Flashes of Panic

I am piecing together everything I will need this weekend. Tomorrow, after work, it’s in to Boston to rendezvous with the team. Friday we drive up to Bretton Woods to start Reach the Beach; I expect I’ll be driving Van 2 through the night and well into Saturday. (If you’re going, look for Dead Man Running.) I don’t know why I think checking in here will help my distracted state. Maybe it won’t.

I’m never sure how to pack for this. It’s two days, essentially, but two very unusual days. We’re carrying our “house” with us in vans, but there will be eight of us in each van, so overpacking is not a good thing. Will I need the sleeping bag? I almost hope so. Maps? Book? Music? How much clothes?

I have little faith in the iPod’s battery over the length of the trip, and I’m not sure I’ll always have priority on the power jack, so I put in a CD player and a set of discs. Much as I love the music itself, as I get in to the lyrics of a song I find I like it more, so I sat down and read the lyrics to the Nields sisters’ latest (I owe you for them, Wendy) and came across the song Nerissa wrote for the third sister, Abigail’s, wedding. Without a “now playing,” it does very well.

You tell me we’re not there yet
But someday we might be
The closer that I let you get
The farther I can see

Don’t let me forget
Don’t let me assume
Promise what we haven’t done yet
Kiss me on the moon.

— from Nerissa Nields, “Kiss Me On The Moon”; more