24-ounce mega-cans of Heineken beer
Snack-sized Starkist tuna lunch kits

This could be the shopping list of a frat boy who cares about Omega-3 fatty acids but not about mercury. Instead, the list is my husband’s, and he’s not even a drinker. He intends to pour the beer down the drain, give the cat a treat, and fashion a portable stove from the cans.

My husband is obsessed with lightweight backpacking. He spends hours online chatting with likeminded fanatics about the newest miracle fabric that repels water, retains heat, and is lighter than air. They swap recipes for freeze-dried concoctions requiring less space than a teabag. Each gram shaved from the overall weight of the pack is cause for celebration; it means he can go faster and farther on his solo trips into the wilderness.

He spends all day experimenting, drilling holes into the beer can, creating a miniature windscreen. Our teenaged daughter catches him trying to boil water in his makeshift tuna-can stove. Rolling her eyes, she declares, “This mid-life crisis has gone too far!”

I know I should be grateful. Other men troll online for extramarital flings or buy expensive sports cars to stave off the onslaught of age. My husband is both frugal and true.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder about his preoccupation with traveling light. How much does he long to unburden himself of home and family, of a life heavy with obligation? We drag on him, the kids and I. The mortgage, hot flashes, college tuition, endless household chores -- they all add to his load. How far could he have gone if he weren’t so weighted down?

No wonder he wants to set off unencumbered at a swift pace. Perhaps, if he doesn’t need to pause for others to catch up, he can even outrun the passage of time.

By Lorrie Goldin

Labels: camping, families, husbands

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