Today the memory is of your bag. You're special. You carry a bag, a black high sierra in the past, a tan army haversack with a guard badge on it now. You are proud of that badge - you've earned it. There is always this slight tone where you point out how other people are not a real guard but have a guard badge.
But that's not the point. You carry a bag, which is precious. How do I explain it?
You know, when walking on the streets, you'll see all the couples together? The lady, nearly always, always, have a bag - a small handbag, or a huge bag she's toting around. The guy? A wallet in his pocket and nothing else? Or look at married couples. Where does my Dad puts his bible? In my Mom's bag. Where's his water bottle? In the tote bag Mom carries around. Mom always has 2 bags, and Dad...
Dad carries his car keys I guess.
You carry a bag. And you carry my bag, when it's not too girly. And sometimes, even when it's girly. Or offer to take some of my items. I guess it's just me, influenced by my backache and all, but there's something extremely precious about you carrying my bag. Offering to take my load, easing my load, making my load lighter. (Free from backache!) And I love you for that.
The Lighter Side of Her
Blog
A grey dress with sweet dainty puckered sleeves and a special nook clothes and surrounds dreamy fancies and flights of imagination. Memories from here and there creep in, forming the pen in her head.
When time slows down, she writes.
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