The reluctant traveler

 

My children on the steps of my childhood home.
1340 Madison Park, Hyde Park/Kenwood, Chicago.
For me, traveling is a bigdamn deal. I do not do it easily. I begin packing a week before departure, andI think of every possible thing I could need—along with every possiblecatastrophe that could happen. It’s amazing, but the older you get, the morestuff you have to take with you. By departure, I am a walking example of highanxiety. And of course I’m one of those who clutch the arm rests in a plane.And when I return home and sleep in my own bed, I breathe a huge sigh ofrelief.

That is not to say that I havenot had some wonderful trips in my long life. A highlight was the ten days thatColin, Megan, and I spent in Scotland. We visited the MacBain Memorial Park inDores (outside Inverness), we walked the Culloden battlefield (not very far—it waswet and cold much of the time we were there), we went to the Isle of Skye andtook a rinky-dink ferry back to the mainland, we visited a castle a day (atColin’s insistence). I ate haggis, though the kids refused to join me. The tripnow is a wonderful memory that I sometimes pull out and relive in my mind.Another highlight: taking all four of my children to Chicago to see where Igrew up—we stayed in a suite on the twelfth floor of the Drake Hotel (a symbolof high luxury when I was a child) with a marvelous view of Lake Michigan andthe North Shore. The kids cheered when we drove under a bridge bearing a signsaying, “Welcome to Hyde Park/Kenwood” and when we stopped in front of mychildhood home, there were astounded exclamations of “Mom!” They expected ashack and found an 1890’s Chicago version of a brownstone. We toured Hyde Parkwith its beautiful old houses and the University of Chicago, where I went toschool. And we ate—and ate—and ate, everything from Berghoff’s to the PalmerHouse, where we had a tour of the hotel and heard about its history. Another memoryI treasure.

I have been to most of the UnitedStates, Canada, two Hawaiian islands, and two island countries in theCaribbean. So it’s not that I haven’t traveled. There are still a few places onmy bucket list—the New England states (I have never been north of the ThousandIslands in New York), Alaska for the salmon. I’d like to go back to thefoothills in North Carolina, where my parents retired, and I’d like to go toChicago again. I’d like to go to New York City to see the New York Alters andhave one of their fabulous tours of the city. I don’t care much aboutCalifornia, except I haven’t been to San Francisco, and now that I have a childin Denver, I’d like to go there. I was once, briefly, in Mexico with a writers’group, but I have no desire to go back, unless I could go to San Miguel.

But now that I rely on awalker for mobility, travel is harder. Jamie wants to take me on across-country train trip, but I don’t think I could handle the physical aspectsof a train (I went to Canada by train a lot as a child and loved it). I get sonervous about flying, that I have pretty much decided I’m not going to flyagain. Besides flying is not the wonderful way to travel it once was, and firstclass is too expensive.

All that said, I am gettingready to travel: about a four-hour car trip to Tomball, Texas, to spendThanksgiving with my oldest son and his family. He, good boy that he is, willcome get me and Sophie tomorrow and bring us home Saturday. The Burtons willhave to hold down the fort alone. I talk to Colin at least once a week, but itwill be good to spend time in his company and I want to catch up with his wifeand two of my grands—Morgan is a freshman at Texas Tech and Kegan is a juniorin high school. And I want to sit by their tiny lake in the evening with aglass of wine and watch the sun set. I even have the spot in the “great room”where I set up my computer.

Easy and wonderful as all thatIs, I still have found for a week or so that travel is on my mind. I makelists, I pack a bit each day, I plan excessively. I tell myself I can’t writeanything significant because—hey!—I’m going on a trip. Once in Tomball, I’llforget all my anxiety, relax, and enjoy being there. And Saturday, when I’mhome again, I’ll be full of good memories and tell myself next time I won’t beso silly. But I will. It’s who I am.