As a young kid I remember having a backpack. Our Explorer Post No.64 traveled to Philmont Scout ranch in the mountains of New Mexico. Every essential item needed for 14-days living in the wilderness was in our backpacks.
Backpacks were associated with rugged guys, guys like us in Explorer Post 64.
Today, backpacks are many times a fashion statement. They hold a few things, the obligatory steel water bottle, and various other personal items. They might even be made of some fancy material.
I’ve had a backpack for decades. It holds lots of important stuff.
There are several notebooks in case something happens I might want to “note.’ There are some fountain pens. I like writing with real ink. There’s a book or two, and my IPad. Chargers for my electronic devices are in there. My checkbook is supposed to be in there. My passport is in there because onetime I worked a lot in North Dakota and I didn’t want to get caught on some deserted country road looking for an oil well and never be able to see my family again.
And, there’s still some other stuff.
It’s all my personal stuff. No one puts anything in my backpack but me.
Did I mention my backpack goes everywhere with me? I have no idea how many times it has been overseas.
Except the other day when they loaded me in an ambulance and took me to the Emergency Room in Liberal KS.
It was sometime before anyone bothered to responded to my drug induced question, “where is my backpack?”
I never carried any nuclear codes or anything like that, but my backpack is important to me.
And I didn’t know where it was. What if something noteworthy happened, how would I remember it if it didn’t get written down? Unbeknownst to me, “noteworthy things” were happening to me minute by minute as Doctors and Nurses probed my suddenly sickened body.
“Where is my backpack?” I asked again. I was given answers I did not think were correct, but there was little i could do about it.
Finally I was told that my backpack hadn’t made the trip with me. I had already figured this out.
I was told everything would be OK as my sister who lives in Dodge City was going to be in Hooker where I live and she would go by my house and get my backpack and take it with her to Dodge City.
Remember, I’ve been in an altered mental state for several hours, and I decided these people were messing with me now. After all, I’m not in Dodge City, I’m in a hospital in Andover KS east of Wichita.
But that’s what happened.
My sister took The Backpack to Dodge City to the airport and my niece who has a bunch of airplanes, private jet type airplanes no less, (I’m not real sure if they are all hers or not 🤔) . I guess she was going to have someone swoop down and get my backpack and fly it to Wichita and bring it to me at the hospital in Andover.
And that’s exactly what happened! When she brought it to my room, she commented about how she could see how I might have a shoulder problem.
I haven’t seen the bill, but I have my backpack.
Thank you so much Peggy, Randi, and the pilots.
Imagine what Tom Clancy could do with something like this if he were still alive!
So far I haven’t used a fountain pen to make any notes… but I could if I needed to.
Don Ukens
don3518@gmail.com