Before Bob and I were serious (we married in 96), I planned a trip to Germany by myself to visit my family. When we got together, one of the first things I told him was that I already had this trip planned and I hoped he wouldn’t object. Of course he didn’t.
I was looking for a backpack and we went to the Oregon State Fair and found this one. It was more expensive than one you’d find at the sporting goods store. But we bought it from the actual guy who made it and it was sturdy and had interesting artwork which if you can’t tell: it’s a Pacific Northwest Indian design on the top and hieroglyphics on the bottom.
This pack has been to Europe at least 4 times. It’s been to New York, Las Vegas, High Sierra Music Festival, Reno, Seattle, Albuquerque and every single plane trip I’ve taken since I bought it. It’s carried my crap to work, to Orleans. A backpack has never better served its owner.
It’s finally been showing some wear and the interior lining has been peeling off. Finally, in the Boise airport this week, the main zipper died.
Good bye great backpack.
In other news, I still haven’t finished anything but I’ve started a lot. Also, those cookies I made last night turned out to be “watch your dental work cookies.” But everyone liked them.