Blackbird, in honor of her eagerly-awaited holiday, would like to see our luggage. This, I must admit, is not my travel luggage, a random collection which is since our last jaunt packed away in the far reaches of the garage. I bought this case in London, years ago when I was young and carefree. I cannot now remember which shop — there were so many! — and it has no maker’s mark, other than a discreet "Made in Italy" tucked inside.
I loved its boxy lines, its way of standing open at attention, the fact that even though it is rather awkward to carry (being so wide, with the handle in the middle, causing it to bump inelegantly against my leg), it is perfect for strapping onto the back of the roadster.
It in fact holds a part of my wool stash, and I’d gotten it down from a shelf in the closet recently to weed out the stuff that no longer speaks to me. I’m tempted to make the case a project bag now, but it would have to be something special …
A Bluestocking Knits 
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