D-day

Well, I’m coming down to the final hours in dreary, rainy Seattle. I’ve packed my bag three times (and, lordy, but it’s heavy). My carry-on is just about ready to go—I’ll have to stuff my down parka in it just before I leave, to cushion my two cameras and the netbook.

House is prepped for the cat-sitter. I’m leaving these weird wall heaters (fed by the tankless water heater) on incredibly low, as that seems to keep things livable. Especially if you’re a girl wearing a fur coat.

Last night and earlier this morning was a flurry of last-minute “where did I put that?” hunts. I’m trying not to obsess, but I want to make sure that all the things I thought of as being needed for this trip are indeed going with me. I’ve got paper copies of confirmations for hotels, rental car, TGV, Heathrow Express, flights. Probably other stuff, too, but this is all I can think of now.

Once I get on the plane I can relax some. Actually, I can relax a lot. They’d better have Champagne; they’re Air France, after all.

As one of my main goals is to be in the moment (as we say on the Left Coast), as I was taking that trip on a bicycle, I do not intend to spend massive amounts of time either planning my next step or analyzing what just happened. In my mind I shall once again be riding L’escargot rouge, have plenty of time to absorb what’s around me now, and stop to examine more closely something that strikes my interest.

Le voyage commence.