atlantic Ocean in January. It might even stimulate the production of some healthful hormones. But for a long-limbed, arthritic old man, a complete costume change in the confines of the front passenger seat of a Kia Soul while tooling through Boston traffic, presents a severe logistical challenge.
See what I mean? Holidays have become less and less opportunities to spend time with a beloved traveling companion than challenges to show up where I need to, when I need to, with all the stuff I need to have with me. The potential for screwups is forever before me. Not to mention foul weather and airline schedule changes.
On one hand lie the major possible problems. The weather and storm god Thor, for example, has in recent years become a bit kittenish at vacation time. Last Christmas, he stopped up most of North America, scattered lost luggage across the floors of airline terminals from Phoenix to Detroit, and stranded perhaps thousands of families in wailing bunches from Tacoma to Savannah. He stranded us, too, in a seaside home in Massachusetts, where we took it personally, but made the best of it. There were no flights to be had, but by Christmas Day, the high-tide seawater had retreated from the causeway linking us to the mainland, and we were able to get ashore; so we dined that day at Chi Modern Asian Cuisine in Swampscott. Many of our fellow citizens dined less happily in airport waiting rooms.
Then there are mid-size problems, easy to create, but difficult or impossible to solve. Forgotten photo identification, sitting at home in a drawer (I just dug out my passport as I typed that). A broken wheel on a rolling suitcase. A cellphone with your contact numbers left in a cab. It does no good to remember, as these problems crop up, how trouble-free it used to be to travel in the good old days. You’re cooked, at least temporarily. And if we’re honest, we know that there weren’t any good old days.
The little glitches? They don’t stop you; they just make your travel less pleasant. I have to remember to put my dopp kit into my carry-on luggage. In the event that my checked bag goes to Tucumcari while I go to Des Moines, I still need my toothbrush and prescription pills. I also carry with me always a tiny Swiss Army pen knife (used in antiquity for sharpening quill pens, but now for opening envelopes and recalcitrant peanut bags). It’s been deemed a dangerous weapon, so now must go — along with nail clippers, submachine guns and my AR–15 — into my checked luggage. The logo of L.L. Bean must be turning up in quite a few security check junk piles. I can only hope I’ve made my last contribution.
It’s likely that the old Norse weather-maker is irked by the efforts of us mortals to avoid the snags and snares he lays out for us. What am I to do, he asks himself, if this clod refuses to forget his passport or photo ID? What if he has his credit card safe in his pocket? There must be some monkey wrench I can throw into his plans.
For my part, it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ve gotten pretty good at the details surrounding even a fairly long absence from home. But the other fellow, who can create chaos out of order at a moment’s notice, has had thousands of years of experience. He’ll think of something, probably a plural of somethings.
This is how Thor thinks: “He’s got to do a performance of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” the night before he leaves? Perfect! Let’s give him a good hard head cold, drippy nose and hoarse voice. If that doesn’t suffice to put the kibosh on his plans, let’s have a low-pressure warning flash on his dashboard. The tires are fine, but he’ll spend about an hour looking. And just for fun, let’s have Siri quit responding to his voice commands on his phone. That’ll drive him absolutely bonkers!”
My response: “Thanks, you miserable old Viking. Now, hold my beer. I’ve got to get to the post office, the bank and the gas station before showing up at the theater. Then I’ve got to start practicing changing out of my duds and into my bathing suit in the front seat of the car. Hold my towel, too, while you’re at it. Merry Christmas!”
Willem Lange is a regular contributor to the Weekend Magazine. He lives in East Montpelier.
Willem Lange is a regular contributor to the Weekend Magazine. He lives in East Montpelier.
