At the risk of
pissing off even more of my Facebook friends (who have been patient with my excessive
travel of late and incessant status updates from God-knows-where-in-the-world), I have
a confession to make that won’t endear me to anyone:
Rodney handles all of the details of our travel
arrangements. Yes, he does. I do zip actually.
In a twisted
defense, allow me to offer up this story: Years ago, when our kids were still living
under our roof and Rodney unilaterally declared himself to be our chief cook
(yes, I know, another great hardship of my life), we threw a lot of dinner
parties. He loves to cook. He’s also exceedingly good at it and would even freeze meals for when he would be on
the road, which was a good chunk of the time.
Bringing people together to eat delicious food in our home made it easy to be
sociable in a new town.
Easy for me,
that is.
It didn’t take
long for our guests to figure out that the entire meal was thanks to Rodney’s
hard work, slaving over a hot wok or oven. Sure, I might have set the table (he
would throw me that crumb of preparation at least, along with clean-up duties
of course) but basically, it was his show all the way. I loved the arrangement—and
still do.
Invariably,
though, someone would ask: “So Robin, if Rodney cooks all the time, what is it
that you do?”
“I raise the
children. Pass the salt, please.”
The itineraries
of our recent travels have been Rodney’s handiwork all the way. He has unintentionally
transformed himself into my very own bespoke travel agent. He tailors our journeys to his specifications and, of course, Loyalty
programs. He’s exceedingly good at this,
too.
With my very
empty nest (even the dog was put to sleep two years ago) my moral high ground disappeared,
along with kids requiring my attention. I must be honest and admit that after
years of organizing my own lecture tours and traveling solo, I have embraced by
inner slacker. I’m happy just to follow the guy holding my boarding pass,
acting like an airport zombie, completely sober.
Sometimes, I am
challenged to keep up with him. Business travelers only have one speed on their
inner travel clocks: faster than the next
guy. I have learned to burst out of a plane with him and arrive breathless at
passport control.
And while
carry-on has been my preferred style for years, the choice to travel that way
has now become an imperative. Waiting for luggage is for sissies (or for those
who want to pack more than one pair of shoes and the clothes to go with them.)
There’s nothing
devilish in the details of multiple arrival and departure times, hotel or car confirmation
codes, visa applications or other matters of a successful journey. It’s hard
work, finding the right deals, being put on hold a lot, and answering questions
from your lazy traveling partner.
“Which cities are
we going to?” I recently queried him when I overheard a conversation about flights
for our next working vacation in (Facebook friends reading this, serious
place-dropping alert) Brazil.
“*&H^%#XC$(G^D$SV#@$%”
was what his answer sounded like.
Stay tuned for the
details.
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