Stuff

Last fall I gave my 1927 Spanish house some loving with new windows and central heat and A/C.

After two and half months of work men arriving at 7am, noise and dust I took a break,

and shelved phase two; renovating and replacing the floors.  

This endeavor was going to be more difficult to live through,

and in fact, would require moving out for six weeks. 

I couldn't wrap my mind around it, until several months ago I started to hatch a plan.

Dietland would take me to NY, my house would be vacant, the perfect time for construction.

I wrestled with adding this time consuming task to my plate.

Where would I find the hours needed to pack my entire house?

And where would I put the contents?

Wheels continued to spin.

I wanted to avoid movers and storage and started eyeing

my messy garage with new found focus.

My car lease would expire when I was out of town.

No car, more space.

But would the contents of my house fit in my garage?

Was adding this domestic production to an already intense work phase going to make life hell?

I wanted to delight in my last weeks with Scotch in LA,

not spend hours at home sifting through drawers and closets. 

It was surreal to see the house empty,

a state it hasn't been in since I purchased it 21 years ago. 

It made me think a lot about the stuff we accumulate, the things we hold onto,

the value we place on material goods.

I purged as I boxed up my goods, and I will purge more when I return.

Don't get me wrong.

I love my stuff, cherish my heirlooms.

Yet, I still hold onto useless items and clothes will never wear again.

The process made me want to own less, and declutter more.

I think of those in Northern California whose lives were engulfed in flames,

reduced to ash in minutes.  

To walk away alive was the miracle.

The stuff is interchangeable and can be replaced.