Thursday, May 19, 2005
The handle broke en route to JazzFest, but miraculously, after tape intervention and lots of happy-wishful thoughts, it finally popped up on the luggage carousel. After days of delicious, drinking debauchery, my lucky stars prevailed and the bright red plastic patched up mess boisterously bumped its way toward me at LAX baggage claim. So needless to say, we've been through a lot. Funny how that pretty much applies to luggage of all sorts. Real and fakey. Ridiculously red and transparently ethereal. Last week, I left it on the curb for my friendly garbage-collecting crew. Walking back to the front door, I turned, just for a last peek. And there it sat. Or dangled on its side, really. Banged up and oddly sad, but defiantly determined to hold itself together. And it really did. Fifteen years of traveling and alloted less-than-ideal closet space for its size. Weird. It's like saying goodbye to an era. Exciting, but slightly daunting. Sigh. Baggage. Where would we be without it?