I had a dream last night about trying to pack up everything in a large house, preparatory to moving.
My husband and I are planning to move in… I dunno. Somewhere between 5-7 years from now. Between this long-range deadline and the fact that my house is currently knee-deep in books I’m reading for World Fantasy (the photo on the left is the stacks of books I am not the primary reader on…the books that are my responsibility are in another room) the notion of is very much with me. And evidently, very much with my dreams.
I’m not sure how it comes to this. When I was graduated from college, I had… a couple of plants. Two or three shelves of non-textbook books, and perhaps six inches worth of record albums (yeah, vinyl. Because I’m from the Before Times). A small barbershop cabinet (about 10″ x 15″, and 40″ high). A guitar. My bicycle. That was about it. Moved all that stuff back to my parents’ house, where it barely made a blip (my parents lived in a Barn. When you live in a Barn there’s always somewhere to put stuff). When I moved into my first apartment I added a rather sad sack twin bed and a bureau. I bought a pot and a knife (my roommate had other cooking gear).
And then I began to acquire stuff. Nothing crazy: bookshelves made of boards and bricks, because I knew I would acquire more books. A Selectric typewriter, bought with part of the proceeds of my first book sale. A second-hand desk. By the time I moved into another apartment (same roommate) I had acquired more kitchen stuff, a better bed with a futon, a chair (prior to the chair I had done my writing sitting crosslegged on my bed with the Selectric on my lap, which may explain the state of my legs). My father gave me a Hoosier Pie Cabinet, because it reminded him of me.* More books, of course. Then I moved to a studio apartment on my own, where, among other things, my stereo was stolen. And on and on. I moved in with friends and wound up putting 90% of what I owned in storage. Then into a flat with another friend. Then I got married, and we had to negotiate whose stuff would achieve primacy in our three room apartment. Then we had a kid–kids require, or seem to require, an inordinate amount of stuff, even tho’ we were not of the “anything Little Gumdrop wants, she must have!” brand of parents. We moved to a larger apartment and put in a wall of bookshelves, and had another kid. And then we moved to California and bought a house–not a huge house, or a particularly glamorous house, but a whole house with an attic and a basement. The kids grew up. Both moved out, but left stuff behind. That stuff is mostly in the attic, which has dormer cupboards, so we can maintain the notion that the attic is a guest room.
A couple of years ago I gave away 25 cartons of books to the San Francisco public library. I don’t know what it is, but I have a distinctly squinchy, unhappy feeling about throwing out things that are useable but not wanted. I want them all–books and dishes and furniture–to find a new home. But finding that home can be challenging. I have my floor loom from when I was a kid and taking weaving lessons. It’s in good shape, entirely useable, and while I keep advertising it in local weavers’ organizations, I haven’t had even a tickle of interest. I also have a rug-hooking loom of my mother’s that I suspect I’ll have to donate somewhere. And my baking paraphernalia… I have heard that some libraries will collect baking paraphernalia and check them out. Maybe SFPL would like mine? In 5-7 years?
I walk around the house and state with certainty: when we move, THAT comes with us. And THAT. And THOSE. But not everything. And every time I think of picking something up–a tool for the kitchen, for instance–I am now reminded that I might not want that tool in the future, no matter how convenient it might be Right Now.
So, yeah. I’m a little consumed by Stuff. In my dreams, in my kitchen, in the attic.
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*Over the years my father gave me a number of things that reminded him of me, including the pie cabinet, and a large ball of alabaster and carving tools. I have never been sure why these things reminded him of me–was it structure or function? Still, I adore the pie cabinet. The alabaster was eventually surrendered to an art school.