Traveling Veils

I’m driving down the street yesterday one block from my permanent residence when I spot a green Volkswagen bug. “OH! There’s DAVID!” I say out loud to my empty car. I gun the gas pedal and start to pull up next to him at the light so I can wave. My hand hovers over the horn. What did he do with his long black curly hair? I wonder as I catch the back of the teensy round shape of the driver’s head.

But just before I give the horn a blast I am struck with a bolt of reality: David and his green Volkswagen bug aren’t in my hometown in Illinois, they’re in Minnesota in the town where I often go “hide” to write.

Later that day I see Nancy walking down the sidewalk. It’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to chat. I’ll catch her attention and maybe we can grab a cup of coffee.

WAIT! Charlene, you are in ILLINOIS, not Minnesota, sothat is not Nancy!

I’ve encountered this same phenomena on the “other end” too, this thinking I see people who are hundreds of miles away. It’s like I pass through a veil—but it sticks to me. One veil after another, they stack up until everything looks foggy. These time/space/place hiccups are the hitches in my constant git-along, git-alonging little darling traveling schedule. It’s the same reason I have to make sure I keep my hotel room number in my handbag since one number blurs into the next, and then I lock myself out, and then I can’t even remember which room I’m in to ask for another key.

As we ready to say good-bye to those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer (I WISH I’d had them!) I realize with a sigh that the blurry days of travel will stick with me. Oh, well, at least I see friends nearly everywhere I go--whether they're actually there or not.