My old suitcase had followed me faithfully through airports and down hotel corridors. Waited for me while I went to conferences and family gatherings. Sometimes emptied out and sometimes put on a cart or suitcase rack while I played Scrabble with a sister or went walking with my sons. Over time the outside became battered and worn, like other travel suitcases on airport carousels. Tossed into planes and out of planes on the carts with other suitcases going to
Europe or the sandy beaches down under. Waited patiently for me to grab it from the ever moving carousel, set it firmly on its wheels and off to our next stop - the final stop: home. One Christmas as I was……………
~~~~~
My Christmas Suitcase
Let me tell the story. So far, it sounds quite boring. It was easy for her to come home. She had the whole place. My home, as a suitcase, was at least dedicated just to me. Up high on a closet shelf or down low in a dark closet corner to wait. Empty except for a comb, brush or other forgotten piece of paper or package of tissues. Forgotten like me. I do hope I don’t sound pathetic. Never mind, I’m just a suitcase and this is what I do. Wait. Either filled up or emptied out. I wait. After my last trip, my home was rather uncomfortable. No one told me I would leave my nice warm closet behind! Forever! I did get a closet, but it was cold and dark. Or hot and dark. It’s a good thing I don’t sweat or shiver. And I waited, and waited. Forgotten. There I go again, whining about my lot in life. But really. I’ve been a good suitcase, a faithful and rather handsome suitcase. I don’t deserve to be forgotten. But I’m supposed to be telling you about this thing called Christmas. I’ve learned a lot of words traveling through airports. I don’t always know how to use them but it helps when I’m telling a story. There was one short trip when I was taken out, my wheels were taken for a good spin, but then I was home again to the closet. Christmas - I have no idea what that means, but my owner’s much more cheerful when this Christmas thing comes along.
It was last year - not that I know what a year is. But I heard her telling this story last year. I was taken out of my very cold closet. Excited I thought a trip was in the offing. But no. I was taken down the stairs, quite empty. I was put, carefully I might add, on what is called a couch. My lid was lifted. A towel or blanket was put into my emptiness. I knew it - I was to become a lowly blanket storage space. And I just sat. Waiting for what I did not know. Then I felt it. Something soft, very small. Much smaller than any of her clothes. And then another. And then with a plump, a large soft and heavy something landed on my bent old ribs, moved around a bit and then settled. It actually felt quite good. But the last thing was the sound. Something like a little far away motor. I was just settling and about to fall asleep myself when my owner, who I was sure was not paying the least attention to me, said. “What are you doing in there?” The lovely soft warm lump was lifted up and away. “I suppose you thought I had forgotten you! No, you are now a very special suitcase. No more traveling for you.” As she talked, she began putting things magic and precious inside my old frame. “I’m filling you with memories: crystal icicles, sparkling Christmas cards, red and green ribbons and tiny silver Christmas balls. Little candles and Christmas tree ornaments. You are now my Christmas suitcase.”
“Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.”
~ Charles M. Schulz
