We are wound tighter than the last shirt we rolled up to squeeze in the suitcase. To think that this trip, born of a January dream and brought to fruition—at least on paper—over the last eight months, is actually going to occur makes us quiver with anticipation.
We've got maps and notes and schedules. Some of them in duplicate. Our calendar details the sites we'll see every day. David has read the guidebooks as though they were novels, page by page, and made copious notes. The suitcases are packed and weighed to make sure they fall within the airline's weight restrictions. We have checked our lists. Twice. David's going through the pantry right now to make sure we haven't overlooked a snack we might like to have on the plane. (Or something that might grow legs while we're gone.) An hour ago we finished the final tape in the Pimsleur “Learn French” series that David picked up at a yard sale for a dollar. As long as we only want to ask for something to eat or drink or the way to rue Saint Jacques, we'll be in business. We'll have to pantomime everything else!
In a way, I wish there were another chore to do or another tape to play because that might calm my nerves, but really, all that's left is to hand over the keys tomorrow to our friends who are pet sitting.
So, there's no getting around it--it's time to actually take this trip that's been months in the planning. But I won't say goodbye because that sounds too final. Rather, I'd like to say au revoir because that means “until we meet again.” And we will. In France. Did you forget you were coming with me? See you right back here in a few days.