This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

After being dragged from one military post to another by the Old Man when I was young, I like having one place to call home. I also like staying there.

Maybe it's because I don't travel as well as I used to. There was a time when I could sleep in the back window deck of a Rambler for a hundred miles and wake up feeling rested enough to risk a drubbing for tormenting my sisters to the point of hysteria.

Not anymore. A short plane ride or a long weekend somewhere leaves me tired and out of sorts. I want my own chair, my own bed and my own space.

This is a problem because in the past 10 years, my wife and I have begun traveling more. We've visited nine countries and about 30 states. We're getting ready to go again. My wife and I are going to England in a few weeks.

It'll be fun at first, but after just a few days of living out of a suitcase, even exotic places become onerous. As excited as we ever are to go to those places, we're always more excited to come back home.

It isn't homesickness so much as wanting to slow down. Several years ago, I peered up at the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel and was overcome by the sudden awe of, "Who gives a #$%? I miss the grandkids."

Note: If you think this makes me an uncultured barbarian, keep reading the last line of the previous paragraph.

I told you all of that to let you in on the worst part of traveling. It's packing to leave. We're weeks away from leaving for England, and the hell of getting ready has begun.

Last week, we bought my wife a suitcase big enough to park a car in. It still isn't big enough, though. She also needs an overnight bag, a carry-on bag, a shoe bag and — AND — part of the one bag I'll be hauling.

Women in general tend to pack more stuff for vacation than men do. I am not saying this is bad. I like my wife to look her best. If takes extra suitcases, I don't mind. What I do mind is making sure she has everything to go into them.

If there's even a remote chance that she'll need an electric can opener during two weeks in the English countryside, it will go into the bag.

As we've already established, I am an uncultured barbarian. I can stuff everything I need for a month into my old army duffel bag.

Yeah, my clothes will look like an elephant slept on them when I get to London, but I don't care. Except for my wife, I'll be 5,000 miles away from anyone I give a damn about, never mind want to impress.

It still takes me a long time to pack, though. Not to round up what I might need, but rather to make sure none of it will result in my being hauled off to jail.

I do most of my road traveling with Sonny. So just about anything could feasibly end up in my duffel bag. I once found a fossilized Pop-Tart and a mummified rat in it.

My wife and I will be landing at London's Heathrow airport on the anniversary of 9/11. It stands to reason that any loose ammunition or gunpowder that might still be in my duffel bag will result in a hugely expensive misunderstanding.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.