Organizational Gratitude by Barbara Quinn

Since we’re in the midst of packing up for a cross-country trip, life is rather hectic. I’m figuring out what not to take along because I am trying to keep everything in one carryon bag so that I don’t have to worry about the bags making it to the destination. We have connecting flights both ways and I really don’t want to be missing my underwear when I arrive.

While I pack, I’m most thankful for my husband’s organizational ability when we travel. He writes up an itinerary, brings copies of all the reservations, goes to mapquest.com for directions which he prints out, and also keeps the most important info, such as phone numbers, on one master sheet of paper. That sheet of paper and that folder are a work of organizational art that is mind-boggling to someone like me who operates with lots of scraps of papers and numbers scrawled in the margins of my date book. I can find things, but a little panic does set in till I remember exactly where I may have stored something such as the confirmation number for the hotel room.

Travel is always stressful and Tom’s system does help minimize our anxiety. This way I am free to obsess over whether my mascara and lipstick are going to be viewed as part of a terror attack unless I stow them in the belly of the plane.

Being organized uses a different part of the brain. It’s good to flex that side too. And with that handy folder I can easily step into that world for a time without difficulty. How grateful I am to have someone to take care of me and these details.

Great Expectations by Nannette Croce

I enjoy traveling alone. I don’t mean alone, alone––I usually take some kind of tour with people of like interests. What I mean is traveling without anyone––relative or friend––who knows me well enough to expect me to behave in a certain way.

Before my daughter was born, I traveled alone on business sometimes, but then I had to be business me. Then for almost 13 years I never left home without my husband and/or daughter. I never left the wife me or the mommy me behind.

It was 1999, almost 10 years ago now, that I took my first trip “alone.” It was a tour of Indian War battlegrounds in Montana and Wyoming, ending at the Little Bighorn. There were other single women on the tour, but they were just that––single. The idea that I left my family behind made me somewhat of a curiosity to the men who regularly left their families behind each summer to drive the vans and coordinate the tours for little money, but loads of adventure.

I’ve taken several themed tours since, and women leaving families behind is no longer an anomaly. It’s not about pretending to be someone we’re not. It’s about who we really are when we live outside of others’ expectations. It’s not about dancing on bars, at least not for me. Sometimes it’s about skipping dinner with the group to go to bed early, but with no apologies, no compromises, no disappointing someone else who doesn’t want to eat alone.

Sometimes I enjoy a romantic trip with my husband or a weekend with a friend, but sometimes I just want to be me––the me no one “expects” me to be.

A Change of Scene by Barbara Quinn

It’s warm in NY but it’s warmer in Florida. I spent a couple of days in sunny Orlando accompanying my husband on a business trip. It’s lovely to stay in a nice hotel where someone else does the laundry and all I need do is get myself nicely dressed and show up for a meal I haven’t had to cook or plan. I can work anywhere, so I pack up the laptop and a small bag and off I go.

Granted flying is a gauntlet now and you’re likely to be delayed and annoyed on the way there or back. To cope I pack snacks that are far more edible than the airline’s faux food, and I buy a large bottle of water that I am ripped off for right before I board. I usually bring lunch too.

Once I’ve arrived and unpacked it’s a welcome break to be in new surroundings with a different routine. I no longer enjoy rigorous adventure travel (not that I was all that adventurous but my need for creature comforts has increased in a direct ratio to my age). There is no doubt that my creativity is stimulated when I change things up. Different flowers and birds, a different scent to the air, different cadence to the voices, all catch my attention and make me aware of how wonderful and varied our planet is. Bliss!

I'm Free by Barbara Quinn

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. John F. Kennedy

In Tom Stoppard’s play, Rock and Roll, a character talks about how in his native land he had to apply for permission to move from one part of the country to another. That’s a totally unacceptable idea to residents of the U.S where we have an unfettered right to travel wherever and whenever we wish.

That play made me recall the time my husband lost a textbook and I accompanied him to retrieve it. We arrived at a dark and sprawling old house in the Berkeley hills. The book finder answered the door and invited us in. We said no, but he insisted we enter. Inside, all the curtains were closed, and streams of smiling young people filtered past us into the living room. Though their grins were broad, their eyes were dull, and I felt the urge to scowl and flee. The fellow asked if we would stay for lunch and we declined. Then he told us that we had arrived at a good time. Prior to lunch there was a sing-along. If we joined in, he would return the book right after.

I looked up and saw a portrait of the Rev. Sun Myung Moon on the wall. Ohmigod. We were in a Moonie abode.

We linked arms with the singing, grinning, young people. I pasted a smile on my face, swayed side to side, and belted several choruses of “You are My Sunshine.” Meanwhile I prayed that we would get the book back and leave without being pressured to join the sunny cult. These aren't Jim Jones Kool-Aid afficionados, and this isn't Guyana. At the end of the singing, the group headed to the dining room. We hung back. The book finder again asked us to join him for lunch. When we said no, the young man fetched the book and said we should come back anytime.

I was extremely grateful to see the door open. The sun shone brighter than ever. Oh, sweet air.

I was sensitive to losing my freedom that day, probably because I remembered a wrongful confinement in Mexico by the police. That too turned out fine. Being able to go wherever you want, whenever you want, is a priceless gift that I rarely acknowledge in this land of the free. I am grateful for freedom, and for all who not only protect us, but for those who take part in the political process, because your votes do count toward our future freedom.