So we're moved. FINALLY! And only shin-deep in boxes, as opposed to the waist-deep we were in last week. And thank God for our masochistic church family members who volunteered to help us move; because, really, you know you're asking for pain when you move, so I'm all the more grateful. And I gotta give hearty thanks to our neighborhood Mormon do-gooders. Their theology may be wacky, but you can always count on them to lend a hand. While wearing a sharp tie.
Life in the mountains has been good so far, despite a car that won't start, a computer that won't turn on (I'm on my hubby's computer), and half of my clothes somewhere in boxes in the garage. I have yet to venture into "town", aka a conglomeration of po-dunk shops and real estate businesses clustered into half a square block. But I must let the nesting run its course, much like the flu, complete with delusional light-headedness (which is probably in part due to the high altitude--at least that's what I'll blame it on). Maybe it's because I'm a mom, but it's probably just because I'm a me, that I can't contemplate doing anything other than getting my house to have "home" status, asap.
Gwen has been a little trooper, putting up with 250 miles of moving business, an all-day cleaning rampage at our old house before I gave up the key, and now the unpacking of the things that make life a little easier. Although this morning as I was staring at all the boxes yet to be unloaded (more like they were staring at me), I wondered just how much of this stuff I needed, and what I could get by without. I mean, what combination of three people (one of which is noticeably small) accumulate so much STUFF? And how much of it do we really use? Do I really need that Tria Pantone marker set? I mean, who knows when I'd have to render a shiny car out of the blue... right? Do I really need that funny whisk-looking thing that's supposed to aerate mixed drinks-- that I've never drunk before? And what about all those keepsakes-- if keepsakes they could be called? I don't exactly have the fondest memories of my ghetto high school, and yet there sits my graduation coffee mug, somewhere in the garage, totally not having coffee in it.
I think back every now and then to Susie Veon, the then-camp director at Campus by the Sea on Catalina Island, which I used to volunteer my serious dish washing skills at, the first weekend of the past several Octobers. She lived in what was probably a 150 square-foot house perched up on a hill on the campground. Sure, she probably didn't have her own kitchen and just used the industrial camp kitchen, but the fact that all of her earthly possessions fit in that small of a space-- including a bed-- is pretty amazing, especially in what's technically our very materialistic southern California. She would actually give seminars around the country in the off-season about "living simply", whatever that means. I'm sure it's inspiring, though, and I would be half-tempted to torch 75% of all that I own, just to see if I could survive. I bet it would be a lot like camping, which is probably why I like camping so much-- all you got is all you need, including the stars over your head. And there's stars here at PMC, to be sure. It's probably why this place reminds me of camping. Maybe the stars will inspire me to live simply. Or maybe those unopened boxes will inspire me not to open them. Either way...
