Preparing

I'm taking my daughter on a tour of Europe--without ever having been there myself. And for the last 36 hours, I have been certain that in the next 5 minutes, I will definitely throw up. Unfortunately, my daughter is symbiotically attached to me and knows this, making the whole prospect of thowing up even that more imminent.

I'm glad I'm doing this, despite my utter fear, because I believe that I am giving her something I never had as a yound person--a whole world at her fingertips. Her older sister, my stepdaughter, is living and working in northern Italy with her wonderful husband and dog. She is a traveler, unafraid of anything. She is,  as I always knew she would be, changing the world. Her PhD work is in evolutionaly marine physiology. She is growing marine microorganisms in the presence of excess CO2 from live volcanic vents under the Mediterranian Sea, and as they gorw she will determine how they genetically adapt to the presence of excess CO2 in their environment. I am beyond amazed with her, moreso for her utter humility for her work.

Since we will be there visiting her it seemed to make sense to do a rail tour of Europe with my 12 year old. She is just old enough to be able to travel with her mother, appreciate what she sees and not be utterly embarrassed to be traveling with her mother. I believe this will give her an appreciation for her own ability to do this on her own, something I never had. And still don't.

I used a travel agent to order to air and rail, I planned our trip and reserved our hotels in Paris, Luxembourg, Brussels, Bruges, and London. I arranged for our passports and bought travelers checks. I figured out where the train stations are and where our hotels are relative to them. I arranged for a global phone so that we can call her father every night to check in. I bought us rolling backpacks so that we can travel light, carrying what we need on our backs without checking luggage. I helped her pack. I've done everything I need to do, but still I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Did I mention that I have to sign the papers for a condo that we are buying while we are away, an investment property to add on to the rest of the the ones in the building and the one next door, less that 24 hours before we leave? Just in case I wasn't anxious enough.

Breathe.

Connect

The fact that the mountain of clean, unfolded laundry on the guest room bed seems a significantly bigger nuisance than the same volume of dirty laundry seem to speak to the excess in our society--we are not lacking for something to wear, but for the time to get it put away. It would seem we just have too many things and not enough time to connect.

Fact in point-- I volunteered, in a way, to help with this year's play. In the shadows, as it were, just to wean myself from the experience. Cathy wanted my help choosing and writing, and it was definitely a good place to start. Until we ended up spending 4 hours on a Saturday night at my kitchen table without finishing, under deadline, during a snowstorm, and I grew weary and less interested. I abandoned the effort, not answering calls (or folding laundry) until I knew it had to be done.

I have lots of excuses--a particularly contentious small claims lawsuit with a scary insurance agent who claims we owe him money for a policy that we never used, and that George claimed to have "taken care of" but instead it came back to bite me again. The next step in the eviction process of a tenant that doesn't pay rent. Taxes. Math meltdowns. Prospective puberty. And dinner and cleaning and shuffling around to rehearsals and practice and kung fu and piano, dinner and dishes and the same old thing that is somehow always just a little more than it's possible to keep up with.

But then I ran into Cathy and found out (that I should have already known that) she finished the play, of course, but also that her daughter had to be rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, and was only just home and recovering. So much for my excuses....

Worse, when she asked if I'd read the rewrite.... I, fibbed. Well, lied. Said that of course I had. Nodded and smiled guiltily through the rest of the conversation. Where she gave me a valentine gift to thank me for my help--as though I wasn't guilty enough.

Then I read the end of the play, and was moved almost to tears, and Cathy needs to know that but in order to tell her I have to 'fess up, which i have to do anyway. And I want to, even, but somehow can't seem to find the time, even the 10 minutes it would take to do it over email.

That mountain of laundry has to be dealt with because I have a friend coming who needs to use the guest room. Dinner has to be made. Homework has to get done. And somehow, I have to find a way, this year, to make time to connect with the important people. They deserve it, and so do I.