[7/11/2004] It seems like there was a time when summers were for taking trips away from home.

My mother wasn’t trying to get rid of me at least I don’t think so but it seems like I got to spend a good part of every summer away from home. She wanted me to enjoy travel, I think, because she did.

There were a couple of annual school road trips to Washington, D.C. These trips were highly organized affairs.

Usually with just two adults, 10 or 15 elementary-aged children would pile on an old school bus with sleeping bags and our luggage. Private school students, we wore navy and white uniforms to class. And even on these trips, there was a dress code. It was relaxed, though. We had to wear white pants when we were going to be in public. Not shorts. Long pants.

My white pants usually featured red Kool-Aid splotches.

But, for 11 days, I got to see the world fly past me or at least the world between here and D.C. through the windows of a bus.

There were occasional planned trips for a week in Atlanta with my aunt. These were also fairly well organized, although the dress code was considerably relaxed.

And, always there were weeks on end spent at my grandparents’ place. These trips were unplanned and a weekend could stretch into three weeks with only a little pleading.

No dress code, and the only organization was that every Monday we drove to Grenada to shop for groceries. Well, I lie, now that I think about it.

There was a morning walk down to the mailbox for The Commercial Appeal, and meal times were pretty regular. There was usually an afternoon nap, and a walk if we felt like it. And, then, after supper, we sat outside until it was dark.

Later, there were family trips to Florida, a church trip to Arizona, and a college trip to Mexico.

By the time I was 18, I was as comfortable if not more so in an airport or a bus station as I was at school.

So, where in all this gypsy training did I become such a homebody?

It’s not being low on cash. I’m a budget travel pro. I went to St. Louis once for a weekend with a tank of gas and $50 and somehow managed not to miss a meal, and I got back home, too.

It’s not my animals because they travel remarkably well.

Maybe it’s the memories of those long, slow days doing nothing with my grandparents.

Maybe, as I pointed out to a friend the other day, it’s because my furniture’s too heavy.

Although the open road calls me quite often, and I frequently imagine ticket counters and train schedules, for now the white pants are mothballed.

This change in me is not likely permanent. My wandering days are not over, but right now I am content to watch the world slowly go by from the porch.

My idea of the perfect day now involves doing varying degrees of nothing.

The summer’s about half gone, and the longest trip I plan to take is to the mailbox every afternoon.

Sonya Kimbrell is features editor of The Vicksburg Post. E-mail her at skimbrell@vicksburgpost.com.