What one packs, in their airplane carry-on bag, says a lot about their character. Once I hauled a 20 pound bronze statue of a girl poised on a rock on the plane with me. By the time I arrived home, my spine looked like the back of an armadillo, my mood like a Mel Gibson tirade. It was so lovely when I spotted it at the Paris fleamarket and it was such a bargain. My son-in-law lugged it from France to London and then I took over. Back home and four bottles of Ibuprofen later, I arose from my sofa bed with a renewed sense of selective buying.
In addition, there's something to say about the items chosen to be hand carried to your new abode when moving, via my car, that is. This time, and oh yes, there have been many, I will plump up my make-up/toiletries bag with my three items of "good" jewelry along with my checkbook and Synonym Finder, Fruit of the Spirit Bible, and the five meds I take because I'm, well, of that certain age now.
In the back seat, I'll stack up my latest writing projects and recent photos, laptops and printers. The coffee pot might make the cut as will the toaster and a couple of mugs. If I'm spunky that day, I might slip in a wine glass or two. This move is cleaning out more than the chaff of my life; it's proving that this woman of age and substance is still keen on romance and great conversation, snuggles and Sunday mornings.
Perhaps I will pack up my soft summer nightie and my crisp new bed sheets and celebrate the first night in my new home with a prayer and a promise - a prayer of thanksgiving and a promise never to buy another sculpture for my home regardless of its appeal, its call to my art heart.
1 comment:
Such fun, my dear sister and friend. Wow. Can't wait to visit and hear more moving stories. Bless you. sd
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