I have been WAITING to do this. I wanted to do it WITH people not just my own. Thanks, BelovedK!
Big, soft-sided, overstuffed to the point of zipper-popping, bag. Scuffed, from years of heavy use, even with a few small tears, but still sturdy and tough, yet a soft glow of polish and hand-rubbing show through. There are pockets everywhere for organizing, but they all hold whatever landed in them first.
Stickers cover the outside, stuck so that they half-cover other labels, all at odd angles. "Mother" "Sister" "Daughter" "wife" "ex-wife" Farmer, gardener, fool, witch, hat-maker, teriyaki sauce cooker, truck driver, veteran, all the things I am or have been, yet nothing that says anything about the ME that lives inside.
It's hard to slide the zipper. It sticks, has to be run back and forth numerous times before the bag springs open. Stuff spills out onto the bed. Long, flowing, feminine caftans mix with jeans, t-shirts and jammie pants. Nothing is new, all show wear and tear. Work gloves to protect my hands from the hard parts of the day lay unused.
Sexy underwear, bikini-type, fall in a silky pile. Pawing through you come to one bra. Just one, rarely bothered with.
Books line the bottom of the bag. Books on child rearing and cookbooks, homesteading and fantasy novels, romances, literary fiction, books on writing, on fish farming, on travel, a small library of diverse reading material.
Between the layer of books and the layer of clothing are notebooks. The cheap, 3 for $1.00 (ok, I got them on sale for 10 for $1.00
), wide-ruled notbooks. And pens! Dozens of fancy, weighted pens, thick, easy to hold pens, a few cheap Bics, fine line and not-so-fine, permaent markers, a bunch of sharp pencils. A laptop sits nestled in there, it's memory full of novels in the works, recipes yet to be tried, rare moments to be remembered.
When you open the pockets you find simple items: a camera, homemade soap, homemade lotions and hand creams to smooth away my rough edges.
Jewelry, UGLY jewelry. Beads painted in neon colors by a child and strung on a bit of string, a black mussel shell on another length of cord, a bit of clay with a design pressed into it. A few pair of store bought earrings, but nothing worth more than a few dollars.
There's a few scents in there. Lemon and lavender, sage and comfrey, white vinegar, baking soda.
There's a pair of sandals, flats, and a pair of sturdy shoes. No pumps or high heels. A hairbrush, but no gels or sprays.
Tucked into the last pocket is a photo album. Between it's pages you see the people who have colored my life, old and young, long-dead or new to this world. Despised or adored.
Quick! Zip it back up! C'mon, cram it all in! I'm in a hurry! I'm in a ruch. Time is wasting and I've so much to do, so far to go.
First I wrote mine, so as not to be influenced by everyone else's. I'm going back to read now!