Before I packed for Switzerland, I contemplated the luggage I would use. We have a few varieties to choose from. A few broken down ugly suitcases kept just in case someone needs an extra piece of luggage. Or in case there is a humanitarian trip and someone needs to collect shoes. We can donate the luggage. Over time, we've accumulated a small motley crew of pieces.
The ugly pieces get sorted out eventually. Tony held on to a fake leather brown piece inherited and already beaten down, held together by large strips of duct tape. When that piece of luggage was left off the plane, and it caused us to miss our connection, upon arriving home, I unpacked fins and goggles and tossed it in the trash--threatening Tony if he were to salvage it.
I've learned that when luggage doesn't make its connection or the weight of the plane has maxed out, luggage is chosen to go out on the next flight according to available space. If you were a luggage handler, would you put on the sleek luggage or the duct-taped piece missing its handle?
Exactly.
When Mandi's luggage didn't make it in three days to Albania, I blamed it on its worn-out ugliness.
When I'm choosing my luggage from the motley and not so motley crew, I settle on an interesting choice. We've recently inherited my mother-in-law's luggage for which she no longer has need. I'll be gone for three weeks, and I decide to splurge on roomy. Her bright blue luggage is a beast. I can see her personality in this luggage. The many zippered compartments, the flat back zippered space for flat things. It has two nice outside pockets and a roomy interior. A small storage space on every wall. It feels like luxury space, and I've grown tired of packing so tightly.
In my mind, I'll be taking my mother-in-law to Europe. She needs a vacation despertaely.
But my nostalgia and mother-in-law lover have repercussions. In the deep, lovely side pocket, I pack too many books. It's a gym workout to pull it up and down steep roads. It doesn't slide past the armrests in train aisles. The old wheels don't swivel for easy maneuvering. I am filled with traveler envy as I pass people with compact, rolling, luggage. I am pulling an ox; other travelers pull toy poodles on leashes.
***
While traveling with my cousins, we needed an unexpected carriage ride. We circled around to collect the Swiss francs we needed in cash.
Mom was the only one with enough Swiss francs to pay for the carriage ride. But, she possessed only one large bill, and she didn't want to be left without any money, so I gave her all of my sixty Swiss francs. I pulled out my wallet.
It is the same wallet my father used while living and serving in Switzerland. I wouldn't have pointed it out, but when Mom saw it, she told all the cousins. It was a just a simple connector point binding our shared family, our shared trip.
There are no repercussions for using my father's wallet. Though there is no place for change--it works fine to have the coins settles at the bottom of my backpack.
I love that my daughter uses her great grandmother's violin. I love the big silver bowl that once belonged to Tony's grandmother. I cherish the dress sewn by my grandmother for her grandaughters' baby blessings. All of my daughters wore the same dress. My mom's rolling pin? Tony's tried to toss it, but I've held on.
I'm strangely attached to the possessions of loved ones. To the utilitarian objects of everyday life. I have less regard for the trinkets or the statues or the silver vases. I appreciate the items they baked with, the wallets they carried, the suitcases they pulled down British cobbled roads.
They have stories.
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