My eldest son and his wife recently gave me a beautiful leather handbag for my birthday. Red. A seriously bright, shouting red that could easily be mistaken for orange in the sunshine, but could never be mistaken for boring.
It was, and is, perfect. It’s small but big enough for my wallet, sunglasses, passport, and car keys. In fact, it is the perfect size to keep me organized. It has an extra long cross-body bag strap, which fits nicely over a dress coat and hugs comfortably at my hip when I’m walking around in blue jeans and a t-shirt.
It is a love-at-first-sight kind of handbag.
When I opened the present, my husband’s first reaction was: “Nice, you should save it.”
No, no, and no.
You see, I’ve recently said goodbye to too many friends. I have baked more than my share of casseroles to soothe broken hips, simmered too many soup pots of homemade cinnamon applesauce to tamp down nausea from chemotherapy, and written way too many condolence cards to believe that there is some special day out there just waiting for me to unearth my beautiful, red leather purse and use it.
Today is a good day. Tomorrow is great. The day after that, if I get to live it, is some kind of incredible gift I can’t afford to waste.
Would that I will live long enough to wear out my red leather purse, and if I do, I will go out and buy a new one.
Which takes me to velvet, and why I recently decided to throw away the idea of buying yet another sensible, all-purpose cotton shirt or black sweater that would go with everything. Instead, I bought a deep plum velvet tunic for myself. I like velvet. It can be rolled up and packed without getting wrinkled. It’s soft, flows nicely, looks special... and you can throw it in the washing machine and dryer. What’s not to like about it? I even think it pairs well with jeans.
It’s also bold. Feels all dressed up and ready for a party.
That’s my wish: to go boldly into the world for the rest of my life, ready to celebrate another day. Any day. Every day.
