Fashionista

In grammar school, a patent leather clutch held a comb and white gloves for Sunday School. In junior high, a shoulder bag was all I needed. A sisal market bag from Merida became my college briefcase.


Later on, a sling tote for the beach was a different kind of diaper bag. Today I tuck the laptop in a canvas morral.

Ah, handbags! I love them all, from my Balinese mahogany and tree bark purse to the sleek black shoulder bag from Spain. A beaded Huichol change purse and a hand-embroidered wallet from Guatemala. Evening bags from India and summer whites.

Novica has a bag for each pair of shoes and every occasion. They're my downfall.

Born of necessity

Where are my keys? And the cell phone? Surely I have a hairbrush in here and some lipstick. I need these things! A handful of business cards too, sunglasses and the checkbook….

Somehow, stuff outgrew the space in my pockets. I look lumpy and dumpy. I need a purse!

It's anthropological, isn't it? Even prehistoric people carried flints in leather pouches.

Statuary

Michelangelo's works have always moved me.

In the Ringling Museum of Art, a reproduction of David stands in the garden. When I was in high school, I'd marvel at its perfection. I still do.

The museum is a Renaissance-Baroque style palace modeled after great Italian museums. Throughout its 21 galleries, sculptures appeared everywhere, from classical Greek and Roman pieces to polished granite abstracts.

Sometimes, friends and I would steal over to a quiet spot on the grounds filled with broken statuary. Stone cherubs and marble goddesses seemed alive, caught a sorcerer's spell.

It was a magical place.