My mother, I recall, used to do it quite often — sometimes once or twice a week, to match her shoes. I do it once or twice a year, if I’m lucky.

I’m talking about changing purses, that great seasonal, female ritual (maybe male, too, I don’t want to discriminate!) in which the contents of one bag goes into another.

Sounds simple, right? But it’s not.

Because a purse has a soul, you see, a way of being carried or worn, and the Metro card spot in my woven straw-colored summer bag is completely different from the one in the my multi-pocketed black leather winter bag.

To complicate the process this year I’ve purloined a bag of Celia’s, one she loves but is not carrying  right now, college girl that she is. (A backpack or a pocket is all she needs.)

So I’ve tried to cram everything from a roomy “Mom”-type purse into a sleek younger model.

We’ll see how long it will be until I’m changing purses again!