~Baggage~

A grotto in the mountains of Italy ! My heart is over come with joy. My head swimming with anticipation. I grab my journal bag of canvas cloth, hand dyed orange, tattered lace and ribbon shimmer with a metallic cast that have been sewn with patience on the outsides. It lumps up gently as I lay it upon the bed.My speckled notebook is there half full of painted collage, clippings, envelopes and scratched photos. This is my prize possession. I see well worn brushes and water color pencils, a bottle of glue, and a sprinkling bottle of water. An old notebook with a torn yellow cover I use to record daily thoughts in. I can always fill the other side of the pages. My camera is loaded.

It has been said if one chooses a fictitious name, acts that character, it can build self confidence. On this journey, I am Ms. LoveLace - artist, poet/writer and restorer of antique dolls. A flapper style dress of dark hollyhock pink is part of my traveling attire. Satin ballet slippers, dyed to match are already on my feet. My hat is big, broad,and made of straw. I tilt it on its side almost covering one eye. Fresh flowers adorn one side.

I have soft denim jeans, embroided down the sides of each leg and a simple poor boy shirt. My flight jacket is old, well worn leather and very oversized. Thick socks are stuffed into the hiking boots I place at the bottom of the vintage suitcase.

My night shirt is off white, made of dotted swiss and ties with ribbon n the back. Various unmentionables are stuffed into the pockets.

And lastly, a well worn edition of Wuthering Heights, gardenia body lotion, I so often splurge on, eye wear, my penny doll, a lace hankie and two small silver framed photos of my favorite (male) movie stars whom I shall not reveal are all in a round paper mache box.

I kiss my cat on her head, she stretches and returns to her dreams. I take a last look in the hallway mirror. Ms. LoveLace quietly shuts her front door.

Patricia