When I was young, my family regularly put on children’s programs. Which consist of everything from puppets, clowns, skits, and music. Everyone was involved. One year we did a circus theme. Dad was the ringleader, my sister and I were clowns, and mom played many roles including that of the mustachioed strong man. When preparing for these programs we would often run in to problems at the last minute. My mother would calmly look at one of us and say. “get the blue suitcase.”
The blue suitcase was a thing of legions. It’s origins must have been mystical. For in it’s unassuming tattered form was the solution to all problems, the answer to all questions. You see the suitcase was magic. After hearing “get the blue suitcase.” we knew the problems were about to dissolve before our eyes. For as soon as mother opened the one working latch and propped the lid open she would say. “ah-ha!… Here use this to do that” and ” this will work for that”. Without fail there was no problem too big for that old blue suitcase. As if it knew what we needed for every situation.
Recently I remembered that suitcase. And only after more that two decades I have discovered the truth of it’s magic. It has no mystical origin, no power, no intelligence. It was just some old blue suitcase that was found is a thrift store. Filled with typical junk draw junk. The magic belonged to my mother. It was her power to take what ever problem was at hand and solve it with a pile of construction paper, pipe-cleaners and duck tape. The suitcase was the hat from which the magician pulled the rabbit. Merely tools in the hands surgeon.
Thank you mom for bringing magic into my life. For showing me that whatever problem come my way I can pullout the ordinary beat up parts of life and turn them into a solution.
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