Scarlett’s Letter August 11, 2013

Today was like some weird time continuum thing. Sunday already? How did that happen?

This phenomenon continued beyond just that moment when I awoke and realized it was Sunday. Already. I went down for breakfast, my usual Sunday at home no other plans kind of breakfast; a piece of bacon, a shirred egg, oatmeal, the kind that takes thirty minutes to cook, coffee and some kind of fruit. But I was out of fruit today and I’m not sure how that happened, either. I fixed breakfast, ate breakfast, wrote in my journal, tapped out a few notes on my iPad for articles I’d like to write, perused Facebook for “the news” and to make sure I’d made the appropriate birthday wishes. I had a square of dark chocolate and Mom decided we should have mimosas with her unchilled, $2 bottle of sparkling wine like substance. She’s saving the “good”, chilled bottle of sparkling wine for some occasion that we’ve already made alternate plans for. Whatever. I consented. And then it was noon. How did that happen? Not only is it Sunday, now it’s noon on Sunday. How did that happen?

I did my dishes and took my shower and got ready. Ready for what, I don’t know, but I was ready. I’d planned on, perhaps, working on a video project, which I would need a few items from the grocery store. I was out of fruit anyway. And yogurt. So, I guess I was shopping. Now I had plans.

I’ve been in dire need of a new suitcase. My big, purple Samsonite has no zipper pulls left and the fabric has been worn thin enough in several places that TSA no longer has to open my suitcase to make an inspection. One zipper compartment is so broken I can, in no way, open the compartment. My travel yoga mat is hopelessly trapped in that compartment, weighing down my suitcase just enough that I had to pay the extra weight penalty on my last trip to Alaska, where I had zero intention of doing yoga and most certainly did not need to take the mat. It is a surprisingly heavy item and I just couldn’t remove it from the suitcase without permanently destroying the suitcase.  The local department store that I hate with every cell of my being has “the one” suitcase I like on sale for 60% off. I’m very particular about my suitcases. To me, it’s like my house. I spend more time living out of my suitcase than I do out of a house. I feel that my fastidiousness is well warranted. Mom had her Sunday pile of ad inserts from her two Sunday newspapers in a terrifyingly tall tower on the edge of the table. There were no less than four different ad booklets for this one store for this one week. I was made to look through them. All. It was infuriating. I especially love how the items aren’t organized in any logical manner, suitcases were pictured on three different pages in three different, and totally random sections of the booklet. The one I was interested in, of course, was on the very last page. Some of the specials were for today only, others could be combined with stickers received in the mail or coupons from other ad inserts to realize even more savings. When you used the store credit card, which Mom has, the sales associate will give you a “scratcher” and you will realize even more savings of an amount to be known only after you rubbed that gooky gray stuff off the flimsy paperboard, usually also removing the ink stating the amount of additional savings in the process. When I added it all up, before reading the incredibly small print, it looked like they might pay me 34.78124% of the retail value of the suitcase to take it off their hands. I decided I’d better take my chances and stop by the department store on my way to Whole Foods, which isn’t on the way at all, but, you can get clear across Napa in ten minutes flat, even in what Napkins call “traffic”.

I drove downtown and found the only parking place available in the whole city on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I stepped through the dirt planter because the sidewalk was barricaded off for some 9/11 Memorial project that has been in the works since, well, I think 9/11/01. I finally made my way to the door of the department store. Upon entering, I headed towards the luggage section, having to step over an entire family of children and the husband who were lounging on the futon that was displayed in the “off to college” section. Once to the impossibly crowded luggage section, I perused the offerings and only found one suitcase of the brand I require, and, incredibly, in a size larger than I need. Anyone who has seen my suitcase will be amazed by that. I could buy the futon and fit it into the suitcase if I wanted. And the suitcase was blue, and much more than I want to spend, even on sale.  I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t fit on domestic jets, anyway. Besides, I require purple, or red. I left. I’ll buy zip ties on the way home to secure the unsecure compartments on my old suitcase and keep looking for “the one”, on sale. On to Whole Foods.

I made my purchases, bundled them into my trunk and came home and suddenly it was time for dinner. How did that happen? And now it’s time for bed. How did that happen? I feel like the fast forward button is stuck on my day. I have nothing to show for it but a tub of yogurt and a few pieces of fruit in my refrigerator. SMH. Monday begins in a couple of hours. How did that happen?


Poor old suitcase.
Poor old suitcase.


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