Traveling is easy.
It’s the packing that is difficult—at least it is for that girl.
She and I flew from Montana to Ohio yesterday. Our flights were simply beautiful! Perfect take-offs and landings. Big blue skies. We barely experienced a bump in the air. Most amazingly, that girl’s suitcase weighed in at 49 pounds. One pound under the limit.
Quite a story, that.
For that girl, packing is something akin to prepping a rocket for a manned launch to Mars. Our entire house becomes a staging area. Bins of shoes and clothes are transferred in from the garage. Closets and dressers are flung open. Piles of clothing are spread across our two bedrooms in various stacks. Some by color. Some by type. My 40 pounds of housecat, ever sensitive to any kind of household disruption, slink away to hide behind the furniture.
That girl spends the better part of a day—sometimes two—packing for an extended trip. She becomes something of a human whirlwind. I do my part by flinging my stuff in a suitcase and setting the suitcase in an out-of-the-way corner so I don’t distract her. During the packing procedure, I don’t actually see that girl much, but I am still able to watch clothing migrate from point to point in the house.
Really, it is an amazing process. At various points throughout this process, I might peek in at her suitcase in the spare bedroom to gauge progress. Sometimes, I even bump into that girl and engage in something I call “normal human conversation.”
“How’s it going in there?” I might ask.
“If you were a girl you would understand,” She usually answers, grimacing.
“I sure would,” I respond.
And then I go hide behind some furniture.
I must admit, that girl's packing process works. I was astounded when her perfectly stuffed suitcase weighed in at 49 pounds yesterday. I think NASA could learn a lot from that girl.