In five minutes, my wife and I will depart for Norfolk, Virginia for the 2026 reunion of the Navy Musicians Association. It starts on Wednesday, June 24, but I want to get there early, and we've got a bit of driving ahead of us.
We've been packing for a week, or, as some might call it, "seven days of hell." One of us brings a pair of shoes to travel in, another pair of shoes to wear around the hotel, a pair of shoes for the Friday-night concert, another for the Saturday-night dinner, and a few more pairs just in case.
The other just brings a pair of shoes.
That's the week in a nutshell. One of us has traveled the world with a seabag. The other never heard the saying, "You can't take it with you."
Yesterday afternoon, one of us said, "It's time to load the car.'
"Yes," the other said, "we need to get started."
"When it's time to load up, there is no 'we.'"
"What? We have to--"
"No, 'we' do not have to do anything. For a week, 'we' have been packing. 'We' have turned the dining room into a luggage showroom. 'We' can't walk to the bathroom without tripping over shoeboxes and stepping on bags of yarn and knitting needles. 'We' have survived a week of standing eighteen hours a day because the furniture is covered with suitcases. 'We' are done."
"But how will we--"
"Tut, tut, there's that 'we' word again."
"Well, the car isn't going to load itself."
"Bingo! The car won't load itself, and 'we' aren't going to load the car because--pay attention here--the 'We' team is officially disbanded. 'We' did our job successfully. Now, the 'We' team bids each other farewell and rides off into the sunset."
"Who loads the car?
"I load the car."
"I can help."
"No, you are not 'I.' I am 'I.' 'I' endured a week's worth of so-called 'teamwork,' a week during which progress was stymied at every turn, a week of expanding lists and bulging suitcases. You may now retire to the living room and watch through the window while 'I' load the car."
"But you might forget something. And some things, like toiletries, need to come into the motels along the way. Some things, like maps and snacks, need to be accessible while we're driving."
"Because 'we' make this trip once a year, 'we' have developed certain traditions. 'I' load the car is one of them. The other is this reminder that 'I' issue every year. It goes thusly:
"'I' spent years traveling with Navy bands. 'I' could pack everything for a four-week tour of seven states into a seabag and garment bag in twenty minutes and load it all into the van in six seconds. When 'I' became the Chief, 'I' could pack for a cruise through an ocean and three seas to ten ports in five countries without forgetting anything and make sure that fifteen other men did the same damn thing."
I'm anticipating a quiet cross-country drive, unhampered by any distracting "conversation."
