“It’s crunchy, tasty, and fits perfectly in your pre-9/11 carry-on!”

peanut butter (Skippy, super chunk- blue top)

Cheez-its (one box)

skivvy shirt

boxers

socks

the world’s smallest toiletry kit

book on John Paul Jones

Running shoes (New Balance, grey)

Running shorts and shirt

Small photo book of us kids

Xacto kit and tiny planks of wood

Maybe another pair of pants and a “dress up” sweatshirt

My dad was an airline pilot for 27 years, and I’m pretty sure that this was about all that he ever brought with him on his trips. Minneapolis, Hawaii, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Riyadh, Paris, Glasgow…the destination didn’t matter; as a professional, the man knows how to pack light.

And then, there’s his daughter.

I have inherited none of these genes, but I think that being a girl plays into this to some extent. In fact, I have done the grungy backpacking thing, and as such I’ve already proved to myself that I am able to travel light. I’ve reached the point where I don’t want to only pack the wrinkle-free cargo pants that have zippers halfway up which allow you to rip the bottoms off, presto change-o making them shorts that not even Frankenstein would don. No, I am not looking for that kind of public ridicule, thank you very much. And yes, I have traveled to foreign capital cities with male naval officers who actually believe that these pants look good.

I’m talking to you, old Air Ops Officer.

Landing in Amsterdam, August 1993. On the way to France, with Dad riding along to make sure I got there okay. The first (and last) time I was bumped up to first class!

So that brings me to right now. I’m supposed to be packing, but I really don’t want to be doing so. I love to travel, but again, like my Dad, when I retire from whatever it is that I am doing with my life, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sit at home, with my jar of Skippy chunky peanut butter (okay, it will either be Nutella or natural crunchy peanut butter), and be happy to never venture beyond the Bourne Bridge again.  

I just got this photo texted to me from my Dad. They’re cleaning up the Shipyard, post-lighthouse construction. 

I’m gonna need plenty of peanut butter calories if I am to keep up with the rate of manual labor that goes on around my house. And if I have anything to do with it, I’ll be leading the charge. You think I’m kidding? The only thing my Dad is good at packing into a neat little confined space is the above-mentioned suitcase components. You take one look at our property and you will see that he is just as bad as me in accumulating piles of crap.

And now back to that suitcase…