Luggage and things
Goings on: Wedding in Ohio, my first solo court appearance, family reuinion in San Jose, CA.
More details on those things later.
For now, and maybe it's fitting to start at the end, I just want to talk about my luggage. Not my baggage (see all previous entries, lol) - but my actual luggage. To start, it's not even mine. In a frenzy involving preparing for my first hearing and packing for a long weekend in Cali, I made an executive decision that a stop in Norristown to grab my carry-on luggage was an inefficient use of the tiny sliver of my Wednesday that remained. I made a general request to my housemates to borrow luggage, and was enamored with the perfect little luggage Jenna provided.
I packed daily essentials, as well as the imperatives for archiving a multi-generational reunion: a sketchbook with 2 rubbings of grandfather's gravestone, a video camera with 6 hours of video tape, and a journal. The so-called essentials occupied 90% of the suitcase and an entire small backpack.
I arrived in Cali. We did the reunion thing (more on that later). After what felt like one very long and busy day, the weekend was over and I was boarding the return flight home. I turned over the luggage to the gate attendants when the overhead compartments were full (after they boarded the first ten rows, which is sort of an annoying part of flying these days). So, they checked it. I took out the regular essentials for a long day of travel (toothbrush and toothpaste and a sweater), and surrendered my bag.
When it didn't arrive in Philadelphia, everyone who had been on my plane, and waiting and milling about for an announcement about the luggage, was pretty upset. The loss of my luggage didn't really bother me for some reason (sleep deprivation?). I put in my name and address at the counter for next-day luggage delivery, and couldn't wait to drive away from the airport - and all the woes of traveling that it sometimes represents. (Most of the time the airport represents adventure and reunions, which move me).
At first I was reassured by the thought that they were all possessions that could be replaced. Some time before it was deliverd, however, I realized that some things in there were my most valued possessions, and I started to panic. Actually, just one thing: my external harddrive was in my luggage. It holds hundreds of photos and videos of Dad's funeral, family gatherings and trips, and MK's first years, many of which I am the sole keeper. This reminded me, of course, of when Joe's car got broken into after he had just gotten back from visiting me in Europe. He had said, "what are those bastards going to do with pictures of my dad's funeral?"
The luggage didn't actually arrive for days. And when it did, it was broken. Nothing was missing. I spent about three hours looking at photos that night, and felt very fortunate.
(Oh, and I totally owe my roommate dinner for the broken luggage - whoops!)
More details on those things later.
For now, and maybe it's fitting to start at the end, I just want to talk about my luggage. Not my baggage (see all previous entries, lol) - but my actual luggage. To start, it's not even mine. In a frenzy involving preparing for my first hearing and packing for a long weekend in Cali, I made an executive decision that a stop in Norristown to grab my carry-on luggage was an inefficient use of the tiny sliver of my Wednesday that remained. I made a general request to my housemates to borrow luggage, and was enamored with the perfect little luggage Jenna provided.
I packed daily essentials, as well as the imperatives for archiving a multi-generational reunion: a sketchbook with 2 rubbings of grandfather's gravestone, a video camera with 6 hours of video tape, and a journal. The so-called essentials occupied 90% of the suitcase and an entire small backpack.
I arrived in Cali. We did the reunion thing (more on that later). After what felt like one very long and busy day, the weekend was over and I was boarding the return flight home. I turned over the luggage to the gate attendants when the overhead compartments were full (after they boarded the first ten rows, which is sort of an annoying part of flying these days). So, they checked it. I took out the regular essentials for a long day of travel (toothbrush and toothpaste and a sweater), and surrendered my bag.
When it didn't arrive in Philadelphia, everyone who had been on my plane, and waiting and milling about for an announcement about the luggage, was pretty upset. The loss of my luggage didn't really bother me for some reason (sleep deprivation?). I put in my name and address at the counter for next-day luggage delivery, and couldn't wait to drive away from the airport - and all the woes of traveling that it sometimes represents. (Most of the time the airport represents adventure and reunions, which move me).
At first I was reassured by the thought that they were all possessions that could be replaced. Some time before it was deliverd, however, I realized that some things in there were my most valued possessions, and I started to panic. Actually, just one thing: my external harddrive was in my luggage. It holds hundreds of photos and videos of Dad's funeral, family gatherings and trips, and MK's first years, many of which I am the sole keeper. This reminded me, of course, of when Joe's car got broken into after he had just gotten back from visiting me in Europe. He had said, "what are those bastards going to do with pictures of my dad's funeral?"
The luggage didn't actually arrive for days. And when it did, it was broken. Nothing was missing. I spent about three hours looking at photos that night, and felt very fortunate.
(Oh, and I totally owe my roommate dinner for the broken luggage - whoops!)
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