I lost everything. Once. Katrina. How did so much stuff materialize so quickly? (My dad references George; Carlin's "Stuff" routine here.) And why does it matter so much? Last summer, I joined other bloggers during the summer of 7. Getting rid of stuff was fun then. A challenge. A competition?
But now. Moving in a few days. And about half the room. It is these occasional times I wish my ulcer would allow some wine. It doesn't.
So we sold. 4 chairs, 2 stools, statues, odds, ends. We gave away. I quit counting at 78 pieces of clothes and 13 pairs of shoes. We threw away. (Judge me here for not recycling or up-cycling.) And still moved more stiff than our new digs could hold.
And with our new 3 room place (Yep. Ours. Hers. Living/Dining/Kitchen) I was determined not too overcrowd.
So truckloads went to the Palmer Home thrift. And more to the trash. (Again. Judge me for my lack of green-ness. I was overwhelmed!)
And our rooms turned from cramped to cozy.
Around me I see the vase a friend brought back from India almost 15 years ago and the cake stand that I love. She sent it for a wedding gift. It holds our fruit.
Elizabeth is there. Husband and my good friend. It was she who stood in when a parent was needed and mine were states away. The vintage Fiesta ware displayed on shelves built by a cousin.
The table that survived. Placed in the corner where Husband said it would look best. He was right.
The brown mug that Cathy and Vicki gave him. We smile every time.
There is the shelf that fell while Dad and Husband put them up. Two good men. Falling in love with one helped me begin to appreciate the other.
The brown pottery bird. The one Mom gave me the day I ran away from home. Old enough to know better, stubborn enough to still go. I brought it with me a month later when I returned. The first time I saw the prodigal son play out live, in person, in love.
This is the home we're building. Small enough so as to not be wasted. Big enough to hold all that is dear.
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