You remember George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” right? He needed a suitcase big enough to be his flying carpet, big enough for labels from Italy and Samarkand, big enough for 1001 nights. His old boss, the pharmacist Mr. Gower, surprised him with the perfect bag. Sadly, as far as we know, George never got to take that trip.

But Barb and I have had a flying carpet of our own. I can’t recall when we purchased it–it might even have been a wedding gift. But that big old black bag has been our companion as we have traveled the world together over the past 45 years. With the red “Raff” sash, a gift from some long-forgotten travel agent, it has greeted us on baggage carousels around the world.

That bag has taken us all over Europe, first as twenty-somethings on an “if this is Tuesday we must be in Belgium bus tour,” and in later days via more upscale means of travel. It journeyed with us to Israel, to Southeast Asia, and to the wonders of South America and Machu Picchu. We left it at home for our African Safari, only because the travel company required that we use the duffel bags that they provided.

Friday we returned from a three-week journey through New Zealand and Australia. Our bag supported us on seven plane flights and one long train ride as we visited wine countries, and salmon hatcheries, and geothermal springs. It waited for us in our hotel as we witnessed the Southern Cross. the Milky Way, and Orion’s Belt, star-gazing at midnight at Mt Cook, one of the darkest spots on the planet.

Our bag got us to Melbourne where we toured the street art scene, to a luxury resort in Tasmania where I took an unexpected tumble into an ornamental pool, and to the heights of Sydney’s magnificent Harbor Bridge which we ascended like alpine mountain climbers. Only the Cessna Constellation that Barb “co-piloted” from Milford Sound to Queenstown had no room for our rectangular companion.

Regretfully, while Barb and I have recovered from our voyage, our beloved suitcase has not. The zipper pulls are gone, the interior plastic shoulders are crumbling, and the cloth fabric is starting to tear. It is no longer willing and able to be our raft to a million far-off places.

We’ll buy a new piece before our next adventure–a case with a tough, light-weight, shell, one with better wheels, and a smaller turning radius. I’m sure many more travels await us. Japan and the Arctic are still on the bucket list. And if we are lucky, we might even find the way to Bedford Falls and a chance to invite George Bailey to come along.

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