I wake up every morning, give thanks, and have my breakfast with Bambina. We chat about the day to be, and this is my routine. 

I drive away from the house with a wave and a horn toot to a smiling little face, and turn away down the hill.

And as I turned, I saw a garbage truck pause in the middle of the road. Not wanting to start a cuss fest this early, I wait patiently to safely pass. I notice a young man in a bright madras plaid shirt (that’s not him, but you get the point) walking in the opposite direction. He makes eye contact with the garbage truck, and looks at a car and motions  like he’s going to get into the car. But I know he’s not. He leans over the car as if to put in key, but I know he’s not. I watch and then I see it. The tell. The splash of glass as he makes a jabbing motion with his hand to break the window. The garbage truck moves, and I move with it, heart sinking that this is taking place only a block away from my house.

I see him in my rear view now, walking quickly away, skipping almost, untold treasure in his hand. I wonder how long would it have taken to call the police. I think of the person whose car it was, and whatever did they lose? Don’t they know, in this neighborhood, that you can’t leave things in your car? More importantly, has he done this before? Is he going to do this again? 

Then I remember that I live in a bubble, and I need to see this around me to stay fully present. I say a short prayer for the victim and for the thief. I know times are tough, but you shouldn’t have to steal things to make ends meet. The image of this sticks in my head for the rest of the day, and until today when I’m just sitting here thinking about it. I wish for hope instead of desperation for all people involved. I try to stay positive in a world where I see cars broken into often (and like today’s event, I sometimes see it happen in front of me).

Broken glass, stolen things, shattered lull, but trying to stay hopeful - just another day back in reality. 

Charlene

I love bags. Purses. Totes. Suitcases. I don’t know why, but I know ever since I was a child, the accoutrements for containing things has always been intriguing to me. Boxes, folders, satchels.  I study their construction, their materials, and their general aesthetic.

I think bags say a lot about a person. Their station. Their position. Their ability to care for something. Their taste (or lack thereof). But most importantly, if you want to know a lot about the person, crack the bag open and see what’s inside.

See, we can get all deep about this and talk about your bag reflects your inner working, etc., but it’s not that serious. What’s in your bag really reflects what’s important to you.

I change my bag every so often depending on what the occasion calls for, where I’m going, and what I need to carry. Some days I need my laptop, some days I don’t. Somedays call for books, some days don’t. Don’t even get me started about what is in my makeup kit. Geez. But there are things that I transfer from one bag to the next: my rosary from Rome, my Moleskine, my phone, a pen.

My bag today is a reflection of my work and creative life, I suppose. I won’t get into too much detail, but if I were to fall off the face of the earth for a time being, I think I’m good.

I’m going to throw this out to you all…what’s in your bag? And…while we’re at it, check this out: What’s In Your Bag?