Oh Travel. You and I are old friends. We were together when I took my first plane ride and saw Cedar Rapids fade outside my window and a year in Eastern Germany rise on the horizon. You were there when I woke up on a train and saw the Ganges swirling around under us, more like the sea than a river. You laughed at me the first time I saw Mt Everest and I mistook it for a cloud. You always know best.
Travel, remember walking through the jungle in Thailand? Oh, and that time we had to listen to tiny Ellis cry for 8 hours on a plane? You were certain we were going to get chucked off. Remember that time we travelled an hour between terminals at O'Hare, only to be told we had to go all the way back because the gate was next to the one we'd arrived at?
Travel, You and I have seen a lot, but I am beginning to worry that we have become over-familiar. I sit, on the eve of a long and arduous journey, writing and knitting. I only have a few clean items in the suitcase and very little sleep under my belt. It'll get done, you tell me. I just hope I remember everything.
Travel, I do have one small favour to ask. You are not always kind to small people. Tomorrow, a not quite two year old has to leave his Dada and kitties behind and be confined to his mama's lap for hours on end. I just ask, dear comrade, if you could please think twice before sending any flight delays, lost luggage, turbulence, unfriendly air stewards or other unnamed crisis our way. Oh and a bit of sleep for wee man would be a huge bonus. He promises to be good...sort of.