I'm a pretty unflappable, steady-as-she-goes flyer. Judy is not. Her stomach is already churning, and that'll probably be the case until she boards the plane, pops her in-flight drug of choice -- Ambien -- and snoozes her way across the ocean. In case of consciousness, however, she has stashed her portable comfort food of choice in her backpack -- Pringles and Twizzlers. She probably would like to carry a pizza in there as well, but it would just get everything greasy. Besides, the TSA folks would probably want a slice or two.
Packing approaches. Once again, I have sworn that WE'RE TRAVELING LIGHT!!! No, I really mean it this time. Really. Of course, no matter how light we think we're packing, we manage to strain the zippers on the suitcases. And, amazingly, the suitcases always weigh damn near the airlines' limit. I'm sure there's some undiscovered gravitational property at work here, but it's beyond me.
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