Those I

I gave Katherine my luggage today.

I realized if I was arrogant enough to advise the current and former leader of this vast country that 80 is too old for many things, that should include my future travels.

And as always, giving advice to others is always far easier than accepting it for ourselves.

To lessen the blow, I decided to read “my letters.”

They were written daily between July 15 and October 18 in a year so far back few would remember.

They are tied with an aged blue taffeta ribbon, and are among my most cherished possessions,

They return me on the magic carpet of memory to young love, hopeful dreams and the improbability of life standing still if we were careful.

Careful, both we were, but the escalator of life, doesn’t stop even for young lovers.

It may move gently at first, but soon the tempo increases, and the stops are far beyond even idealistic romantic expectations.

Ours transported us to far away lands, after an unforeseen heart attack, and more joyous visits to the UK with one of the Fabulous four and his young clan.

The stops in our neighbor to the north were both an education and delight. The luggage traveled there often for twenty years during the unanticipated second career the young writer of the faded letters had never dreamt about.

In the earlier decades, the luggage had frequently crossed our amazing land where at each new home our growing family was welcomed with warmth and hospitality.

The eight bags were unpacked often until one September Saturday when no longer needed by a now solitary traveler.

Tonight as I look at the empty closet where once the resilient (and a bit archaic) luggage waited for its next adventure, I close the door on part of my yesterday and return to the comfort of a young man’s words of love

Those I will not give away.