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Pack it up, pack it in, let me begin

“Lent is longer than the amount of time before we leave.”

You’d think he was religious, but I was the one that hopped by church this morning.  And I was the one with my dutiful Osprey Porter Backpack out, trying to assess what I could take with me.

It’s November.  It’s just about freezing outside.  I’m trying on swimsuits instead of reading my COBRA options.  Life is good.

I always associated the husband with not being religious as he worshipped logic.  Logic had him researching backpacks online to see if there were better options. I’m a therapist, and swim comfortably in emotions.  Our matching Ospreys had been to India with us, we’d packed them with our wedding outfits to fly out to Colorado and tie the knot, and we’d taken them on a belated island honeymoon.  How is it conceivable they wouldn’t make this next trek with us?

“What bag did the Tings take?” I should start a scoreboard for how often he references our fantasy travel team’s strategy to round the world.  But I confess they do have a sweet packing guide.  She doesn’t even mess with the “to take jeans or not” debate which is so heated by us American passport stamp chasers.

Back at home in the cold November reality, we set out on a trip to REI, then to EMS, to the library and coffee shop as logic and emotion continued their sparring match.  But at home, my Osprey was half packed and looking ready to go….

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A wife, daughter, sister and proud auntie. A nomad, but not a saint (nor indian).

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