Admittedly, I am too much of a Type A to travel well. Oh, fine for short hops like Las Vegas or Palm Springs, places where one can get home in a hurry if the need arises. The farther from home we go (New York, for example) the higher my stress level rises. Dublin to Shannon nearly killed me back in '06.
Now we're heading for the South of France and I've had an upset digestive system for days. Part of my problem is that so much of travel is totally out of my control. Not good. I'm used to being in control. And I'm used to (usually) getting my way. You can see why this is edging into the outskirts of Disasterville.
But yesterday, while idly tapping a foot to the music and sipping a beer at the jazz club, I came to a stunning conclusion. I would handle what I could -- keeping the tickets straight, the luggage close and Richie out of the train station bar -- and leave all the other matters up to God.
So: God is now in charge of whether the plane stays in the air - or not. He is charged with keeping the bullet train on its tracks - or not. In a plane at 47,000 feet or on a 200+mph train, you wouldn't know what hit you anyhow. Michelle is a former flight attendant for Air France and when asked about any fears she might have, she laughed indulgently and said, "Oh, Nina - you only have time to think one quick Hail Mary!" and snapped her fingers. "Zut!" she said succinctly.
I have tasked Richie with handling crazy French drivers and the traffic. Richie loves driving in Paris! He gets in, starts the engine, revs it and bellows, "Bring it on, Frenchies! I'm from New York - show me wha-chew got!" and roars away.
Duties dispatched, responsbilities assigned, I can relax now.
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