There are deep pockets, petite pockets, patch pockets, adored-and-functional dresses with pockets and pockets on cargo shorts…

Like most women, I carry a  purse.

My purse is always mid-sized and never leather. I have a multiply-injured right shoulder to protect. And, because I carry everything but the kitchen sink, I have many compartments and pockets inside and outside, to organize the stuff I stash.

Like a special ring for my car keys, so they’re never lost in the bowels of my purse.

I have a hand-sized zippered pouch, too. Inside it is a small arsenal of makeup for touchups, along with a mini-drug store. I have Advil, Arnica, eyedrops, and Vicks. I have a Band-Aid, a safety pin, and dental floss. I have pocket tissues and a leather holder – emblazoned with Swarovski stars – for my author cards. I have a small hairbrush and an emergency inhaler.  I have sunglasses, stowed in a case with a special cloth to keep them clean.

The better to see you with, my dear, on the sunny days that prevail.

Inside my wallet I have walking around money (my husband’s term), a half-dozen credit cards, and, in this era of COVID, I have my immunization card. I even have a library card. Driver’s license and insurance cards. A half-used Starbucks gift card as well as one for Costco, the only place I buy gas in these high-dollar times.


Holy crap, I almost forgot two very important items I carry in one of the special pockets inside my purse: a pen and a small-sized paper table. I’d lose my writer cred, if I didn’t have these tools handy to chronicle random thoughts and overheard dialogue.

Retrieve a pocket tissue and then read this famous story. It’s a must –

There’s a very courageous, poignant, and acclaimed story about the Vietnam War: