The Kickball Wall

Today I started going through my stuff to sort the stuff that's making the trip and the stuff that 1-800-Got-JUNK is going to haul away on Tuesday. At first, everything you go through brings on a wave of memories and nostalgia. As the process continues you become a little more mercenary about it.

But I'm most of the way through and it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Each piece auditions itself in different ways.

"Hey, I'm a bag of electronics! You like electronics! I know you that you haven't touched me in five years, but maybe tomorrow's the day you'll need 60 feet of ethernet cable! Plus, I'd be hard to sort through!" Grudgingly keep.

"Remember me? Your old papers. You promised to go through me, but you never did. You kept me this long, why change now?" Toss.

And so it goes. Christmas tree, keep. Christmas paper, toss. Christmas lights, keep.

There's a weird algebra to it.

How many copies of the books you wrote do you need? A few.

How many computer books do you need? None.

How many Latin dictionaries do you need? All of them.

What about glassware? Oh god, I don't know, let's just keep it all.

Some stuff you keep for sentimental reasons even though you don't use or need, like the flask my brother gave me.

Other things you have to be honest with yourself about even though you don't want to. I think that that is the fate of Gargoyle Dog. He has been a good companion and seen me through some tough times. I remember long, cold days writing books in Portland with only him for companionship. In those days he wore the Mardi Gras beads, but only begrudgingly. He was a good Gargoyle Dog.

But he has a broken wing and spends most of his time with the cookbooks these days. It's time to say goodbye. If I had been braver, maybe I would have left him in Portland when I moved. But it's time now.

Goodbye Gargoyle Dog and all the other things that I'm leaving behind.

Cruel Geometry

The guy came today to estimate how much space on a truck it would take to move my life to Texas. Short answer: not much. He prowled about the place with a practiced eye, taking notes on his clipboard here and there. Will this be going? Do you have the original box for this?

As the survey continued, Bob (for that was his name- Bob) made some basic small talk.

Why are you moving to Texas? I filled in details helpfully, but Bob wasn't really having much of it. To me the move is a Major Life Event. To Bob it's just a basic math problem. One that he solves every day.

So we looked out at the sun going down over the water off my beautiful deck. I was feeling perhaps slightly nostalgic for something I hadn't lost yet.

I told Bob that I would miss this in Texas. He told me quite flatly that "Nothing lasts forever." and went about attending to his clipboard. Now I'm not sure how Bob intended his trope, but from the context I took it to mean: you won't be in Texas forever either, chummy.

He may have intended it as a comfort, but I doubt it. It's just the simple truth of a man who sees lives in transit every day. To him, all the boo hoo hoo comes down to: do I need an 18-wheeler for this job or not?

Bob's right, though: it won't be forever. I've spent the last few years on the road and I understand transition. It's impermanence that I'm not totally settled on.

I had to work out my own geometric puzzle at work today. I knew the answer right away but I didn't like it. So I re-checked and thought it through. It always came out the same. So I called my friend and explained my reasoning. She told me at the end that I was right and just needed to face it. Put on your big girl panties she said.

She's right. I was right. Bob's right.

Time to face it and move on.