Rocket Scientist

So this week’s thievery, where I pirate my own comments from someone else’s blog/thread comes from The Junk Drawer , specifically “Weirdest Trip Momento I’ve Ever Saved .”  In this thread, I mention the fact that I’m not a traveler and, seriously, not a junk collector.  I know gangs of people who collect this or that chotchkis (and I love when they do; I always know what to give them).  I don’t.  Oh, I favor faerie and dragon stuff, but I don’t collect stuff.  I’m the kind of terrible mom that doesn’t save every scrap of her kids stuff or snips or hair or a jillion photographs (Thank Heavens for my aunt Sue and digital storage!).  When my kids grow up, we won’t be able to reminisce over their baby books, which will be desperately incomplete or nonexistent because I was living with them.  I own books and maybe a box full of sentimental whatnot.  I’m not sentimental about the physical book, which is good because I just got an eReader and I plan to use that puppy.

Of course, you’d never know it to wander through my house.  My house is wall to wall junk, but it’s mostly “functional” junk, which, by the way, costs more than the nonfunctional kind but is, really, just as useful.  It’s furniture that would be better to discard than take with us when we move last.  It’s furniture we should have done that to last move, including the world’s most comfortable chair that desperately needs to be reupholstered before Alex starts eating the stuffing and an extremely heavy loveseat with no legs and no sleeper.  And, naturally, we’re up to our eyeballs in electronic this and that.

The other part of the question, though, involves my complete and utter disinterest in traveling.  In the past six years, I have been to (a) the Noordvick and Amsterdam in the Netherlands, Nice France and Rome Italy, all for work. I have also been to Pasadena, Chicago and San Francisco.  In all cases, the places were charming and people friendly. The places were beautiful and, since I was there for conferences, we always had dinner somewhere spectacular.  Srsly.

And I couldn’t wait to get home.  I hated sleeping somewhere other than my own bed.  I missed my electronics that worked like I was used to.  I missed being able to drive myself (without being scared witless as I was as a PASSENGER in Italy.  I have a new appreciation for Houston traffic.)  I miss knowing the places to eat that are good and cost effective and knowing where I am.  Sometimes, I missed food that was familiar.  I hate the feeling of being somewhere where one false step can get me stranded.  I hate being at the mercy of the airlines.  I’ve never been afraid, like of criminals or physical danger (though I did almost get myself killed by falling stepping off a curb in Italy.  If I had been ½ meter forward or there hadn’t been parked cars, I probably wouldn’t be here).

But, most of all, this is where my family is.  When I’m elsewhere, and they’re here, I hate it.  I don’t mind having an hour or two to myself once in a while, but not days.  I don’t want to sleep by myself and I don’t want someone else to give my baby her night time bottle.  I want to read Alex’ school folder and pick my daughter up from school.

So, now you know.  When it comes to travel, I just don’t have the gene.

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