In 2003, we bought a couple of suitcases for the China trip to gather the family together. There's the red one, which I use pretty much every time I'm gone for a few days, and the black one, its twin in every respect save for color. These cases went to China, England, China again, and Michigan, repeatedly.
We're trying to slim down, ably obstacled by my own second-guessing, wishing for a tithe of "keep" in every batch that goes out, and trying hard not to act on it. My stomach churned on seeing this stand by the curb for two solid days, including light rains and showers. I hoped someone would come and claim it for their own future adventures. They didn't.
Today I went out to move the bins, because driveway sealers were doing their work, and I didn't want out trash guys to be inconvenienced. "We're gone in five minutes!" the man said as I wheeled the barrels, and I explained that our trash guys show up at the darnedest times and all. "Then I hope they take that stuff," I said, indicating the above cornucopia. "I took the suitcase!" said my new hero.
"YES!" I said. "That's a good fucking suitcase. We went all over with it, and it's still as good as it ever was. I didn't want to give it away in the first place, and I'm glad it's going where somebody'll use it! That suitcase is older than my daughter (I may have been off by a few months here), and we got it 23 years ago (off by one)."
And I went on in, feeling GOOD about the suitcase, and hoping it has great adventures in the future. Only regret now is that I didn't put a sticker inside that said it had been to China, England, Escanaba. But a happy ending is a happy ending, especially when it's a beginning.
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