In homage to Mrs. Blanding's latest post, I snapped a picture of my Coach bag this morning, the one that was rescued from a trash can on the East Side. No kidding.
My friend Paul happened to be walking along behind a nattily dressed older fellow a number of years ago and observed the gentleman take his belongings out and unceremoniously dump the bag into a trashcan on a corner. Paul picked it up and brought it home, stored it under his bed, and gave it to me after a spring cleaning- god bless him. Made in 1994 by Coach, it's been to Italy, I can't tell you how many rehearsals and performances (perfect for scores), jaunts to the flea market, grocery stores and - of course- the library. A bottle of red wine fits nicely.
I clean it occasionally with a little mink oil. Like skin, the leather needs a little moisture, all its scrapes and bruises telling a tale. Sitting in the spot light, it's singing..
Good times and bum times, I've seen them all, and, my dear- I'm still here.
From Follies by Stephen Sondheim