When George Bailey quizzed Uncle Billy on the three best sounds in the world the older man's guess was good enough to eat. 

 

"Breakfast is served, lunch is served, dinner is served."

 

"No, no, no.  It's anchor chains, plane motors and train whistles."

 

George was born old. Or so his father claimed. He was hard wired for travel. 

 

I am not George. 

 

Traveling, especially alone, is less appealing than it used to be. But some of my children no longer live in easy driving distance much less walking. Which is why it behooves me to book a flight now and then. 

 

I have not always been skittish. There was the bike ride across Iowa. And the trip to western Canada with two preschoolers. I drove from Pennsylvania to Los Angeles with six kids in a car that retired in the junkyard shortly after. I flew from London to Paris, rechecking my pockets every ten minutes, until I saw my oldest son waiting for me at Charles de Gaulle. I screamed for joy. Couldn't stop myself. 

 

Maybe my reluctance is a byproduct of aging. Or then again it could be the fallout of a history of mishaps. Not just to me but those I love. Lost luggage on Christmas day. Realizing you're at the wrong airport and you've run out of money. A car crash on a winding back road in Ireland. Losing your wallet. On one flight my baby got sick all over me when I was pinned between strangers and the seat belt sign was illuminated. Or the time I bought tickets for myself and my son and the airline went bankrupt before I could use them. Oh yeah, and I had two babies. 

 

Each scenario makes me shiver even though they ended well. Or at least ended. 

 

Once when my mother lived with us she sat listening to a rapid fire conversation between me, John, and several kids about who was going where when in which car. 

 

"Stop racing around!" Mom tried to stomp her feet but at 78 she could barely manage a thump. "I forbid it!"

 

We all stopped and looked at her. Then I laughed. She felt weak. Not that I was exactly strong. Just rushed. 

 

If it were to happen today I would put my arms around her. Slow down and sit beside her. Serve her tea. Even if it meant being late to a meeting. Reassure her that this is her home too and that she belongs. And that we will all come back again.