You can tell a lot about a man by the way he packs his clothes. Percentage weighs heavily on the side of women packing for their men, whether it be that men don’t want to be bothered or they just don’t know how. In my case, the Gregger was clearly the BETTER PACKER! In fact, he was OCD meticulous! Packing for a trip in this house could literally lead to World War III. Our big issue…I was “check-in” and he was “carry on!” To the Gregger, packing was an architechural or engineering project using every dimension of the smallest proportion to get as much as possible into the smallest space. On the other hand, I was totally inept when it came to packing. No matter how hard I tried to limit myself, I would overpack “just in case.” So we bantered back and forth. His point: I overpacked, would never wear it all, and it was a waste of space. My point: I would be best prepared for all occasions, all moods, which, in the end, would make him abundantly happier! His point: he was efficient, precise, and a time-saver (no waiting for bags, no chance of lost baggage, etc.). My point: when traveling, who cares? Chill out!
Needless to say, the bantering continued just about every time either or both of us traveled. I think it became some sort of game. He would certainly not dare give in to more than one suitcase, lest he show any sign of packing weakness. And, I certainly would never learn to pack less than half my closet!
Now for most people packing is a day before, night before happening. Not in our house. This was literally a 2-3 day affair. I kid you not! Day one: the rolling rack appeared in the bedroom so Gregger could start “pulling” his clothes. This was a painstaking, detail-oriented affair focused on fusing the necessary pieces into the perfect ensembles. Minimilization was key…the fewer the pieces to mix and match the bigger the win! Rules of the game: one or two sport coats for a four or five day trip, a shirt for every day, maybe one or two extra “just in case,” and generally two or three pants that were rotated. Everything mixed and matched to perfection. Then came shoes to coordinate (he was only allotted a certain number), socks and underwear for everyday (obviously for Mr. Meticulous!), pocket squares for the super savvy, and then the royal dobb kit! Now that was a packing procedure in itself. Every item had its own plastic bag, wrapped again in more plastic and then placed sequentially as if solving a puzzle. It was quite the process.
Our last trip together was no different. The rolling rack appeared in the bedroom by Wednesday. Shorts, t-shirts, Lulu outfits, and underwear were laid out by Thursday. The good shirts were carefully hung and were folded and wrapped (yes, wrapped in plastic!) on Friday. I was so excited for the trip I didn’t care how he went about packing. At this point it was fun watching him make it all work. In the meantime I had emptied more than half my closet into two full suitcases and was very ready to go! When all was said and done, we jammed 9 suitcases and 5 backpacks into the van upon arrival in Maui! We were prepared for just about anything…well, just about anything.
In 40 years I NEVER once packed for the Gregger. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just knew I could never do it the way he did. I don’t think anyone could! It was truly an art. Packing and unpacking was his thing. He knew where things went and how to put them away. I certainly never wanted my first packing experience to be the one it turned out to be, but I had no choice. September 3rd I was faced with the most difficult packing chore of my life. Not only did I have to pack Gregger’s suitcase, but I had to return home without him. This was something I had to do alone. I spent some time folding, sorting, and trying to carefully place each item the way he would want me to, but eventually I just didn’t care anymore. I threw away the plastic bags we had saved for years. I tossed shoes in on top of clothes and ignored the rule of wrapping. The tears were flowing too heavily. I just needed to get that bag packed somehow. Each shirt reminded me of something. The only thing I took special care with was his straw hat. I wrapped it, stuffed it, and protected it. I knew how much that hat meant to him, and it would forever remind me of our last trip together. He would hate the way I packed that suitcase.
I was cleaning my closet the other day and thought, “Okay it’s time, but, as always I stopped in my tracks.” The vivid, lime green duffle still lies on the floor, unpacked. I move it from side to side. I open it now and then thinking I might start to unpack, but then I put everything back in place. It just seems too final. I will unpack it one of these days, but until then, I see it everyday and it’s just a little piece of the Gregger that is still there. It reminds me of his meticulous nature, his savvy style, and our quirky bantering over silly things. I’m just not ready to let it go. I will be soon enough. 
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So back to the big move. This major change in my life. Humongous! We said we’d never leave Arizona. Home. And here I was driving off. Not sunset. But sunrise. Dawn. New day. Bright. Sunny. Full of promise. Beginning. Here we go. Five hours of sleep. Marriott’s shortest stay. But it was time to hit the road. “Mini angels” were raring to go. Really? Minimal sleep. Up at the crack of dawn. No caffeine. And powered with energy. Give me what they’ve got! We loaded up. Pit stop for gas. Caffeine. Little breakfast. And then it was “Farewell Phoenix.” Hasta la vista baby. As Gregger would say, “So long. Until we meet again.” Never, “goodbye.” Too final. But this was. And as we drove, the memories flooded my mind. 
On every corner. Something. A restaurant. We loved or hated. Starbucks. Our Sunday Funday. Casino. Part of my 60th birthday celebration. Airport. Departure for cities around the world. Or return to home. Comfort. Flashes of pictures. Years streaming. Where did the time go? Where did our life go? How did this happen? And in a flash, it was gone. All that stretched before us was open land. Desert. Barren open land. A horizon of new opportunities. New life. What was I feeling? Sad? Not really. Relieved? Slightly. Overwhelmed? A little. Scared? Most definitely. But I was ready. I knew this was the right move. The right time. And certainly the right place. 
The drive was easy. “Mama Angel” and I never stopped talking. It’s always easy between the two of us. Ask me what we talk about. I have no idea. Life. Love. Kids. Nothing. Everything. Being friends. I am lucky. She walked into my life and blessed me with a friendship that truly comes along once in a lifetime. She has held my hand when I’m ready to fall. Hugged me when I am feeling empty. And called just when I thought my world was falling apart. So the drive was easy. This was easy. I was ready. 
