Saturday, March 7, 2009
My Trash Bag
All this talk of a crumbling economy, tent cities, and mothers carrying their families' belongings in trash bags has we wondering. What would I pack -- hopefully in something sturdier than a trash bag -- if my family should find itself on the street? And truthfully, I don't know the answer.
Nonetheless, every task I attempt to complete has me thinking about it. As I fold the laundry I wonder which things I would simply leave behind, which I would pack. When I pick up the toys I wonder if there are any I would take with us. Even when I scan the pantry for dinner ideas, I wonder.
Strangely, it's not the first time in my life I've thought these things. I used to think about these sorts of things all the time when I was a child. Not for the reasons you might think. When I was younger I was told of courageous stories of families who walked to the West from the East. As a 4th-grader at Conestoga Elementary School I played Oregon Trail on a green-screen computer and contemplated the supplies. I was obsessed with the packing. Not the mountain lions, the freezing rivers, or the millions of steps that must have been taken. I could think of nothing else but the packing. (Yes, I was -- and am -- that weird.)
We should all be mindful of these matters. That which we hold dear. That which would get us by. That which would sustain our children in time of need. But the more mindful I am, the more confused I feel. Perhaps I should pack the footstool. It is loved, much loved.