Lugging Light Luggage
by Jim Freund
© 2021
There are some days when, even at age 87, I’m feeling on top of the world – full of piss and vinegar, master of all I survey . . . . And then there are other days when this artificial hubris dissolves, and I’m less adept at coping with octogenarian complexities.
My apologies to you, faithful readers, but you’re just about to encounter me on one of those latter days, for which my frequent antidote is to launch into a public admission of dotage. I do happen to have one such disclosure available to offer up; and although the subject matter might seem prosaic, I can assure you it cuts to my quick – perhaps (albeit on a lesser scale) to yours also.
The subject matter is lugging light luggage – the kind of stuff we carry around on a daily basis. It’s a topic of commentary not entirely foreign to me, although the applicable precedent arose in a somewhat different context. Over 30 years ago, I wrote a piece (included in my book of essays, Advice and Invent) called Preparing for the Worst, in which I confessed to the egregious load of possessions I regularly carried onto the ski slopes. The effect of this, I realized, was to create “a distinctly bloated look – parka pockets bulging, waist-pack crammed to the brim, an aging athlete awash in gear.” When they spotted me emerging from the lodge, my teenage sons would greet me with raucous laughter, mouthing such adolescent epithets as “You look like a whale.”
In that essay, I ascribed the bloat to my propensity to prepare for dire events on the slopes, which in turn was a byproduct of my experience as an attorney. After all, a lawyer’s real stock in trade is preparedness – figuring out in advance what can possibly go wrong and making provisions against such occurrences. And so, I explained, “In the high-stakes world of Alpine Skiing, being prepared means carrying a load of gear – tangible equipment that, when the dreaded event occurs might come in handy (but definitely will cause gobs of self-reproach if left behind).”
The bulk of the essay was an enumeration of the various items of necessary equipment to pack (going well beyond standard stuff like goggles and wax) – the things that require a little lawyerly imagination, such as:
A whistle – to alert passing skiers to my plight after having tumbled off the edge of a trail into deep dark woods.
A camera – but not for shooting scenic vistas. Rather, it was to document the absence of a warning sign on the two converging trails where I’ve just collided into and bruised another skier (whose lawyer has already materialized on the slopes and was threatening to sue me for gross negligence), thereby documenting my cross-claim against the ski resort.
A puzzle and a paperback, in case a twisted ankle should force me into the lodge with nothing else to do. (I was quick to admit, however, that this had never actually happened, so that “the pages of the paperbacks are visibly crumbling, and the puzzles’ contemporary references are mainly to battle sites in the Korean War.”)
A flashlight, matches, food, drink, and other such sundries – and notably a harmonica, since if you’re forced to stay in the trees overnight, “it’s not just the body that needs nourishing; attention must also be paid to the soul!” (I did note that the plastic type is best here because, “while it won’t emit the same rich tones as a metal Marine Band, the fact that it doesn’t freeze against your lips – causing great pain as you slide up the scale – is far from insignificant.”)
At any rate, that was 30 years ago – a lugging-light-luggage (“L-L-L”) tale dealing with a hazardous sport no longer on this geezer’s docket. My topic today is the admittedly less threatening challenge posed by what needs be taken along when leaving one’s apartment to engage in some non-athletic activities in and around the city. (I’m focusing here on activities that don’t require making provision for a specific object, such as was the case during my lawyering days when I was chained to my attaché case.)
The fact is that, other than my wallet and cellphone (and lately a face mask), nothing I now tote on my excursions is a necessity to bring along. Rather, almost all of the items fit into the category of having possible usefulness should certain predictable circumstances arise. You know – like a small pocket knife in case a length of string needs to be cut, a pocket cellphone charger should the battery run low, a packet of Tums to counteract overeating – and yes, a harmonica (but the metal type is okay off the slopes) to nourish the soul.
Here are a few of the other items that make the cut for my L-L-L forays:
A strap with velcro ends that I wrap around my waist if I’m going to be doing any heavy lifting.
A small bottle of water and (don’t tell Barbara) a pack of tiny chocolate-flavored mints.
Several pens (in a variety of ink tones) and a pad to capture any thoughts worth retaining that I can no longer trust to memory;
A little electronic gizmo that records my voice (when it’s more convenient to do so than attempting to write), but leaves this problem – the need to remember to monitor the messages thus saved;
A small calendar book (forsaking the electronic versions that I’ve never felt comfortable with) to memorialize the dates and times of personal commitments.
Reading glasses (I favor the magnetic kind that clip around the neck in repose); a separate pair of eyeglasses to sharpen objects viewed at some distance (such as when driving); and sunglasses to ward off glare.
Word, math and analytical puzzles to wile away any downtime.
And so on. In recent years I’ve lessened my load by excluding most reading matter (my iPhone takes care of that, for news, fiction and non-fiction). As for a camera, the iPhone also serves well here, so I only carry a bulky camera (in its own case) when my trek has a specific goal of shooting some worthwhile vistas.
But now I’d like to turn to the real dilemmas posed in this L-L-L area by the receptacles used to hold these various items. Let’s start with shoulder bags. I have a variety of these, ranging in size and shape – but on any given day, the question is, which should I use?
The largest of these bags, once all its discrete sections are fully loaded, holds just about everything I might need for an ambitious venture out. (I’m forced to exclude, however, a bulky first aid kit that might prove useful in the case of physical injury but refuses to be squeezed into the bag.) Still, truth be told, at my age the big bag is a heavy load to tote around all day. I’m willing to undergo the burden if the daily chores seem challenging enough to warrant discomfort; but if the outing looks to be short or unchallenging, I have to admit I won’t need all this stuff.
That’s when I decide to switch to one of the smaller bags that will perch more comfortably on my shoulder. Since the smaller bag I choose is empty at this point, my first task is to shift to it those contents of the big bag that I still deem requisite to the venture. And believe me, this is no piece of cake – there are many pressing decisions that need to be made.
Some, I’ll admit, aren’t so difficult. For instance, I probably won’t need to schlep along my bulky iPad (which won’t fit in the smaller bag anyway and would require an annoying extra tote); if the trip is confined to the daytime, I can omit the flashlight; and if my journey is likely to be short in time, the cellphone charger can presumably be jettisoned. (I must admit, though, that I’m never entirely comfortable with this last omission. What would happen, for instance, if I get hit by a car and whisked off to a hospital – I’m likely then to be phoning everyone in sight, and the charger might prove to be requisite.) In any event, a small water bottle remains a must, just in case I’m trapped in a broken-down elevator for any length of dehydrated time.
Other items, however, require an extra layer of consideration. Included in the big bag is a whistle, which is mainly there to discourage excessive barking by our quintuplet dog menagerie. Let’s assume I won’t be encountering the critters on this particular trip, so I’m contemplating elimination of the whistle from the smaller bag – but wait! – what if a sudden downpour occurs and I need to hail a taxi, but even though I gesticulate wildly, none are stopping. Only a loud blast on the whistle has a chance of penetrating those rolled-up cab windows.
By the way, the reference to the sudden downpour reminds me that the sole time I would consider eliminating the miniscule umbrella that’s a permanent fixture in the big bag is if the forecast is for sunny weather (“cloudy” not being good enough).
This might be an appropriate point to bring my wife Barbara into the picture. Not that “she who must be reckoned with” deigns to prescribe which shoulder bag I should use or what items ought to be included – except, that is, for one. When Barbara and I meet for dinner or lunch, we spread a napkin on the table and play a game of chance we’ve invented, utilizing six dice to determine who will pay for the meal. (At least that’s the excuse we give for our bad manners to the waiter or curious onlookers. In point of fact, the eaterie seldom gets to fondle one of her credit cards – but then again, I must admit, she’s clearly the more frequent victor in the game.) If my bag doesn’t include the wee cubes when she beckons for them – well, I won’t even go there . . . . The big bag, of course, always has the full set; but there used to be a temptation to exclude the cubes from the crowded smaller bag when we had no intention of dining together. Still, the stress caused by once having forgotten the sextet convinced me to buy sets of extra dice to permanently occupy all my bags – and I even bought a separate unit for Barbara to tote should I dare to venture out on the town bagless.
In case you’re finding this confession a bit tiresome, you’ll be pleased to learn that there’s a fascinating subset of this general toting problem, to which I now turn. The typical daily outfit I wear includes a zippered vest that has generous pockets; and, of course, my pants pockets also provide storage space, as does the breast pocket of the usual shirt (other than a jersey). Although it’s a lesser issue to confront than the shoulder bag size, I nevertheless spend some time determining which of the smaller objects should be carried on my person rather than in either of the shoulder bags – and as for my person, whether they should be pocketed in the vest or in the pants.
Admittedly, some of this hassle could be avoided if everything were just to be thrown into a bag, with my bodily attire left unencumbered. Two reasons, however, mitigate against this too-simple resolution. First and foremost is safety – I’m unlikely to lose anything that’s wedged in the pockets of my vest (to say nothing about an item inhabiting my pants or breast pocket), while a shoulder bag, once temporarily removed from the shoulder (as in a cab or at a restaurant) could easily be lost or filched – and then where would I be? The second reason is convenience – it’s easier and faster to retrieve something from a pocket than to dig into the crowded bag and search for the desired object that’s crammed in amidst all its neighbors.
This safety category comprises items of real value or that are irreplaceable. My wallet obviously fits into this category. I used to keep it in my left rear pants pocket, which even had its own button for security purposes. But in recent years, the size of my wallet has grown so ponderous as to cause discomfort when I’m forced to sit down on the billfold. I can move it to a front pants pocket, but then it bulges quite a bit, giving onlookers the false idea that I’m not as trim as I purport to be. So it usually goes into (and fills up) one of the vest’s side pockets – pretty safe, to be sure, but its bulk sometimes causes a malfunction of the zipper, so that on a bad day I’m hampered in unearthing my credit cards.
The second reason is more prosaic, to be sure, but when you need a handkerchief or a toothpick or a pill or lip gloss on a cold day, it’s comforting to be able to reach into the trusty pants pocket where it has always been lodged.
One other thing I don’t want to omit mentioning. When I go out for a solo lunch, I like to take my iPad along for entertainment. But it doesn’t fit into my regular smaller bag, and I don’t want to lug the big one fully loaded for this minor trip. So I’ve retained a second (and otherwise inferior) smaller bag which, is just big enough to fit the iPad in (plus usually a few puzzle books, and of course my ear pods . . . ).
Well my confession is almost over, and you know what – I’m already beginning to feel better . . . . Oh wait, I can envision one of you asking whether there are any trips outside my apartment where I don’t require any shoulder bag at all? Well, you’ll be happy to know the answer is yes – but frankly, I wouldn’t want to be an object then jammed into any one of my bulging vest or pants pockets . . . .