Photographically.me

My mother’s mop was an old towel with a hole in the middle that was placed over a broom. Memories of her mopping the floors of the third floor walk-up apartment we lived in always make me smile. We were six kids at the time. When she mopped, she unintentionally turned the linoleum and wood floors into our personal skating rink. My siblings and I delighted in sliding around on those wet floors in our socks, while Mom swatted us away like annoying flies with the same wet mop.

That is me in the striped top with my new briefcase for that school year, either 1968 or 69. For me, getting a new bag was the best part of going back to school. I’ve always had an affection for bags, often spending more time that I’d like to admit going through the handbag section at thrift stores looking for the perfect one that accomplished toting all my perceived necessities. Read about my love and defense of cross-body bags in this Medium article.