We went to Disney World once, I think, right after Grandmother Carol had died, returning from the last trip we took to see the Alligator Aunt in Naples. At twelve, you are at the stage where the Magic Kingdom is a big fake disappointment - you are too old to be taken in by the illusion, and too young to appreciate the illusion for what it is. But I do remember having fun with Lil and Mid Sis on the whirling teacups (I'm late for a Very Important Date), and being really scared on Space Mountain (a roller coaster that you rode IN THE DARK - who knew?), and thinking that it was just too dorky for words.

Of course, compounding to the utter twelve year old angst-ness of the trip - Carol had given Mid Sis and I clutch purses - the kind made from eyelet material, and with wooden handles, that were very popular in the mid eighties. Very homey, and you could change out the bag material by undoing some buttons. Anyway, I had left mine in the car, on the seat.

As you might have guessed, even in the vast Disney parking lot, the car was broken into, and the bag stolen. What kind of inept thief was trolling the lot at Disney that day?

"Hm" says inept thief "most people take their money INTO the park. I bet someone left money here!"

No. Sadly, the thief made of with something more precious than money (a gift from my grandmother that was probably full of kleenex and a book). I hope the thief was literate and enjoyed what was surely a Barbara Cartland romance.

I've reached the stage where I think it would be nice to go back to Disney, a way of closing the circle (if you will). Now I can appreciate the illusion.

This time I won't leave my purse in the car.