Travel or Travail

The excitement and dread of it.  Driving to unknown territory in Pennsylvania.  Five days away from my family.  Loneliness and euphoria all mixed up together.  The pain of packing.  Will it be hot or cold?  Will I get lost?  Will Hurricane Earl sweep me away?

Here's what I'm bringing:

• coffee
• electric kettle
• plastic cone
• filters
• mug

I'm staying in a very nice hotel that probably serves coffee, but unless I have a certain kind of hair-on-your-chest French Roast, I am not fit to meet the day.

I'm also bringing:

• clothes
• toiletries
• umbrella
• 2 notebooks
• 4 pens
• 18 books

I'm not bringing my computer.  Without "The Screened Beast" my little hotel room will take on the ambiance of a retreat cell.  The cleansing quality of a Lenten Fast.  What do you mean I don't need 18 books on a retreat?

I'll bring my credit card and some money for food and potential non-caffeine liquid necessities.  I'll call my husband every night because I miss him even though I want to get away, but I miss him.  I won't call my son because he's 17 and I don't think that's the way these things work.  But when I get home I'll kidnap him and take him out for hot chocolate and cannoli.  I'll ruffle his marvelous red hair and tell him how much I missed him.