Introit 15 October 2013
Many months ago we contracted the Oaxaca house this year from
November 15. Planning to drive down, we committed ourselves to a two day
talk-fest in Arkadephia AK on October 26-27th and we tentavized an
event in Sewanee TN on the 18th. So even though in Kingston the
frost is not yet on the pun’kin, the maples out along stone wall in back of the
house are wearing more green than red, the last planting of snap peas are just
beginning to pod and the pole beans are still producing a potful every two
days, it was time to fold it down and go.
Over the last two weeks Linda and I have made the rounds of
doctors A, B, C, and D and got all the relevant body parts prodded, measured,
assayed, cleaned, and tinkered with. We were granted the medical nihil obstats (though a couple of them
had codicils) that we interpreted as a mandate to continue planning. We
successfully—eventually—badgered the insurance companies to authorize the
poundage of pills we need to get us through the next six months. We let the
banks and credit card companies know where we will be and when so that they
will not, in the interest of caution, suddenly stop payment on our accounts
when a claim for a breakfast in Tamazunchale or a hotel in Ixtapan de la Sal
pops up on their computer. We returned library books, took off-line our various
items for sale, matched portable electronic devices for the trip with their correct
umbilical recharging cords, packed the freezer tight and emptied the fridge.
A week ago we printed off the most recent version of the
car-packing list (it has been evolving, trip by trip, since at least our drive
to Panama in ... ’93?). Boots, Keenes, six pairs of socks, four pairs of gloves
for Linda, two formal shirts, NO ties ... a peeler and serrated knife for the
picnic kit, compass and corkscrew, some clothes pins ...
Over the years, as our meds and appliances have expanded,
our vehicles have shrunk from Dodge Caravans to a Honda CRV. Still, our cargo
needs tend to balance out. We used to pack a stack of CDs; now we load five
thousand songs and a few audio books onto an I-pod that plays over our car
radio. Though we used to have to truck a couple of boxes of research files and
photocopies of documents, now we only slip a couple of flash drives into our pocket;
and some of the documents we use are available digitized on line. Too bad the
zip drives won’t hold my binoculars, field guides, telescope and tripod; and
it’s too bad we can’t digitize the five or six miles of yarn that Linda is
planning to knit into scarves and sweaters and tunics.
It is always the same equation that stymies us: CLW + I = 1.5CS (where CLW are Can't-Live-Withouts, I
are Impedimenta, and CS is Cargo Space). Once we have assembled all the
proposed lugalongs —David in his study, Linda in the bedroom, and both of us on
every flat surface in the house, we begin a week of intensive negotiation. Four
shirts instead of five? One packet of matza-ball mix instead of two? Maybe
instead of a coat, a thicker sweater to wear under the windbreaker? Do we
really need shoes? For both feet?
Except for overnight bags, we’ve long since given up on
suitcases, preferring to pack instead into transparent plastic storage boxes.
Four of them 2 x 2, fit snugly into the back of the CRV along with an umbrella,
the red triangle, and the fold-up sun shade for the dashboard. The picnic box
and the map box, both transparent plastic, sit on the back seat. Any curious
eyes that peer into the car, whether or not they have larceny on the mind, can
see immediately that David & Linda are carrying nothing worth stealing.
Meds, electronics, toiletries, and the like, hide in the overnight bags and go
into the hotel with us every night. And, after all, when it comes down to it,
our drafts and key data are in the cloud, the pills that keep me alive are in
my pocket, and all the rest is just things.
Departure minus two days we vacuumed the car for the first
time in at least 6 months: Linda found an onion ring that she believes had gone
missing in April. Departure minus one day we combed through the house one more
time, washed the last load of laundry, set the timers on the lamps in three
rooms, and, so as not to soil the kitchen, went over to our liver-in-laws for
dinner of veggie leftovers.
Tuesday morning, October 15, at only seven minutes past our
proposed launch time of 8:00, we closed the back hatch of the CRV, turned right
out of the driveway, and pointed the car at Mexico. Southern Rhode Island’s
fall color was at its peak, but there was a hint of winter nip in the air. A
couple of monarch butterflies floated past us, headed for the coast, dreaming
of the pine-covered mountains of Angangueo in Michoacán.
Posted in Cape May, New Jersey, October 16.
David & Linda
