Anyone reading Unorganized Territory for the first time last week may have been puzzled that I spent editorial column inches to extol the virtues of my camera bag that doesn’t look like a camera bag. But regular readers know that they never know what they will find when they start reading.
Unorganized Territory is an unorganized corner of the paper where for 14 years I’ve had the privilege to share random thoughts on the people and places of Cook County, on my friends and family, on local and sometimes national politics and sometimes on something utterly silly, like how grateful I am to have found the perfect camera bag.
However, I thought I should add the true reason that my camera bag was the first thing that came to my mind when I sat down to write Unorganized Territory last week. It was one of those “You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone” situations.
You see, my wonderful Kelly Moore camera bag broke last week. I was devastated. I was hurrying to work and when I grabbed ahold of the sturdy long leather strap to toss it over my shoulder, messenger style—it came loose. There I was with my 32-pound bag, dangling lopsided onto the floor.
I know it is incredibly silly to get attached to inanimate objects, but I almost cried. I had hoped that my camera bag would last for years and years. The thought of having to start the search for a new camera bag all over again was almost too much to bear on an already overscheduled day.
Fortunately, my dear husband Chuck was right there to see the strap failure. He took the bag away from me and investigated as I stood by trying to decide whether to kick something or cry. As I imagined the hassle of temporarily transferring all my belongings into another bag or somehow rigging the handle back on with duct tape and carabiners, he calmly looked at where the strap came apart.
To my delight, he said, “It’s fixable.” All we needed, he said was a tiny little c-clip thing.
Normally in our couple dynamic, I am the calm one and Chuck is the over reactor. There was a bit of role reversal here as I immediately assumed we would have to order the piece or make a trek to Duluth. Not to worry, Chuck said. They probably have it at Buck’s Hardware!
We headed to Buck’s, me carrying my heavy brown bag like a football, to a shelf with a miraculous assortment of the tiniest little metal bits and pieces you have ever seen. And there, lo and behold, was the part that was needed. And it only cost 32 cents!
I happily paid for the part and Chuck squeezed the clip in place and my bag was once again good as new. And appreciated more than ever.
If you cannot be grateful for
what you have received, then be
thankful for what you have been
spared.
Yiddish Proverb
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