My husband says I am the most curious person he knows. No, he doesn't think that I am odd ( well maybe he does a little). He means that I am curious about things, people, places, thoughts, dreams; all the myriad objects and intangibles that make up my world! And suitcases make me very curious! Of course I know that they belong to the people who have packed them. I don't go rifling through their belongings seeking answers to the questions that pop into my mind uninvited (but invasive nevertheless). But still I do wonder what the suitcase might hold, especially now with the one bag/50lb rule imposed upon the suitcase's owner. What did they deem important to carry with them? What process did they follow when choosing the items that were left behind.
I think I know where this mini-obsession with suitcases comes from. As a small child, my mother and I travelled on a fairly regular basis back and forth between home and St. John's for my medical appointments. I can remember being in Lethbridge train station watching the baggage handler (steward?) take suitcases out of the train's baggage car before lifting our bags into the car. There was a feeling a little kin of panic inside me that modern day psycho-babble might refer to as "separation anxiety". And yet I wondered even at the young age of 4 what the other people were carrying. Were their items more interesting? Would I want to trade my tiny bag for that big black one over there? Or would I be disappointed with the items I had traded for?
And then there was the big leather suitcase that my Dad used. A construction worker who traveled all over the province and in hard years to other parts of Canada to do what he did best. Drive a huge road construction machine and help build highways, roads, airstrips. If he were going for a long trip the suitcase would be stogged tight with nearly everything he owned and he'd walk out to the driveway, leaving the most important thing he owned back in the house with us. His love. But if it was just a short trip of one or two weeks ( how we loved the summers when he was home EVERY weekend!), Mom would pack the necessary work clothes, white t-shirts, grey work socks, handkerchiefs (red and blue printed kind, not those fancy white ones - they were kept for home!), and she'd also fold and include some plaid shirts for wearing in the evening after he "got a wash". Utilitarian things for a very utilitarian two weeks away. And then if she'd been able to find some by trading with neighbours, she'd tuck in a few paperbook novels. Zane Grey. A good Western to read before turning in for the night.
Suitcases. I bet you all have one or two in a storage space somewhere in your home. Haven't looked in them for years, right? Erin and I opened a lot of boxes, tubs and suitcases when we cleaned out our basement in August. Somethings that were precious 8 years ago, were now deemed to be disposable. Sheet music for every song the Die Tichslers ever played had lost its poignancy. Christmas ornaments were sorted and culled and smiled over. We repeated the mantra, "Thank you for being in my life, GOOD-BYE" over and over and over. In one small suitcase we found every hair accessory that Erin had ever owned as a child. "little princess", "Mommy's Girl" and "ERIN" painted on little plastic bits and now sitting in a suitcase. All but forgotten. Unicorns and ribboned delights, every colour of the rainbow barrettes, buckles and bobbles, purchased to match her perfect little outfits. Somethings are just to precious to get rid of! The suitcases were emptied, the items tagged for sale, trashed or in some special cases (like hair accessories!) re-stored for posterity!
Suitcases. We have all had a few in our lives. I left for university with my three piece hard-sided burnt orange suitcases filled with practically everything I owned. I couldn't put the contents of two drawers into those bags today, but back then times WERE simpler and our wardrobes reflected that. And just like over the years our wardrobes have expanded so have all the emotional things that is referred to collectively as "our personal baggage" that we carry along with us on our journey through life. And while the airlines are limiting the amount of "stuff" we can travel with, there is no such agency looking after regulations to help us limit the emotional weight that we drag through life with us. I met a couple recently who have seemingly lived a charmed life. Married (they were high school sweethearts) and been together for 30 years. Good jobs. Two kids, both married and living in the same town. Grandkids, one of each. Both sets of parents, healthy and well and living in their own homes. No medical problems. Wow! Would I like to trade MY big black baggage for their tiny bags? Not a chance in hell! Just because I've led a less than charmed life, doesn't mean that I'd change a single item that I have packed in my big black bag. All the sadness and strife has made me who I am today. And no one has dictated that my baggage be what it is. I am loved and I love... deeply and without regret. I sleep at night. And I have learned to cope in hard times. Smile and be happy during good times.I have learned to let things go... Because even though there are people who will offer you items to pack in your bag, it is your choice whether or not you accept them and how far you're willing to drag it along with you.
Today as I type this, the world is waking up to the 10th Anniversary of 9-11. And while media people talk of hope and resilience and I like the most of the rest of the world, feel the pain all over again, I am also reminded of all the losses and gains of my own life during the past ten years. And to each and everyone of you, may today be a day when you are able to open your suitcase and let a few things go. Be thankful for your own life, mourn your losses and make room in that baggage for love, hope and compassion. I wish you all, peace and love... from Lethbridge.
