So, I’m packing. Have been, on and off, since January. One of the most dreaded moments of packing is the closets. You know how in horror movies the villain often hides in closets? We have no danger of that. Any monster foolish enough to try it would be suffocated under tons of stuff. Some houses may have walk-in closets, but I am inclined to call a mining company whenever I need to find anything in ours. Our closets have led full lives. It’s almost 100 degrees outside and I’m excavating. We’re at that stage of “absolutely need to keep?” instead of “do we want this?” Then I came upon it. The layer of SBL tote bags. Like a paleontologist of ancient academia.
If you’ve been a member of the Society of Biblical Literature you know what I mean. Every year the Society wants you to realize value for your money, and they give you a tote-bag to help you haul home the books you’re going to buy. Long-time attendees know to pack an empty suitcase inside their regular one just to accommodate the books. (That could also account for about ninety percent of my packing—we have more books than a small town public library.) But it’s not the books that are the problem today, it’s the bags. I’ve been attending SBL since 1991. Do the math. I seem to recall that they didn’t do tote bags back in Kansas City, but soon after they became part of the agenda. And I have an impressive pile of them in my closet.
Too small for groceries—especially in the early editions, back when we could meet in smaller venues—and too impractical for anything other than books, they multiply in our closets. What professor doesn’t have his or her iconic briefcase already? Reduce, reuse, recycle they say. At least half of my totes have never been reused. Zippers? Who thought of that? Pulling handfuls out of the closet, I marvel at their colors. I can’t remember everyone walking around with a red bag—what year was that? (San Francisco, 2011.) The black leather edition—remember that one? (SBL, n.d.) The bags aren’t really useful for packing, on a movers’ scale. You can imagine the burly guys outside their truck scratching their heads at this impractical conveyance. Like so much else in life they’ve become mere souvenirs. From the French word for something like “remembrance,” souvenirs are meant to take us back to the place in vivid detail. I fear that many past meetings have run together into a blend of biblical arcana. I’m sure that’s just me. Still, I’m responsible for this new discovery. I’d I’ll need shortly to decide whether these totes go into the museum or back into the landfill that moving inevitably creates in a throw-away world.