To Be A Home or Not To Be

Purchased in Iceland, Translation, "Home Sweet Home"

I've always hated buying water and soil.  Now I've added these to the list --- newspaper and boxes. I don't get a newspaper anymore. I had to buy "packing" paper.  I've been buying "packing" boxes, too.  I wanted them to be clean and uniform in size when I stack them.  I kept thinking, "Ew! Erwigs!!"  I didn't want to start out with boxes that have bugs in the crevices. So, I had to give in and put up the money for them. (There's no guarantee the boxes are "bug free" anyway, but it makes me feel better)

I've spent hours and hours wrapping precious things of mine in bubble-wrap, tissue paper, Walmart packing paper, towels, sheets.  Whatever I need to protect that I've decided to come with me when I move.  Sounds tedious, but it isn't.  Every item I pick up I have to make a concentrated decision, "Take it or leave it." I'm going through graveyard of my life. Some items I've had since I was a child. Most of them are things I've accumulated since I moved to Gaylord. Some are put away and stored. Everywhere there are things I'm taking down from walls, and shelves. 

A wooden toy marble thing I've packed and unpacked four times.  I love it. It reminds me of the toy my Aunt Madge had at her house.  It was very tall at least seven stories high. The marbles would make a cool thunking sound as they turned the corners at each level and continued down. I ultimately said, "No, don't pack it".  My memory will suffice.  Books were another difficult session for me, but I got through most of them.  I'll let Elizabeth and Heidi have their own crisis through their books.  They LOVE books. But, packing, lifting and transporting them will be the deciding factor on how loved.

Things I use every day are a bit easier. Like the decision, "How many settings, plates, bowls, glasses and cups I will need for a table? Will I need a four-slot toaster? Can I just buy a table and chairs?  Will I EVER use this tissue holder again?  Is this Heloise book necessary to pack?  How many rocks from Lake Superior should I look at, lift, pack and move?  Does this painting have any sentimental value?  Will I ever want this ugly old lamp? Do I really need a cup with the words, "World's Best Teacher" on it?

I couldn't discard the yellowish, short coffee cup I found snorkeling in Lake Huron when I was a kid.  It has this tiny black crack on the bottom and the handle is perfectly rounded to fit my hand and fingers.  (I picture some deck-hand tossing it over the railing of the Chief Wawatam, in the black of morning, when he was finished with his strong coffee. Too lazy to take it back into the galley) 

I made myself stop and listen to the birds singing in the tall oaks and maples outside my window on Schuss lane. It feels so right to have the windows wide open and let in the cool morning breeze.  But when winter hits with foot upon foot of snow, I don't want to watch it slide off my metal roof anymore and come crashing down.  I don't want to worry about the pipes freezing, the furnace crashing or the garage door getting stuck half way up when I want to shelter my car from the elements.  I don't enjoy the room after room of furnishings empty of family.  The pictures of the past reminding me of the unknown future. I'm ready to say goodbye.  I don't like to be forced to get into a car and drive to town to be social.  I'm wanting more of a community around me.  Only changing my environment will get me to find out what will make me feel home.

I can't take the woods with me.  I can't take the huge rocks shadowed by the trees out in the front yard.  Or the thriving twelve foot lilac tree I transplanted from St. Ignace.  My burning bush or the rose bush I planted on a cold stormy day. (I was so angry at Harry the day I went out to dig up a spot to put it. My escape from conflict was to spent most of a day out in the bitter cold and rain digging through roots, sand and clay deep enough to plant that rose bush.  Every year when a red rose shows up it makes me smile) 

The blue spruce, white pine, Scotch pine and crab apple tree growing in the front yard are all linked to a Father's or Mother's Day. They will stay. I can't take the girls' handprints in the cement. Or the path through the woods Harry kept open for the kids to run through. Or the balance beam and climbing bars put in for Elizabeth when she was about five.  Or the metal lid I painted "Elizabeth's Park" still nailed to a pole.  Or the wild raspberry and blackberry patches.  None of these things make a home now. 

This transition was made easier by being away.  I have a better perspective on what I NEED versus what I WANT to take with me.  (I think)  This isn't over.  I still have to go through the boxes from the cellar labeled, "SAVE FOREVER!!"  I don't even remember what's in there.

What to Keep, What to Let Go?