On a long journey, even a straw weighs heavy.

Spanish Proverb

Recently, I traveled from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia to the Green Mountains of Vermont. What prompted the trip was the launch of my edition of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman’s Green Mountain Stories, first in Burlington and then in Brattleboro. Don’t worry. I won’t recap the book or its launches. Neither is the point of this post.

Something unusual happened while I was packing for my journey. I’ve been wondering about it ever since.

Even though I was going to be away for ten days, I managed to pack everything that I needed into one small suitcase (laundered and folded shirts; boxers; socks; handkerchiefs; bathrobe; and toiletries); one thin garment bag (a lightweight blazer; a pair of dress trousers; several pairs of chinois; flip flops; and a pair of loafers); and my book bag (laptop; books; portfolio with notepad; pens; and index cards).

I was pleased with my efficiency. I could grab my suitcase and book bag in one hand and my garment bag in the other and be on my way. I had room to spare in the backseat of my Jeep Gladiator, especially since my dog Ruby was staying in her own room at our local pet spa.

This was my first solo research/scholarly trip in two decades.

Until this time, my late partner Allen had always gone with me on all of my scholarly speaking engagements, research journeys, and conferences. The details started bubbling up from the depth of memory to the surface of now.

All of those “aways” were professional, but Allen and I always did our best to make them memorable vay-kays.

Packing was totally different then, and we each did our own thing.

I was never quite certain what I might be called upon to do professionally on these trips, and, like most Scorpions, I have a moody side. So I had to pack at least one suit–sometimes two–plus several sports jackets with matching trousers; two dress belts (black and brown); at least a half dozen dress shirts and as many or more silk ties; boxers; socks; two pair of dress shoes (black and brown); and handkerchiefs.

That would cover professional events. But hey! We’re on vay-kay. What about play clothes?

I’m just as fashionably moody in that clothing category, too. Khakis. Blue jeans. Long- and short-sleeved shirts. Lightweight sweaters. Penny loafers.  Sneakers. Athletic socks. OMG.  What if we go hiking? Hiking boots. Hiking poles. Backpack. Well, you see where this is going. Right?

Yeah. You probably do. But keep in mind that I haven’t even gotten to my cosmetics. Hairspray. Facial cleanser. Astringent. Skin cream. Shaving lather. Razors. Deodorant. Nail clippers. Files. Emory boards. And what’s a vay-kay without a facial? Peel-off masks. Clay masks. Charcoal masks. Body scrub. Sun screen. Toothpaste. Dental floss. Mouthrinse. OMG. I nearly forgot my hairbrush and comb. Thank God I remembered those. After all, even strangers remember me for the hair that I don’t have enough of, really, to brush or to spray. But I have lots of memories, so I keep brushing and spraying. Those were the days, my friends.

But let me get back to Allen and his packing. He never worried too much about the professional attire. Since he and I wore the same size clothes, he figured that if I wasn’t wearing it, he could, especially since he liked my dress clothes.

But when it came to play clothes, if my Scorpionic moodiness made me pack a lot, his Piscean moodiness made him pack a lot more, usually a lot more new threads that he always loved to buy for our vay-kays.

Luckily, he could pack his cosmetics in a small leather toiletry bag while telling all of our friends–and even rank strangers–that we always pulled one U-Haul for my cosmetics and another U-Haul just for my hairspray.

Sure. Of course. Allen had his own quirky things that he had to pack up and bring, too. So that I can have my own touché moment, I’ll tell you all about them right now, My Dear Readers. But please don’t share these secrets with strangers, rank or otherwise. First and foremost, he had to bring an electric fan–not to cool us off but to create white noise while we slept. Second, and almost as important as the first, were our pillows. No other pillows in the world would satisfy him like our own. Shrink packaging helped, but those four king-sized pillows added to the total weight of everything that we were packing. Third, e[x][r]otic massage oil. (Well, maybe we’ll need the electric fan after all. Just saying.)

If we happened to be packing for a trip somewhere where we had rented a VRBO home–as we preferred doing whenever we could–we knew that we would be cooking dinner upon arrival. Whatever we were having for that first evening’s meal would fit into the cooler, along with whatever “special” cut of meat we would have for a special vay-kay dinner while away. Toss in the spices, condiments, wine, limes, tonic water, and Bombay Sapphire Gin. Now, we’re all packed and ready to go. (Not to worry. I didn’t forget our favorite cast iron skillet.)

OMG! I forgot the dogs! Never two at once. First Hazel during most of the years that Allen and I were together. Then, Ruby, during Allen’s final three years. Each dog had the same requirements. Food. Treats. Food dish. Water dish. Blanket. Brush. Toys. Leash. Poop bags. Space to curl up and lie down.

By the time we got everything packed into my Jeep–usually a two-door Wrangler–we inevitably started our journey with no small degree of surprise that we had managed to get everything packed into the Jeep while still leaving space for our furry, four-legged best friend.

When we arrived, wherever it happened to be that we were going, we were always ecstatic to get unpacked and settled in. (Thank God for Gin & Tonics, e[r][x]otic massage oil, and the electric fan.)

Regardless of how often we traveled–usually two or three journeys a year–as we unpacked, our eyes would lock on one another, and we would break into riotous laughter as we discovered that each of us–unbeknownst to the other–had packed candle sticks, candles, cocktail glasses, Venetian glass cocktail stirs, wine glasses, linen napkins,  pewter flatware, and China service for two.

Now, I can’t help but wonder and wonder and wonder about all of those journeys. What magic made those heavy suitcases feel as light as a feather?