The Queen who loved beauty

Once there was a Queen who loved beautiful things, so much so that she hated marred or broken things to be in her sight. If it was broken it had to be chucked out straightaway and replaced with something new and whole.

One day she fell in love and of course she fell in love with the most handsome man in the land, nothing less would do for her. She loved the chiseled line of his jaw and his almond shaped eyes. She loved his dark brown slightly wavy hair, especially the way little curls sprang up when the weather was humid. His sense of humour pleased her as did his discerning eye for all things beautiful, the well-tailored clothes worn with just the right touch of panache, the perfect accessories, the smart man of the world look he wore daily on his face. She adored everything about him; he was perfect in her eyes. So they married and life went well for them.

They lived happily if shallowly, but they of course, didn’t realize how shallow their lives were as they lived surrounded only by beauty and perfection. Day by day the Queen fell more and more in love with her husband not noticing the little foibles and quirks that were the real things that won her heart, like the way he chewed his lip when thinking about something and the way he scuffed the toes of his shoes so that they looked lived in and worn. She loved the way he ruffled her hair even though it messed up her hard work (of course she always put it right before anyone else saw her). So many little things won her heart and over time she found that it was not his beauty after all that she loved but him. It took her a while to see this but little by little she began to see how shallow her life had been and how ruled by an unreal sense of beauty she had been.

One day she sat thinking about her life and her kingdom and what she would like to be remembered for. She thought of the works of art she had installed in the parks and public spaces in her nation, she thought of the museums and art galleries she was patron of but strangely none of them captured her heart now the way they used to. She had changed, little but little the changes had crept up on her, working away unseen by human eyes and largely unnoticed even by herself. But they had happened, she was becoming less and less shallow and sophisticated and more and more human and accessible.

As she sat there thinking news came, bad news, the kind that changes everything in an instant. Her husband had been in an accident, somehow the car he was travelling in had lost control and hit a side wall on the motorway causing it to roll many times and ending up going over the wall and down a bank where it slammed into a tree. Her husband was badly hurt and would take many months to recover. Never again would he be the same; bones broken on many places, deep cuts and lacerations scarred his body and his face, his beauty was destroyed in a second.

As the Queen looked at him laying there broken and scarred in the hospital bed at first she was horrified and felt she couldn’t look at him – her precious beautiful husband was marred for life. To one such as her to whom beauty had been everything it was a shock and left her feeling repulsed; yet at the same time her love for him rose within her and warred against the repulsion. Which would win – love or repulsion? She knew that only she could choose and also knew that the choosing would set the course of her future – to live with love and brokenness or to spurn love and choose beauty. As she sat there her old and new natures fought within her, one calling her back to her previous life and the other to an even greater love of more depth and sacrifice. She knew she had to choose and eventually she did.

Day by day she sat with her husband willing him back to life, feeding him a taste of this and a sip of that, watching in pain herself as his lips puckered and twisted in order to sip from the straw. Lips that had once smiled those smiles that melted her heart now grimaced in pain and scarring. Eyes that had looked with such love now were half closed with pain and etched deeply with lines from that pain. Hair that she loved to see curl, now was close shaven and the scalp cut so cruelly where the windshield had sliced it open. His beauty was gone forever yet still she loved him and it changed her deeper still.

Gone was the shallow heart that only loved what she had thought was beauty and what replaced it was a true love that saw beyond brokenness to the real beauty of a persons spirit.

One day the Queen called for the artists of the land to come before her. “I want a new work of art” she said, “something that will show the world the reality of true beauty, something full of rich meaning and symbolism that will shape peoples ideas of true beauty the way my old gifts of public art shaped their perceptions of beauty. I want something broken yet beautiful, marred yet full of promise. I want a work that will show people that preciousness and beauty does not consists of wholeness and unmarred magnificence but of a beauty that is seen beyond the brokenness”.

And that’s how the Queen’s public garden ended up with the very large and bold sculpture of a swan with one wing outstretched as if to fly and the other broken and held in a splint. Some people hated it but others got it, they saw the regal splendor and beauty that the swan portrayed, they saw the broken wing and the splint that held it in place and they knew true beauty comes not from unmarred magnificence or from what appears to be unbroken wholeness. They recognized that true beauty comes from brokenness carried unhidden and worn as a sign of the promise of healing and restoration and they smiled as they recognized themselves and those they knew in the swan that stood before them.

By the way, the queen and her husband lived a long and happy life together and brought to their kingdom much love and an outworking of all they learnt as a result of his accident. Their kingdom and the surrounding ones became all the richer for it too, not necessarily richer in things of great beauty but certainly richer in love and good works, Love had done it’s work once again and the world was a better place for it having done so.

The end, or…the beginning of a new end.

crown lynn swan

The inspiration for this story came from a picture of a ceramic swan that had a hole cut in it to turn it into a lamp – funny the things that spark inspiration, isn’t it?

Thankfulness & creativity – the link

it’s been a while since I posted here but I am still alive and functioning, i just got real busy and some things slid down the priority pile. but here I am again, my batteries are refreshed and my creativity is flowing… sounds great doesn’t it? and it feels great too!

i have just finished the first draft on a new book about how to grow and enhance your creativity. it’s funny – but when you start to write you realise you know a heck of a lot more than you thought. you just are so used to putting it into practise unconsciously that you don’t stop to think what you’ve learnt along the way. you also find out how much you don’t know lol, and how much you can still learn! so the new book is in it’s infancy but should be reality fairly soon. i’ll let you know when it’s ready.

today – can i suggest that you take some time to think about something you are currently involved with doing and consciously be thankful for the things you’ve learnt that you’re putting into practise in that task. gratitude is such a positive creativity booster and mood booster you’ll find that your day will even go better because you took a moment to be thankful.

you also find that your task will go better too.  i believe there is a link between thankfulness and creativity. thankfulness releases feel good stuff (endorphins) into your body and also, i believe boosts your brain function for a period of time afterwards. i’m not a scientist or medical person but i do know how i feel and how differently i see things when i am in a good mood.

if things are going hard for you at the moment, take that time to be thankful for the good things in your life and you’ll find the grey cloud will lift and you’ll see with new eyes.

make thankfulness a part of your lifestyle and you’ll see changes in your life. you may have to be deliberate to start with and you may have to do this a lot until it becomes a part of who you are but it’s worth persevering for.

i used to be a pretty negative person; life had been real hard and abusive to me growing up and it had affected the way i saw everything. then one day i realised that if something didn’t change i would continue to live a negative and depressive life. so i pulled up to my memory the image of a positive person (a fictional image but still a strong one) a young girl called pollyanna. did you ever see that movie – it’s about a young girl who always sees the positive in every situation and always hopes for the best and how her life affects everyone around her. i decided i wanted to be like that – to learn to see the good in every situation and to become a positive person and so i asked god for help to become that person!

it has taken conscious effort and many backwards and fowards moments but my whole life has undergone a huge shift because of it. i don’t get it right all the time of course but i am much improved to how i was in my earlier years and i hope my story and my life is an encouragement to others. an encouragement that they are not stuck in a box, imprisoned behind bars, destined to seeing the same view forever, but there is a whole different outlook to be found.

it reminds me of that old story about the two prisoners, one with hope and one without; they both stood at their barred window looking out into the night, one saw only the bars while the other saw stars.

the man on the silver screen

creativity can happen anywhere, anytime and sometimes it surprises you. a while ago i rewatched the old film “sabrina” with harrison ford and julie ormond and in it sabrina is a girl who has grown up loving the youngest son of a rich family but he never notices her until one particular day. i remember sititng there watching thinking what a predator the guy was and wouldn’t you know it, creativity struck and before long i was sitting there writing not watching. here’s the piece that came from that.

the man on the silver screen

he smiles

with predatory eyes

the man on the silver screen

to him

love is but a game

to the victor the spoils

the young girl

 adoringly looks his way

with innocent eyes

she doesn’t see

beyond

beyond her hopes

her dreams

of a long white gown

and champagne

as the band plays on

but he sees

and to him

the game is on

© Lyn Packer

inspired by the film “sabrina”

More T-Shirt fun

I’ve loved designing the poke-a bit-of-fun-at-ourself Christian t-shirt slogans. They remind me that God gave us a sense of humour and wants us to have fun. Sometimes we just take ourselves too seriously don’t we! So here’s the other ones I’ve done over the last couple of days.

Hope they gave you a wee laugh.

Quotable quotes – on writing

i was looking at my vast collection of quotes the other day – sometimes i love to just read them and ponder them, sometimes i look to them for inspiration and sometimes like today they are the inspiration. here’s a few quotes on writing and creativity to get you thinking.

“you never know what you will learn ‘til you start writing. then you discover truths you never knew existed.” – anita brookner

“let your mind alone and see what happens”.  – virgil thomson

“to me the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make”. truman capote

‘writing is my refuge. it’s where i go. it’s where i find that integrity i have.’ – charles. b. johnson

“the best time for planning a book is while you’re doing the dishes.” – agatha christie

‘writing is the only thing that when i do it, i don’t feel i should be doing something else” – gloria steinem

“the creative power cannot be repressed, one must give vent to what one feels”.  – vincent van gogh

“life is not long for anybody and the problem is only to make something of it.”  – vincent van gogh

“it is a pity that as one gradually gains experience, one gradually loses ones youth”. –  vincent van gogh

“you should be writing something from your life, from the depths of your soul. there is more in you than this,” he said, “if you have the courage to hear it.” – louisa may alcott – from the film adaptation of little women

“humanity is in your tears. “no tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.” – robert frost

words, words, sticks and stones

words create – which is why we writers write.

words create realities and worlds which we inhabit by our imagination.

words create us and define us – they create the world we inhabit and live out of. it happens to everyone – but sometimes we don’t recognise it or believe it or we forget it and  we let others throw their word garbage over us and wonder why we end up feeling dirtied.

words had and have a big part in creating who you and i now are.

sometimes we need a closet clean out to happen in our mind – to take out the words that once defined us, or define us now, look at them and ask does this fit, does this suit me – who i am and who i want to be, and if not to chuck those old word clothes out and put on some new ones.

this is a piece i wrote a while ago about words, i know its not a new piece but i was thinking this morning about the power words have and decided that would be a good entry for this blog.

words

words

like a ragged coat

from a childhood long gone

i wear them in my mind.

cold comfort

this coat that no longer fits

but I can’t throw it away.

words

wrapped around my spirit

not wanted

dirty

ugly

unclean

unclean

unclean.

words

my constant companions

childhood bullies

that taunted and hurt

that over time

became me

became who I am.

yet you

see me differently

and call me

to be someone new.

trade coats you say.

can I let go

do I dare try on this new coat

these new words

and see how they fit.

i know I must give up the old

to become the new

so I struggle to surrender

struggle

surrender.

surrender the old

to take hold of the new

so I must

so I do.

new words

seem foreign to my mind.

my new coat

seems too big

yet trust I must

knowing I will grow

until i fit

my new coat

copyright Lyn Packer 2001

while it’s true that we were created and our existance came into being at a particular point in time our creation did not stop on that day. it didn’t stop when childhood ended and our body stopped growing in height. it didn’t stop then and it will never stop. we are still being created – by what others say to us but more importantly what we say to ourselves. those words shape and define us and we will become those words over time.

you have the power to create and everyday you are taking part in making your greatest creation ever – creating you. don’t settle for a second rate creation, don’t settle for being a second-best you, simply because words that no longer have a right to define you are still cluttering your mind closet. chuck them out, put on some new clothes and see yourself stand up straighter in the mirror of life.

you’re worth it!

Princess Ponytail

my childhood while not an easy one was, when all is said and done, my childhood. i lived through it hoping for rescue from my abuse but never really believing it could come. then one day after many years i found a love that healed the hurting places and showed me i was in fact loved and missed by a loving heavenly dad who had originally created me to be his princess. even though for a while i was stolen away from him i found my way home and in the midst of the healing one day this story poured out of my heart. it was the first of many stories and poems during that healing period and opened a well of creativity that has never closed since. it is a story rich in symbolism and as you read you will no doubt get some of them. i didn’t deliberately put them there, this is how it flowed through my pen direct from my spirit and it has been edited as little as possible. “princess ponytail” is a story of hope, a story of courage and one of coming home. i pray you are moved by it and touched by love as you read.

PRINCESS PONYTAIL 

Once upon a time there was a princess, Princess Ponytail. Of course that wasn’t her real name, but everyone called her that because she had the most beautiful hair. It was long, dark and very silky. So long she could almost sit on it. She was quite proud of her hair and loved to wear it in a ponytail. She wore it like that so often that people started to call her Princess Ponytail and that’s how she got her nick-name.

Princess Ponytail’s father was the king of a huge country. This, of course, meant that he had enemies as well as friends. After all, one can’t always make decisions that please everyone, even if you are known as the wisest king in the world.

His influence was far reaching and other kings often came to confer with him on matters of State. However he always had time for Princess Ponytail, even when she would interrupt in the middle of a meeting! No matter how busy he was he would stop and lift her up onto his knee and listen while she told him all the important things that had happened; well, important to her anyway.

One day as the princess sat in her father’s lap and told him about the beautiful bird she had just seen, one of the king’s visitors smiled slyly. This was just the thing he was looking for. He had long waited for just the right moment to get back at the king for humiliating him in front of his countrymen. Obviously the king loved his daughter so what better way to get at him than to kidnap the princess! So that’s what he set out to do.

He disguised himself as a seller of ribbons and toys and waited at the edge of the gardens where he knew Princess Ponytail loved to play.

“Hello, fair one,” he said, as he appeared suddenly beside her. “I have a gift for you – ribbons for your beautiful hair. Would you like to come with me and see what I have in my cart?”

Something about the man frightened Princess Ponytail and she drew back slightly. “Don’t be afraid, child, I won’t harm you. Come and see the beautiful ribbons I have for you. My cart is just over here.”

Princess Ponytail followed the man over to his cart where the man pulled out a handful of ribbons, red and purple and gold. As she reached out to take them he grabbed her wrist and put a hand over her mouth. She was terrified! She tried to scream, to call out for help, but no sound would come out.

“Scream and I’ll kill you! Do you understand?” he hissed in her ear.

Princess Ponytail nodded her head mutely. He tied her hands roughly together and stuffed a foul smelling rag in her mouth. He covered her with old clothes and blankets as he pushed her roughly onto the cart. She felt smothered. Hardly able to breathe the princess felt like she was going to be sick. After what seemed like forever she felt the cart stop and then she was pushed roughly into a small shack.

The man stood before her. “Do as I say or you’ll never see your precious father again!” He reached out and slid his fingers through her ponytail. “We’ll have to get rid of that hair. Anyone would recognise you straight away. By the time I’ve finished even your own father won’t recognise you.” He picked up a pair of scissors and, sneering, grabbed her hair in one hand and began to cut.

“It’s no use screaming. No-one can hear you,” he said. Satisfied with his work he continued. “There! No one will ever recognise you now; you look nothing like a princess.” He laughed cruelly as he tossed an old pair of boy’s trousers and a shirt at her. “Put these on and give me your clothes,” he commanded.

Forced to hand over her beautiful clothes she watched the man thrust them into the fire. She cried to see the garments burnt. She was overwhelmed with sorrow as everything she had ever known was stripped from her. As she crawled into a corner, the princess curled into a tight ball and rocked. Pain along with terror focused itself into a silent scream. It filled every part of her being. That scream would echo through her mind time and time again in the months and years ahead.

The King sent out riders to search the far corners of his Kingdom for his beloved daughter. As time went by with no word of her he was forced to admit that he might never see his daughter again. However in his heart he never gave up hope that somehow, somewhere, she was still alive.

Princess Ponytail slowly became more and more withdrawn as her captor destroyed her sense of identity and self esteem. She never knew when he would turn on her and beat her or belittle her with the words he used. Words that slowly over time began to shape how she saw herself and became to her an invisible prison that she could not seem to escape from. He refused to even use her name simply calling her girl. Her abuser was clever. He knew that to really destroy her he would have to use not just words but deeds. So he did.

He filled both her days and her nights with fear and abuse. She never knew what to expect next as one moment he was nice then the next incredibly cruel. Night after night she would lie in her bed and wonder whether she would wake up to see him standing in her doorway. She came to dread the night.

The princess felt like she was no longer a person just a thing. A thing to be used to satisfy the man’s warped sense of power as time and time again he abused her.

Years passed by and although Princess Ponytail longed for her father she became resigned to her captivity. Over time she thought less and less about him until he became a vague memory. Still, in her heart she hoped that one day she would find her way home.

One day when the man had left the shack to attend to other things the girl reached under her pillow and pulled out a knife she had managed to hide. Slowly and carefully, she worked the window of her cell loose enough to break the seal free. With a creak loud enough to frighten even the bravest heart the window fell open. Quickly she wriggled her way through the window, frightened that the man would return at any moment and find her.

Free at last the princess stumbled through the woods. She forced herself to walk for hours until she felt she could not take another step. In the distance she saw a house. Lying quietly in the tall grass, she waited to catch a glimpse of the owners. Suddenly there was a rustling in the grass nearby followed by excited barking.

“Shush dog! Quiet boy! Oh please don’t give me away,” she sobbed, but the dog took no notice. Looking up the girl saw the dog’s owner staring down at her in surprise.

“Down, dog! Quiet!” he commanded. “Well, what have we here? Where did you come from boy? What are you doing trespassing on my farm?”

“Please sir, I’m not a boy. I’m a girl and I’m Princess Ponytail.”

“Don’t be silly, child, of course you’re not! Anyone can see you’re a boy. Besides, Princess Ponytail is dead.”

“But…but…no… I’m not.”

“No buts boy, come along with me,” the farmer said, as he helped her to her feet.

So Princess Ponytail was taken to the farmer’s home. The farmer’s wife gave her clean clothes and food but they didn’t believe her story. Although the couple treated her kindly Princess Ponytail longed to be back in her father’s house again.  But what was the use? She had no idea where she was or how to get home.

The farmer and his wife said she was welcome to stay and work on their farm. So she did. Weeks passed but still no one believed her. Princess Ponytail grew more and more despondent. It seemed to her that in some ways it was no better here than when she was imprisoned. Partial freedom was really no freedom at all. Princess Ponytail could have left the farmer’s house at any time. She was not their captive but the princess had become so used to captivity that she didn’t recognise freedom. Her captor had done his job well.

Unconsciously she replayed her abuse over and over again. Thoughts of death eventually began to fill her mind. Maybe she would be better off dead. She was sure her father would not want her back after what she had become. She didn’t realise at that stage that love saw beyond those things.

Fears filled her mind day after day. “What if I never find my way home? If I do will I be recognised? What if my Dad doesn’t know me? What if I can never go home?”

Fears that her Dad wouldn’t love and accept her after what she had been through tormented her mind. Why, even she didn’t like who she had become. She wondered whether she would ever be able to look at herself without hating herself. But by far most of the condemnation she suffered wasn’t even conscious. It had become part of her. She didn’t recognise that it was lies that filled her mind and dictated how she saw herself.

The farmer and his wife noticed her sadness and began to talk about it to each other. “You know, dear,” said the farmer’s wife. “Maybe, just maybe, we’ve made a dreadful mistake. I admit the girl doesn’t look much like a princess but how can we be sure?”

“I don’t know, dear,” replied the farmer. “Maybe the only way we can really find out is to take her to the king.”

So the next day they set out for the palace. The journey took many days but eventually the princess began to recognise landmarks, then buildings and then people. She cried out to them but they didn’t recognise her. Maybe no one would.  What if her father didn’t recognise her?  What if he sent her away? She was too scared to even hope.

Soon they reached the palace and entered its gates. Princess Ponytail didn’t look up, though. She just sat, head bowed, as the fear that her father would not recognise her gripped and tormented her mind.

“Don’t be afraid, child. I’ve heard the king is a wise and gentle man. He’ll not hurt you,” said the farmer’s wife as they entered the palace.

They made their way to the great hall where the king was seated talking to his councillors and explained to the footman at the door why they were there. He, in turn, approached the king and whispered something in his ear.

“Well bring her forward,” he said.

“Go on then, child,” said the farmer. “If what you’ve told us is true you have nothing to fear.”

The King’s heart leapt as Princess Ponytail walked towards him. Could it be, after all these years? Yet he was sure it was. “Daughter, is that really you?”

“Daddy!” she cried, and she ran toward him.

He stood and scooped her into his arms and together they stood tears flowing freely down their faces. Holding her close the king whispered “I thought I had lost you forever. Oh child, I’m so glad you’re still alive. You’ve grown and look so different but I would have known you anywhere. I have missed you so much!”

So the king got his daughter back and although they searched they never did find the man that had kidnapped the princess.

It took a while for the princess’s ponytail to grow back and sometimes people didn’t recognise her for who she really was, but soon her beauty and royal breeding began to show again. Even though the princess was home, and no longer captive, her mind took a lot longer to become free. But slowly, the love and acceptance of her father began to restore Princess Ponytail’s sense of identity and self esteem. Her days and nights became less and less filled with terror and the after-effects of abuse.

Princess Ponytail never forgot the time spent locked in the shack but was determined to use the things she had learnt through it to help others. There were many people whose lives were filled with suffering of one sort or another. Although she wished that her abuse had never happened, Princess Ponytail knew that she would probably never have known such a deep compassion for those who were hurting had she stayed sheltered in the palace.

The end

Copyright – ©  Lyn Packer 1992 Creative Fire Ministries

This story may not be copied or reproduced in part or in full without the written permission of the author

This story and many others can be found in my two books “Whispers from Heaven” 1 & 2 and are available on our website here

dance…

as a child I wanted to learn to dance but we had nine kids in the family, were poor and couldn’t afford lessons so that dream was quickly squashed. but somewhere, someone heard and never forgot.

skip ahead to adulthood – the desire returned but this time it was a desire to dance for the audience of one, daddy God. but how could I, I was broken, unclean and not wanted in my hearts eyes, but I danced anyway and as i did daddy God began to heal and cleanse the brokenness inside.

i clearly remember the day daddy God reminded me of that childhood desire and told me he had never forgotten even if i had, he said “i’ll teach you, i know how to dance” and so he did. in the privacy of my lounge with curtains shut so no one would see me make a fool of myself, slowly, hesitantly, unsure of myself and him I began to dance. then came a day when i was standing in church and he asked me to dance for him in public – a battle raged within me but eventually three months later i said yes and danced. funny enough i though people would see brokenness and unsureness, what they saw and received though was healing and desire to be free like me. i had to laugh, i didn’t yet feel thaaat free but they saw something in me that they desired – it was daddys love really that they saw and they wanted it too.

now years later childhood memories no longer sting and where there were tears there is now laughter. now the child within dances free from fear and my heart knows that the words broken, unclean and not wanted no longer apply to me, instead I am whole, healed, righteoussly clean and so wanted it makes my heart want to burst with the happiness of it. no, those aren’t just words either, they are the truth of a life touched and changed by the power of my daddy God’s love.

over the next few entries i’ll share some of my poetry and stories that show my journey into love. but for today – let’s dance!

dance

spinning, arms thrown wide

i dance

laughter wells up within me

i dance

giddy with joy

i drop to the ground

but the dance goes on

inside me

the child within dances

free from fear

and shadows that taunt

she spins and leaps

and spins again

then she bows

as she ends her dance

for her audience of one.

enticed into the land of make believe

there is something enticing about a well written story – it draws you in until you become part of it. i have to confess i have loved reading since i was a small child and books have always been a delight and were once a very real escape from a life that was sometimes unbearable. now I read purely for the enjoyment of it and whether it is fiction or non fiction words continue to delight and entice, teach and mold my life. i also love writing both fiction and non fiction but my skill is moderate at best in doing so. it doesn’t stop me writing though as expressing what is in me is a must not an option.

i have recently found someone whose stories entice me time after time to leave my world for a moment and journey into theirs. i say theirs because their blog gives no clue to me of who they are, their gender or their whereabouts. i can only hope that they continue to leave their enticements on that blogsite so i can journey with them and see things through their eyes for at least a little while each week.

check it out for yourself and see if you aren’t hooked too. the blogs name is 1 story a week but one is not enough and i like edmund and his turkish delight crave more but know that more would likely spoil the special delight it is to me.

suitcase love

i love old suitcases. i think it’s because of the well travelled look of them. there is such an air of mystery – where have they been and what have they seen? what have they been used for; have they been put to good use or left languishing in a cupboard or under a bed?

i came across these photos the other day – old suitcases given a new lease of life. part of me loved the idea and part of me hated it. loved it because they were still being used – someone had been creative. repurposed they had a new lease of life  and would live on for many years to come. hated it because their travelling days were over, they were now domiciled in one place, no more to roam. they will still have adventures but they will be the domestic kind which never conjure up the same magic and mystery as a life on the road. but the flip side of that is they will be loved and treated kindly, looked on as a part of someones daily life and enjoyed in a whole new way.

here’s the website and a couple of the images to fire up your curiousity. http://theclothspring.com/2011/11/re-purposed-suitcases/