FIRST TRAVEL FIGHT

Bill and I dance. Ever so often, one of us makes a mistake often enought to irritate the other, and the dance fight ensues. It's a rare event, but disturbing if it occurs at the beginning of an evening, because the balance of the night will invariably be a disaster.

Likewise, the travel fight. It usually takes place at the end of the trip. It usually happens on a subway platform. I question Bill's travel plan, ask why he thinks this is the right train. He orders me on board, and the battle is joined. Well, we leave in half a day, and our first fight has already taken place. A few days ago, we drove to Kennedy Airport to pick a location to meet - Bill's going to the airport by bus from home, I'm taking the airport bus from Manhattan at mid-day. We checked two locations at the Delta terminal, both made unsatisfactory by security efforts - no seats, have to present documents as you pass doors, etc. This morning, he drove me to my train station, and as I left, I told him I'd meet him at the first place we checked. He said, "Oh, the one where...." and proceeded to describe the second place. I said no, the place on the ground level that looks like... and he said, oh, that place is on the second level, not the first. I jumped out of the car and screamed, "just find me!" and slammed the door. I'm so wound, it's beyond belief. This never happened before-is it a dance fight, predictive of a horrid time ahead? I got to work and checked my emails. There were about ten of them from Slowtrav people -I'll write about slowtrav one of these days - wishing me a wonderful trip, a safe trip, a happy trip, an exciting trip. Suddenly, the morning argument seemed less like an omen of terrible things to come, and more like the ordinary effect of preflight jitters (did I tell you that even after more than four years of fairly constant travel, I still have to medicate myself to get on the plane?) that accompanies all trips to one extent or the other. There are about 2 hours left in my workday. I plan to leave at noon, catch the airport bus a little earlier than I need to, and munch on a veggie wrap as we course down the Van Wyck. See you in Italia.