Packing

Packing Implies Compression

I write this from the sunny clime of Jacksonville beach, from a balcony overlooking the mighty Atlantic, whose waves roll in and roll out, as they have with timeless patience, beating the shore with a calming shush and rush, and have thus beaten since long before I was born, or humans walked the earth, and will continue to la-dee-dah-dah-doo-dah-dah and you can fill in the rest yourself.

Yesterday in the AM, Nancy and I completed our packing and set off from Atlanta.  Packing is an interesting word for what we did.  "To pack" implies compression, that the quantity and dimensions of things have been constrained by a limited volume of space.

For a three-day trip, mind you, Nancy and I each brought our own suitcase, plus a computer bag apiece - each with a laptop and an Ipad, plus a coffee-maker, beach chairs, and beach umbrella, a sand-screw for planting the umbrella, a beach bag, another thermal beach bag for carrying drinks, snorkles, masks, sunglasses, hats, a cooler, and - I know I'm leaving something out, but I darned if I'll go take inventory to tell you what it was.

Oh, wait, I just remembered.  Nancy's pocketbook, which itself doubles as a substantial piece of luggage.

The best thing about hauling such a plethora of stuff to a three-day getaway is the soothing prospect of getting to unpack it all when you get home and putting it away for your next trip.  What jolly times we shall have, sunburned and weary, unloading all our sandy gear from the Rav and hauling it to the basement.  What fond memories it will bring back - "Remember putting this cooler in here?  It didn't seem so heavy last time."  

Oh, well, we're Americans, and that's just the way we do.

Meantime, it is a pleasant day here, and the ocean rolls with its immortal shush and rush.