Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Packing Heavy

I should be packing for Paris. We leave tomorrow for a very short trip. I have my usual plan to "pack light," which means a heavy carry-on tote with food, guidebooks, camera, pashmina and socks, magazines to read and leave on the plane, and much, much more. Then I have a small, carry-on spinner suitcase for everything else, which I check. And it will be bursting with way too much stuff if things go as usual. Despite my best intentions, I always panic and bring many unnecessary things, and lugging the suitcase up and down Metro stairs and escalators is a nightmare. Maybe this time it will be different. Ha.

I plan to wear mostly leggings, sweaters, and boots with a Barbour jacket. I look vaguely equestrian over there, which is how I think Parisian dress on weekends when they go to the country to visit their families. I wander around dressed like I don't know what day it is until Sunday, when I look just right. It's too bad that the only place I go on Sunday is to the airport.

My boots (knee-high and ankle) fill the suitcase because I need three pairs. I walk so much every day that I need to go back to the hotel and change boots, or else I can't keep going. And since at least one pair alway hurts, unpredictably and unaccountably, although I wear all three pairs in Boston constantly, I need more than one spare pair.

The weather is chilly in Paris, so at least I don't have to pack for summer and autumn temperatures. It should be very simple to pack for a few casual days and events.... but it won't be.

Possum is already packed, as you can see:

Taken with my husband's Canon; a much better camera than mine!

Bertie was trying to persuade Possy that cats can't go with us to Paris, but Possy never gives up hope. He wants to stroll along the Champs Elysèes with me, although I keep telling him I never stroll there. He wants to go to the Louvre, of course. It's painful to disappoint him, especially when he is curled up in my empty, open suitcase with an expectant expression on his fuzzy little face. I miss him the whole time I'm over there; I look at his photos on my iPhone as I roam Paris, feeling melancholy and romantic. Because I miss my cat.

Well, it's nearly 9, so I'd better start packing. It's hard to shove the kitchen sink into that little amethyst-colored suitcase.


  1. Bon voyage! I feel Possum's pain, but the look on Snalbert's face is priceless. The photo link at my name might help to ease Possum's travel bug.

  2. Oh, that's charming, aek! What a clever way to make use of an old suitcase and make the most of a cat's desire to curl up inside one.


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