December 14 2007, 11:46 PM Toting

Mr. Containment an I are having something of an argument by deed.

It began when we noticed that we would more often than not carry around as much stuff as we could; our laptop bags over flowing with papers, writing implements, various tools, laptops. Mr. Containment and I are both the sorts of souls who could be found idly picking up an emergency fishing tackle kit, and think that, yes, this would be something that should go in he bag. We are also the sorts of souls that would quite possibly, even in our odd urban environment, end up needing an emergency tackle kit. Mr. Containment would then be able to pull one out of his bag and had it over with nonchalance. I would have forgotten to pack it.

The argument, then, is to carry around less stuff. We've been testing several strategies toward this end, the most effective one so far being: use a smaller bag. Instead of something that can hold a laptop, a circus, and the actuarial department of a small Midwestern insurance firm, go with something into which only a few things fit. It gives cause to choose those things wisely. Using a smaller bag only magnifies this effect. Even as I type this line, I can hear some of you chanting: "Ha! Manpurse!" (which in itself is quite a nifty rhetorical trick!). Such things are somewhat less than useful, as most days my daily life requires something portable with a keyboard stuck to it, so I need a bag at least that big.

But not today.

Today was an unfettered day. I took advantage of the weather and my coat of several pockets, making very careful choices indeed in an effort to select the minimal amount of Stuff to get me through. I did well: no bag at all! The morning's walk though the wood was light and well-balanced, the evening's walk toward dinner (a plate of fries, with ketchup and company) was easy, even for the little bits of hill climbing involved. It was quite nice, to only have to lug around myself. I often rediscover this, and it has been pleasant each time.

As I wondered part way back with bits of the second set of company, I made ready to walk down through the valley an onward to home. Instead, it occurred to me in time to take the alternate route, up over the ridges and through the backways. This route was a bit longer, and a bit less flat, but: it is the season of lights. The houses were decked and framed in light, most white, some in other colors, some winking messages into the night. Occasionally, the lawns supported festive sculpture, well lit from without or within. Occasionally, a tree on the lawn traded in foliage of leaves for one of light. It was all quite pretty, and well worth it.

I took hidden stairs down hills, ambled under lamp posts hung with lit wreaths, and came home to hot tea. They tell us we will have worse weather, and this will make such trips tricky; we shall see.