NL #18: I have never carried a purse. They're so impractical: too small to carry the things I need; too large to carry comfortably on one shoulder. For a while I carried one of those purses I could strap to my waist. That way, I kept my wallet and keys with me and didn't really notice it was there. There's a picture of me digging a large hole for a french drain in our front yard. I'm dirty, wielding a shovel, and look tough except for the purse at my waist.
This fall, I tried to carry a purse, what my colleague Jenn referred to as my "training purse," but it just didn't work for me, so I went back to my backpack, which my colleague Kate says gives me a "jaunty" look. I like that.
In my backpack, I carry three pair of glasses (and wear a fourth), toothpaste and toothbrush (I still remember my 7th grade science teacher who got food stuck in his braces), a wallet (red, so I can find it), pens, a magnifiying glass, a quart of water, lunch in a new, brightly dotted lunch bag, journals for each of the four places that I work, a seldom charged cell phone, a luna bar for emergencies, and so on.
I carry frustration, for the things I can no longer do and the things that are difficult now, for this world as it is and as it could be--but I carry frustration more in my shoulders and neck than in my backpack. I carry fears of what I have lost and what I have to lose. Like Pandora in her box, I carry hope in my backpack, but unlike Pandora, I let hope out as often as possible. Ann and others think my backpack too heavy, but hope lightens the load. And I certainly wouldn't want to go in to work with a teacher without my own writing utensil. I would get a dirty look, for sure.
Mary
"For me a brain tumor and its treatments are not a pause in the adventure of life, but instead a part of the adventure of life." Mary has survived big hair, a brain tumor, coming out, distressed bowel syndrome, hallucinations, radiation, and a car wreck. Here Mary takes us from public transportation horrors to the joys of sharing life with you. Though you probably won't want to have a brain tumor; you will wish that you could see the world through Mary's eyes. Sister Jen
A Photograph of me without me in it
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
NL #18: The Things I Carry
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blog,
brain tumor,
ependymoma,
memoir,
Northwest,
radiation,
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Em,
ReplyDeleteYou also carry grace with you, and acceptance, and at least four belly laughs - all of which I quietly ask for from time to time, just to make sure you've got them at the ready for when I REALLY need them.
Big Hug,
Pea