Guest Blogger !

I was born in a factory in Newburyport, MA and had more relatives than I could count.  One day a thousand of us were put in a box and set on what I think was a loading dock - that's what I overheard these voices calling it. Next thing, we were in a truck and eventually, I saw the light of day again in a store in Cambridge, MA called Joie de Vivre.  I spent a few weeks on a shelf in the back room, and then got taken up to the front desk with maybe 40 of my friends.  We would hear a voice saying, "would you like a small bag for that?" and then one of us would get grabbed.  One day at the end of the day, someone grabbed me, but I didn't see any customers. Then I was opened and stuffed with cash and checks, and brought into the back where I lived in a grey metal box, along with some rolls of quarters and pennies.  I got to go out once or twice a week to the bank, and over the weeks, my age started, alas, to show.  People also wrote things on me, and sometimes I heard someone laugh when they read what someone else had written.  And out would come a pen for the response.  Eventually, I began to rip in several places, was scotch taped a few times, and then was put in a desk drawer.  I stayed there for several months, then I was taken out and pushpinned to a wall with another old bag just like me.  We don't know how long we'll be here - but we know we've already had a much longer life than the average bag.  If we're lucky, maybe we'll make it into the Joie archives of ephemera . . . people sometimes save strange things . . . .  oh - and ps - I am the bag on the left!