When I was young I had my bags packed. I should say bag. I should more specifically mention that this "bag" was my grandmother's old purse. Patent leather, white, large ball clasp, two shoulder straps (which would allow me to wear it as a backpack, unfortunately, then, the ball clasp hit me mid-spine) and utterly and completely mine. I stored in it my most prized possessions...awards from kindergarten, small toys, trinkets mostly, and my intent? As I told anyone who would ask, "It's my disaster bag." I remember packing it after watching a rather unsettling news broadcast about a hurricane and resulting flood. I remember packing it in case of emergency. I remember my mother asking me why it didn't contain any clean underwear.
Airstream living has forced me to be more...I won't say efficient, because I've been reluctant...let's just say, ready. It occurred to me the other day, I have a disaster bag once again! This happened completely by accident. There are definite, hard to ignore similarities, though, vintage bag, filled with trinkets, toys, mementos, photos...only this time slightly more practical- it does contain my passport...but still no underwear.
