Hope, park, purse, fly

In a year-end display of flagrant optimism I purchased a new purse at DSW today. It is not a perfect purse, or a stylish handbag, or even vaguely appealing. It just seemed workable, and the extremely workable purse of the previous 2.5 years bit the dust.

Yes, it has come down to workable. How will this purse work traveling through the TSA screener and under the seat in front of me? Does it have a cross-body strap? Can it be cleaned up with a Clorox disinfecting wipe after a bad Panda Express moment? Will it hold a bagel sandwich, a library book, or all of my prescriptions? Will it preserve my invisibility as a woman of a certain age? Please don't let it make a statement!

The 2017 fiction audiobook that rises most often to mind is not the amazing Lincoln in the Bardo, performed by a full cast. It is Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk, by Katherine Rooney, narrated by Xe Sands. New Year's Eve 1984, and 85-year-old Lillian Boxfish, former ad copywriter genius, takes a ten-mile stroll around a gritty Manhattan in her mink coat ruminating over her six decades in NYC. How do we travel? How do we stroll? What's in our heavily-packed psychological wheelie luggage?

I would not want to lift the karmic baggage of 2017 into the overhead carry-on bin. The stress of 2017 won't fit in the bin, and I don't fit in the ever-shrinking airplane seats. It's all I can do to stow my purse under the seat.

Not to be downer Debby Dystopia here, but life in the Trump administration has been a drag on my in-town miles-per-gallon in 2017. Being hopeful, or at least staying calm, is an everyday challenge. That's why I love leaving the Buick at Park'N'Fly. 

The guys who drive the shuttle vans have a unanimous appreciation for the 2002 Buick Century. They tell me I could sell this beauty for big bucks. They rhapsodize on its fine points and pristine condition. They ooh and ah about its mileage total. It's Mad Max meets Fidel: Road Warrior. 

I drive off in my magic pumpkin coach with my purse of invisibility. Maybe we can survive after all.

And hey, there's a purse museum in Little Rock. And hey, there are some Buick museums, too.

© 2013-2017 Nancy L. Ruder