Stuff...too much stuff...

But from food to place.

We arrived in late afternoon. A short time later we parked in the lot of our new apartment building.

As I think I've said somewhere else, the place is really quite nice, and very, very handy. We're directly across the street from the Home. To visit her, I need only cross the road. And my father is not far away. I can walk to his house, if need be.

And our own particular apartment is charming as well. There are two bedrooms—we use one as our shared office—a kitchen, a dining area, a living room, and two baths. It's comfortable, and cozy, and we are happy here.

Except…

There is this little issue of *stuff.*

All our stuff arrived a few days after we did. It came in five U-haul containers and was duly delivered out front in the parking lot. Tables, chairs, a sofa, a recliner, a dining room set, lamps, paintings, art works, two TV sets (neither of which we use), and boxes, and boxes, AND boxes….of books.

Oy.

It was then, really, that we realized …however dimly…that we had moved from a two-story house to a two bedroom apartment. And we just didn't have room … for… all… that… stuff.

The irony is that we'd thought we weeded out and downsized. We donated, we sold, we threw away…we got rid of more than half of possessions, at least, before we moved.

But, once we were here, we discovered the reality. That all our weeding and tossing was insufficient. We found ourselves in our apartment, which formerly seemed so copious, with boxes and cartons piled floor to ceiling.

After two month, we have more or less managed to get the mess under control. My father, who I think saw what was coming, volunteered to let us store stuff at his house. And now, his guest room is stacked floor to ceiling.

I realized that he was amused by us, and our situation. In his wisdom and his age, he knew what we had not yet discovered.

To wit: possessions are like beliefs. Even when proven baseless and false, you cannot get rid of them so easily. They flourish, they reproduce, they remain…

And what took thirty years to acquire may take thirty more to lose.

moving

Spent another day packing and sorting and throwing away. We've also now got a big U-Haul container out in the driveway. Periodically, I go dump another load of stuff in it.

I've got almost all of my own personal papers and such packed up and in the U-Haul container. On one level, that's very good news indeed. On another, well, there is something disconcerting about knowing that most of one's personal and professional life can get squeezed down to a dozen 12x10x15 banker's boxes.

Sort of humbling when you think about it.

Bibliophila's reward

Hauled *another* load of books to the "used book superstore" (non-profit) up in Burlington today. When I say "load," I mean the back of my little Ford Ranger pickup was pretty well full.

This makes about eight such loads I've taken.

And it's just the tip of the iceberg. Before we head to New Mexico, I'll have several more such trips to make. And there will be an equal number of books with which we will not be able to part.

Bibliophilia given 30 years free rein is a terrifying thing.


*


And while we're on the subject, I've always loved this painting. I can relate ;-)

The Bookworm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Carl_Spitzweg_021.jpg#file

Sorting paper....

To prepare for our move to New Mexico, I've been going through our old files to see what can be safely shredded and thrown away. (Answer: almost all of it.)

It is an exhausting process, but also humbling. Your triumphs you keep in full view. Your failures you quietly entomb in dead storage. Thus, while sorting through the check registers and credit card carbons (remember them?) from the middle 80s, I also find myself re-examining thirty years of rejected book proposals, unfinished business plans, notebooks filled with ideas that—in retrospect—seem at best laughable…

The good news is that I will rid my life of all this detritus. It is a kind of purge. I will haul box upon box of things that-just-didn't-work-out to the dump. They'll be pulped and recycled and made into new paper. Literally carte blanche.

And I will find myself somehow lighter. Somehow unburdened.