Bag lover
“Swim bag? Check.”
“Boot bag? Check.”
“Rucksack? Check.”
Every Thursday, my son has three separate bags to take to school. Thankfully, one of those bags fits nicely inside his rucksack, so he only needs to carry two. OK, fine. I carry the swim bag as he scooters wearing his rucksack. And, I’m either toting a backpack myself, or a crossbody. So, on Thursdays — I am weighed down by bags.
And, I love it.
I can pinpoint almost the exact moment I became a true handbag lover. Sure, I loved my mom’s “pockagucks” as a toddler, and had my own little purses for Easter, but — it had to have been when I was around 7 or 8 years old. It was either the fact that I had been reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn over the summer — or that I was watching Bugs Bunny while eating a popsicle after lunch and swimming. Between Bugs carrying what I much later learned is called a “bindle” — a stick with a filled handkerchief tied on the end, and Huck’s sense of adventure (according to my 8-year-old brain) — I had an idea.
I ran off to my bedroom to fetch my twirling baton and purple bandana, and proceeded to fill it with my important “what if I head out on an adventure?” items. I believe they were: A Barbie doll, a marble bag filled with coins from my piggy bank and my diary. I tied the bandana around the baton, slung it over my shoulder, and proceeded to walk past my grandmother in the kitchen, through the sliding glass door, down the deck stairs and camped behind the giant oak tree in the backyard. Ahh, freedom.
Then it was lunch time, so I trudged back up and had my soup and sandwich.
I continued to do this on and off throughout the summer, roping my cousins into the backyard adventure with their own bindles. The pool was our river, the swing set was an obstacle course in the forest, and we even convinced our grandmother to leave our lunch outside for us to “discover” on our own, so we could eat in the wild.
Each day, I filled my bindle with different things. But, the bindle evolved into my Get in Shape, Girl! tote bag, then a messenger bag because a crossbody was easier to keep on my shoulder while “foraging”… in the backyard. I could easily toss acorns and other keepsakes like daisies, buttercups and cool rocks into it, and keep moving.
The idea of tossing treasures into a bag and continuing about your day/adventure intrigued me. And, the fact the bag seemed to complete my “look” or outfit appealed to my love of fashion and style. I found myself wandering off into the handbag section of every store we went in, gazing at the ads in magazines that were delivered to my mom, and paying attention to the bags my favourite TV characters were carrying.
And, I haven’t stopped since. Except, those magazines come to me now, and of course social media is a thing.
Also now, I love, love, LOVE finding bags on consignment. Is being a bag lover an addiction? No. An obsession? Slightly. I prefer to call them investments. I mean, one day, maybe I’ll have a daughter-in-law, and/or grandchildren who would love to have these beautifully-kept (I am religious about keeping my bags in dust bags when not in use) handbags to use and enjoy. After all, I have used my great-grandmother and grandmother’s vintage clutches/bags for proms, weddings, other events. It’s special — because they’re passed down and filled with history (and my lip gloss, powder and tissues), but also because they’re not carried by anyone else at that event.
My bags have been with me on many adventures and life experiences. Different styles for different adventures, too. A crossbody for exploring a new town. A shoulder bag or satchel to dangle from my inner elbow for dinner.
But, my search for the perfect bag that gives me that full “Huckleberry Finn” feeling continues. Will I ever find it? I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t exist.
I just know I will have the most fun on my search!