World Traveler

     I am always intrigued by travelers.  That people actually go to places like Italy, France and Mexico.  What's more, they go for the weekend! No big deal.  A bachelorette party in Vegas?  Why not?  Rome for Thanksgiving?  Perfetto!

     Heck.  I was never even invited to a bachelorette party in Vegas.  I just didn't know anyone during my twenties who did that.  For many reasons, money, time, interest, it wasn't in the cards.  Besides, we were all actors. We didn't have any money. I simply did not grow this body into a world traveler. Yet around me, flourishing gardens of  travelers were taking root in my network of friends. Some headed to Paris.  Others to Greece.  How about Australia or The Galapagos Islands?

     And so it remained through my thirties and now in my forties, I dream of a trip to Italy, but I  board the Staten Island Ferry.

     Good times.

     The thing is, I'm a mess at airports.  We're not a good match. When I do get to an airport, I can be found rushing to the ticket counter with my mismatched backpacks, longing for just one bag on wheels, barely able to afford the trip I happen to be taking, let alone the multiple 3 oz. containers I needed to pack all of the haircare products and Victoria Principal's skincare I have shoved into every zipper compartment in the Jansport! And juggling the boarding pass and my purse and my Advil and lip liners?  Forget it. 

     "Good Afternoon Ma'am.  May I see your boarding pass?"
     "Boarding pass?  Ummmmm....."  (Gosh, what does it look like...fumble...fumble) "Is this it?"
     "Yes.  May I see some ID, please?"
     (Scramble.  Empty out every card in the wallet.  UFT.  New York Public Library.  Duane Reade.  A Band Aid? What the heck is this doing there?) "Gosh. I can't seem to find my driver's license, sir.  How about this?"
     "Your Blockbuster Card?  Uhhh, No Ma'am.  Do you have a passport?"
     "Yes! Of Course! I HAVE a passport.  Yes. Yey me!  And it has one stamp on it from my trip to the Caribbean."
     "Congratulations.  The passport please?"

     Once, I navigated my kids and I through Central Park in a snow storm.  We had to get from The Met to The American Museum of Natural History.  It's a simple walk.  Start at the East side, cross to the West side.  It's basically a straight line, but not when I had anything to do with it.  Our straight line turned into a COMPLETE CIRCLE.  I didn't understand how that could have happened. We left the Met, passed by a big lake, threw a few snowballs and 45 minutes later I stumbled upon some teenage attitude: 

     Kids:  "Mom?  Is that the Met?  Isn't that where we started? 
     Me:     No!  That's The Museum of Natural History!
     Kids:   "No its not."
     Me:     "Yeah....it is!"
     Kids:   "No, Mom.  That sign says Fifth Avenue."
     Me:     "What the....Oh my gosh you guys!  I am sooooo sorry!"

     So to learn that there are actually people out there who do this sort of nomadic thing all the time, colleagues, friends, business travelers like my brother-in-law who never leaves home without his GPS, I am in great wonder of it all.  I want to be that person.  You know, the one who takes three trips a year.  The one who has all the hotel toiletries in a basket in the bathroom vanity.  The one who actually has mileage points.  The one who gets to the airport an hour before rather than enduring four hours of people watching and $5.00 cups of coffee simply because she didn't want to miss her plane.

     Once, I traveled home from San Francisco alone leaving Sean and the kids behind. It was a big deal for me to find my way to the gate, then sit by myself, through a terrible movie, in "brace for impact"  turbulence. Okay so it wasn't that bad, but I have a low threshold for turbulence.  We were delayed because the storm had put the breaks on the baggage claim at JFK, and as a result, I was in a cab at 1:30 in the morning heading back to Manhattan, my trusty carry on, purse and big green duffel bag in tow.  The windows were fogged and we seemed to be on a highway for quite some time, when I suddenly looked out and saw Manhattan passing by.  Panicked, I was certain the cab driver was kidnapping me to Staten Island. Imagine, this coming from someone who can't even find her way around Waldbaums let alone the streets of New York City.  I couldn't tell you if I was on the Belt Parkway, the BQE, the Inbound Gowanus; these were highways I had heard Megan Meany mention on Today in New York, but couldn't identify if my life depended on it.  And I really thought my life depended on it. I was certain the bridge we were suddenly approaching was the Verrazano Narrows. I would be tied to a cement block and thrown into the Hudson in a matter of minutes.  Someone, save me.

    The cab whizzed over the large black body of water, the mouth of the Hudson, swallowing me up like a...What's that street?  Delancy?  Oh Dear God, thank you.  Thank you.