Tuesday, August 07, 2007
This funky vinyl bag (available at Unica) makes me giddy happy. Not enough to buy: I don't do vinyl. But I did once.
I was four and we lived in New York. My dad worked on the Avenue of the Americas at Elektra Records and I can still remember going to meet him for something or other -- I remember the sidewalks -- they were so big and full of cracks and I had the awesome responsibility of not breaking my mother's back -- but I don't remember the blind man selling pencils who I toddled up to, my Dad tells me, and who smiled when I did.
My first NY con man.
What I do remember is this bag: it was my very first handbag. Mine was PanAm blue and it came with a pair of pilot's wings. I don't know if my dad brought it home from a business trip, or my Grama brought it with her when she flew cross-country from Seattle to see my little brother G when he was born (and who was a source of great disappointment to me when my parents refused to name him Cindy as I requested).
But I knew it was an airlines bag, and I knew that airlines had something to do with far away and brand new everything, and I knew I wanted a piece of that. Even then.
Packing tonight, for the day after tomorrow. Pleasure this time (mostly). Nice change.