En Route

Oh boy, I guess this is happening.  The trip as far as LA is ok; not awash in tears and -- complacent?  What's between content and resigned?  No, that's too dour.  Let's make up a word, like...consigned -- which, yes, is a word, but we're going to imagine it means contentment as a result of acceptance of something difficult.

Well now!  Out of the recesses of psyche and into the sunshine. :)  wen I get off the next plane it will be springtime.  Remember that bright-green young grass, and purple and red buds, flowers to challenge the color spectrum?  And lambs all over the place, fuzzy and kittenish.  Ok, sit with those images before more lame metaphors spill out.

Get Ready to Get Ready

The process of packing has always been extremely straightforward for me, one of the few things my brain accomplishes to my satisfaction with almost no conscious effort.  Unfortunately, that makes for boring conversation when people ask with wonder, "How in the world do you pack for five months away?" and I honestly respond, "Put some clothes and books in a bag."  I actually attach a silly amount of sentiment to certain shirts, scarves, and homey objects; embracing this fact and accepting that the comfort of taking a favorite article means I will appear more or less in uniform in all my pictures over a ten-year period helps limit the overall amount of stuff.  And my parents trained me to only ever take carry-on luggage, so even one medium bag besides my backpack leaves room for, to my mind, an embarrassing overabundance of possessions.  It also helps that I'm perfectly happy with one pair of shoes.  (*Caveat: For this trip, I also have a pair of work shoes.)

Of slight issue is my penchant for reading.  I could probably watch a movie or two on the flight, but that takes care of four of the 36 => infinity hours it will take me to get to the Ice.  I love actual print on paper, which gets weighty, and I usually buy books to keep and reread, so they're not likely to get ditched after consumption.  This time I'll compromise somewhat, with two books and a disposable Sunday Times.

Speaking of flying, this year I was one of a "lucky few" ticketed directly from LA to Auckland.  This would be more exciting if I went from New York to LA, as you think would be possible with the give-or-take 8,000 daily flights between those cities; but no, I'll get to jaunt over to San Francisco to tempt the God of Airport Delays just for fun.  The rundown is: New York to San Francisco; San Francisco to LA; LA to Auckland; Auckland to Christchurch.  Technically, it's a two-day journey, since you cross the International Date Line, a.k.a. time travel.  Let's assume everything goes smoothly and I sleep on every plane to emerge bright-eyed in New Zealand for a few days before going to the cold place (the last leg to Antarctica is about five hours on a military plane with an enormous sack lunch -- like two of everything).

Mentally, to get ready, I'm focusing on reasons I enjoyed it so much last year.  Interesting people, beautiful landscape, oddly gratifying work, and just a new slice of life...all good things to shuffle with doubts and worries.  Monday morning departure looms like fog: though it's familiar ground, I step carefully.

...Continuing...

Welcome to the horrible layout of Blogger, where random leading, uncontrolled text wrapping, and school-assignment font subconsciously warp the mind's processing of content.  Excuse me, former editor/typesetter feeling grumbly here.

So!  Back to the Ice.  I have rather complicated feelings about returning: it's a place I really like with people and work I like, and it fulfills my desire to travel and experience different ways of living; however, I'm also embarking on a stage of life where Matt and I shift from spouses to friends.  Here's a naked plea for lots of email and mail, to keep in touch with the world that still has night and stars.  :)

Regular postage works because it's technically a US address:

Claire Veligdan
McMurdo Station, ASC
PSC 769 Box 700
APO AP 96599-1035

Here's hoping for a good season, and a trip down that doesn't include lying on a cot at LAX in the wee smalls.  Wherever you are, enjoy the lovely autumn.