I recently found myself at an estate sale in the home of a woman who seemed so glamorous to me.  She was apparently a pilot,  very well traveled, and had collected art from so many of her travels.  When I happened upon her sewing room, I was unmoved by the piles of polyester, but found my way over to a sad little train case in the closet.  It was in very bad shape, but it was pink, and it was half off that day.  The deal was sealed when I noticed my very own initials on the front of the case.