I’m packing so light I may not even take my teeth. This occurs to me the day before we leave, running through my mind things we can ditch to make for light luggage. The partial denture was issued to me last Spring to make up for three missing teeth in my lower jaw, an economical solution to the problem, but—go figure, a partial solution. Middle age is fully upon me now. The teeth, as it turns out, are not fun to eat with, so my routine has been to take them OUT in the day and wear them at night, like a retainer of sorts. No doubt the dentist will look at me funny when I explain this routine, but oh well. It works. Now, on the eve of my journey, I’m thinking… pain au chocolate, du fromage, un petit morceau du pain – who needs teeth for the delicacies of France?! Just think: I could actually leave them behind and travel 2 oz. lighter than the average American who gets bogged down carrying a full head of teeth.

Air France wants $60 per checked back, so we gave up on the idea of a real suitcase a while ago. This is bargain Jenny’s shoestring trip to France. Not because we are going to do less or see less. But because we are going to pack less. We are going to transport as little as humanly possible across the Atlantic. Carry-on, it is. Me and my worldly possessions—through airports, ticket lines, TSA security check, boarding, deboarding, runways, jetways, overhead bins, under seats–our friends till the bitter end. In carry-on world, of course, every item that goes into the suitcase gets screened here, at home. Maybe it goes, maybe it doesn’t. Fashion sandals? Out. Eleventh T-shirt when we’re gone 10 days? Out. Thinking through my luggage and the minimalism with which I will be packing today…eye-liner and mascara? Who needs it? Cute new clothes you might wear on the streets of Paris—with the tags still on them? Out. Out, out, out.

Instead, we guard room for important things: the photos of me and my French family from 1985. Is that really me—in the short hair–with all my teeth? A large restaurant menu, pinched from La Coronne in Rouen when I was apparently collecting FREE souvenirs even in 1986 (My nickname then was Michelin Jenny— and I could do $10 a day–including lodging!!) A copy of the Mechanicsville Local (front page only, of course—the rest is too bulky) for us to hold in the obligatory photo at the feet of the Eiffel Tower. A small laminated Flat Stanley because technically I’m in the field this month for my library job as children’s programmer and heck, we have a “Flat Stanley homecoming” on the calendar for August 18^th.  No Photoshop for Jenny. This little paper buddy will be the real deal for my patrons. These things are important.

They are also not the weirdest things in my suitcase. Not by a long shot. In thinking through American gifts for my host families, I have actually been considering Hanover tomatoes. Looked up apples on the TSA website, and those are a go. Turns out there’s a whole bunch of weird stuff you can take through airport security. A cheeseburger, for instance. Yes, a cheeseburger! Can I take more than 3.5 oz of hand lotion? No, I cannot. Can I take a regular size tube of toothpaste or nail clippers? No, I cannot. Can I take a slice of pepperoni pizza? Yes, I can. TSA has an A to Z list of 447 acceptable items. And by this I mean “acceptable” if you’re an electronic airport scanner. If you’re a normal human being boarding a flight, the term need be applied more loosely. Antlers? Acceptable in both carry on and checked luggage. Along with a live lobster, a tortilla press, and an Xbox. All in. (actually, the lobster depends on what airline).  Unfortunately for all those over-packers out there, a vehicular airbag is NOT acceptable, nor are liquid bleach, an ice pick, or hand grenades.  I’m going to Umbrella Land and the opportunity for crazy trappings to France are endless. So I will bring ….rocks.

Yes, rocks.

On my three-month tour of Europe so many decades ago, my souvenir of choice was water. “Rivers of the World” my collection is called, housed in tiny bottles I collected while traveling and procured at great peril and personal risk. I once jumped off a train passing from Spain back into France to get just a teaspoon of the Guadal Quivire to add to my collection. The Seine, the Loire, Thames…the tiny River Cher, which runs from Villandry to Vierzon, all these waters I proudly display in a shoebox under the bathroom sink. I believe the Thames evaporated over the last 32 years, and one or two others got so cloudy with bacteria that I poured them out, but the little collection is still here. It’s hard to know just what to do with such things. But this time around, it shall be rocks. I have been collecting them from several beloved places in the USA. Picking up Ellie at Camp Hanover the other night I find a smooth, pumice-like stone, about the size of your palm, bleached white and warmed by the sun. A perfect piece of America–and it’s right there under “R” on the TSA A to Z list.

The man who is picking us up at Charles DeGaule airport is my French “brother,” Laurent, who was 17 when I lived there. He and I have been corresponding via text and email the past few months making and ironing out arrangements. Though I am using Google translate to fool them into thinking I have kept up my French all these years, he eagerly writes me in English, as he is a businessman and says he like to practice. This has resulted in some pretty funny correspondence that I have shared with the girls for a laugh, and to show them that it is pretty tricky, oh student of French 6, to sound like you know what you’re doing. Foreign language parlance not for sissies! Some keepers:

Last month: “Dear Jennifer, Why are you?”

(a question, which–ridiculous as it sounds at first–some days, to be honest, as a middle-aged mom just trying to make it through my days just hits the metaphysical nail on the head… Haven’t the great thinkers and theologians of the ages pondered just that: Why AM I??!)

Two weeks ago: “Dear Jennifer, Nice to read you…”

These are just the simple idiomatic slips that will make our conversations fun and interesting when I get over there. We’ll see if I don’t make the same gaffes (and never know it) en francais. Today, our last correspondence with an ocean between us, he writes me something truly profound. In arranging the airport pick up for tomorrow:

“I will be at the airport for your arrival the 1^st August. Would you have lot of luggage? To be frank, my van was out for two week and I will recover it only the 1^st August PM !

I will take my wife which is a medium car. But I am not worry, I think you won’t bring your home with you.”

So, that’s a plan. I am not sure whether we will meet his wife (IN the medium car) or if it is her car he will drive to retrieve us. But I will certainly write back that we did not bring the home with us. Only the thoughts and prayers of many who are AT home, enjoying their antlers and hand grenades.

A Bon Voyage!

Jennifer