A Packed Life

“Write about someone who must fit their whole life in one suitcase.”

A PACKED LIFE

I must fit enough things into a medium sized checked airline bag to accurately depict 74 years. And I’ll do it in a “flash!” I make a checklist on my iPhone with boxes and little balloons

I usually drift to sleep thanking God for “family, friends, and faith.” Family sparkles in the Christmas photo from the early 1980’s. Jane is young and gorgeous, and I even have a bit of hair! The ski photo of me and both boys taken at the top of the lift on an azure New Mexico day belongs, too. The little backpacking print includes both boys as well as my nephew. I take the photos lovingly from the wall and wrap them tenderly in tee shirts from Jasper National Park, Grand Teton, and Custer, South Dakota. I toss them into the suitcase. Checking off the big box for family and the small balloons for skiing and backpacking. Blackening a balloon for National Parks. I decide I’ll throw in my phone as the last item I pack. It contains text messages from numerous friends, including my favorite cousins, and a well-read and highlighted Bible app that’s a roadmap to my faith. The fantasy football chain is crass. I mark balloons for cousins and fantasy football and check the boxes for friends and faith.

Aren’t grandchildren family? My phone is full of their photos along with texts from my sister. Two subsets of family like cousins and nephews! More balloons blackened.

The songs and tunes are lost in the 70 years since Mother last sang to me. But her singing was a gift! I start and quit a handful of instruments. And then one day, I find a little niche instrument in a craft shop in Asheville. A “Woodrow.” Four strings like a dulcimer and strummed like a guitar. And 10 years later, I haven’t quit playing it. I tuck it gently into the suitcase and check a box for music.

I pick up the limited-edition photograph of Memorial Stadium at the University of Oklahoma and pitch it into the suitcase. I cherish the 6 national championships during my lifetime and all the time spent watching and listening to games with family and friends—especially my sons and father. More than 60 years of bonding. I check the box for “Sooners.”

How I miss my dogs! But I have no photos of them. I throw in a worn tennis ball. Symbolizing hours of fetch and blackening a balloon.

The brutal sports hazing during my sophomore year in high school has haunted me for 58 years. I try to expunge it by writing about it. But the literary journal says it’s obscene. I cut the story from my computer and paste it into a USB drive. Throwing the thumb drive into the suitcase, I mark a balloon.

I can’t find any wrestling medals. I put a copy of a chapter from the Christmas memoir that I wrote my children and grandchildren into my suitcase. The chapter tells how I felt like such a stud when I whipped that Fowler kid in the Stillwater matches. I check the sports balloon.

I add the chapter from the memoir describing how I met Jane to the growing contents. I check a box!

You shouldn’t bother to live somewhere if you can’t say something nice about it after you leave. I figure the stories about wrestling and meeting Jane, plus the picture of Oklahoma Memorial Stadium will do for Oklahoma. An upside-down longhorn steer in the photos app on the phone exemplifies the University of Texas Law School and the City of Austin.

There are lots of photos of West Texas on my phone. And I haven’t given up my “806” phone number. The vile fantasy football text string? Well, those guys all live in the “806.” The phone might be the most comprehensive memory of my life that I’ve put in the suitcase. And think of all the time I’ll get back once it’s packed. I futilely vow not to get another one. There are tickets to Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium in my Apple Wallet! The balloons for the places I’ve lived are checked.

I put a small set of clippers for deadheading flowers into the suitcase. I include a spool of fishing line for keeping the white-tailed deer out of my flowers. I imagine relaxing in the garden on a beautiful early morning while checking a box.

Travels fill the photo app on my iPhone. Cruises. Spain. An RV road trip to Alaska and back. Gmail is overflowing with bookings for upcoming trips to Italy, Ireland, and Costa Rica. My Apple Wallet contains tickets for tours and expired boarding passes. A photo of my passport, numerous airline apps, and a language translator have me well-prepared for travel and checking a box.

I toss in a bicycle bell and mark a balloon. I can’t find The Joy of Sex that Jane gave me for Valentine’s. So I add a steamy short story I wrote about two college students flirting in a dive bar. I pitch in a 2-pound hand weight. I add some walking shoes. I blacken several balloons.

I’ve done it! I’m ready to drop the phone into the suitcase.

Oh shit!

I add the Texas Pattern Jury Charge Manual. And put a random piece of scrap paper containing a “to do list” for a big office project inside the front cover. The box for my legal career is checked!

I locate a journal that contains a list of every good and perfect thing that wouldn’t have happened but for the cancer! Another marked box.

I throw in a hardbound book: East of Eden. How could I have forgotten my love of books. I check the box.

About 1,000 words and done in a “flash!”

I drop the phone into the suitcase; practice my homily honoring a departed friend. An empty robe drapes his chair in the choir loft. Amazing Grace and tears fill the sanctuary.