That small black travel case with the wheels that I never use, unless I'm running (yes running!) through airport security in order to get to my flight (which I am late for, yes late!) like a football player running to the end zone, stands next to my bed still carrying a few items from our recent weekend visiting friends on the other side of the state.
I miss them.
I packed Katie and myself into that case for the 2-night stay, both of our essential items fitting neatly and perfectly (like hands in a glove) into the rectangular space. Hers and mine. Swimsuits, capris, tank tops, sunglasses, flip flops, books and magazines, hair clippies, earrings, everything we needed.
Some of it still in that case.
The thing I hate about unpacking is the part about telling yourself its over.
The good times.
I never realized until just now that I've never been an avid unpacker for this very reason. In my purses you'll find ticket stubs, loose change, receipts. All mementos from the time that was had, whatever and whenever it was. In my travel bags you'll find more of the same, including necessities that I picked up along the way, like SPF 15 lip gloss. I'll stash business cards from far away places that I think I'll return to someday...
It's a pattern of mine, this state of unpack. And believe me, I'm no world traveler! Imagine if I were...the unpackedness of my various travelling receptacles would overtake the house. I am sure that I would be unable to find an empty bag or suitcase to save my life.
So the case sits, and I avoid it. I've gotten all the important things taken care of (like the dirty laundry and toothpaste that might escape its tube) so what is the harm in leaving the rest? Even if only to open it up and remind myself of the fleeting, wonderful, magical, relaxing, perfect time that was had?
No harm in that.