I'm going on a little trip in a few weeks. I have to change planes on both legs of the trip so I'd rather not check my luggage if I can avoid it. That means I can't take my suitcase.

I only have the one. It's been with me through thick and thin. But it's too big to carry on the plane. I'd have to check it and I don't want to do that. Don't want to take any chances on this suitcase getting lost because it is irreplaceable. So Axel has loaned me one a bit smaller which he says has accompanied him on many a business trip. Even though my trusty Samsonite will not be with me, at least I won't be going away from home with some inexperienced suitcase.

My suitcase and I have been together for 31 years and three months. It was part of a set that was given to me and my first husband as a wedding present. It accompanied us on our honeymoon. Later it held our belongings as we dashed around the country in our Bellanca Citabria, terrorizing the skies. Went with us to Hawaii, the Bahama Islands, even Achille, Oklahoma, when I was trying to run down leads about my biological family.

In 1971 I boldly pasted a "Guatemala" sticker on it in anticipation of a trip to ... you guessed it ... Guatemala. We were going to fly 78-Golf down the Mexican coast, stop at Tampico, hop the Yucatan Peninsula, and then fly south to Guatemala. Ha! It was a pretty ambitious plan. A bit too ambitious, we discovered in Tampico, where we headed for home in the middle of a thunderstorm, running from customs officials. From that adventure we learned that the only way to fly into Mexico/Central America is on a commercial airliner with your tickee in your hand. The "Guatemala" sticker is cracked and faded but still legible. Barely.

This is the same suitcase that Johanna and I used 6 years later to run away from home. We didn't know where we were going. We just knew we were getting the hell out of Dodge. She was about 18 months old at the time. When we got to the airport the lady at the Southwest Airlines ticket counter asked, "Where to?" Suddenly it came to me. "New Orleans," I said. New Orleans it was. There was hell to pay for that little excursion but we had a good time.

Also faded and worn are the stickers from my two trips to Holland. I packed for Holland as if I was going to be gone the rest of my life. Took two suitcases full of books. Packed all my astrology books in this suitcase. Can you imagine? And carried along my 12-string guitar. Couldn't go to Holland for six months and leave my 12-string at home. There was yet another suitcase full of clothes and cigarettes. You should have seen me changing planes in Orlando and then again in New York. After Orlando, Axel said, "When we get to New York, I don't know you."

This suitcase is also adorned with the remains of several strips of clear 2-inch packing tape from the time Alice shipped it back to me from California. Circa 1983 she decided to move out there in search of a new life. I loaned her my suitcase. A year later it was delivered to my door by UPS, packed with all of Alice's belongings. Alice followed soon thereafter. The mailing label and UPS receipt for $10.02, dated 25 July 1984, are still taped to the side.

A couple of airport tags remain from my last trip out West. On the inside the lining has become detached in one place but the retaining straps still work. There's a postcard from a visit to Breckenridge, Colorado, in one of the side pockets, and a bit of sand from my climb up the Puye Cliffs in New Mexico. I brought my shoes home in that suitcase, wrapped in plastic because they were completely imbedded with hallowed soil. A little bit of the dirt escaped inside the suitcase, but I've never removed it. I feel closer to the gods just knowing that dirt is in there.

It's a little beat up and banged up, but I wouldn't trade it for a million buck$. My suitcase full of memories will stay at home this trip, though. I hope it's not offended because I'm leaving it behind.