Life's a Stitch

As soon as you seal a box another item will appear that belongs in said box. Wait for me, wait for me, says the reference book, I don't want to go into storage with the kid's books.

After the garbage is collected, the one with that bin that holds a beloved children's book missing a few pages, those pages will reappear, neatly stapled together having waited years to join their book. Oopsie.

And immediately after the Big Brothers donation truck comes to pick up reuseable items, stuff appears to fill another half dozen cartons.

I've kept U Haul in business. I found a receipt, dated in March, for packing boxes. Have I really been doing this for six months? A major move goes through phases: in the first you methodically sort like items for packing. By the end you shove anything together into the same box, only requirement being that they fit. We're also at the end eating-wise, dinner is carry out, salad from a bag, or fast food. Every night.

I remind myself this is the privilege of the first world. An embarrassment of riches. A 24kt problem. I remember the book, Material World: a Global Family Portrait, that featured photographs of families from over the world, standing outside their dwelling with all their possessions. That was an eye-opener. I have no room to complain, this  being culturally and self inflicted.

Today I packed up the art supplies, a small amount to accompany me in our next 18 months of drifting. This is the last painting I finished, a portrait of dear Ms. Gracee. We had many good times in this house.