Once upon a time I would have been the perfect contestant on The Price Is Right. Bob Barker would walk up to a woman in the audience and offer $50 if she had an elephant in her bag. It would have only taken me a few seconds to rummage and come up with the three-inch elephant that was part of my son’s Bronx Zoo set. I always had that elephant ready to amuse one child if we were caught in traffic, or if one of the other children was in the orthodontist’s chair.

As the carpool mom to my four children and their friends, my Sport Sac trendy bag was a source of life. I only used shoulder bags, leaving my two hands free to catch a two-year-old on the run.

On any given day from the late 1960s to the early 1990s it was all just a touch away.

A pacifier (we called it a pipe), keys of all kinds, little boxes of Sun Maid raisins, a pink Tampax container, driving instructions to the next bar mitzvah party. A copy of Doris Lessing’s Summer before The Dark, allergy pills, a comb and brush, extra Pampers, Matchbox cars, ponytail holders, lipstick, tissues, movie ticket stubs. A school classroom map for open school night, sunglasses and later driving glasses, Animal Crackers, Sesame Street band-aids, miniature plastic Cabbage Patch kids, pediatrician appointment cards. An address book, a Hallmark calendar, soccer shin guards, crayons, connect-the-dots books, the summer camp shopping list. A checkbook, supermarket coupons, Tylenol, and lots of loose change that never made it to my change purse, mini apple juice containers, a plastic foldable rain hat, lots of dried up Handi Wipes — and last but not least my husband’s commuter train schedule. It made my day when he could make the earlier train and help with bath time.

Today I only carry memories attached to that bag’s contents.

My bag is lighter now. Much lighter. Too light.

 

Bonnie George lives in Chilmark. This piece was written at the Chilmark Writing Workshop.