On stuff- the war wages on...

Written by Elaina R. Bergamini

Sunday, 21 January 2007

I try not to write about politics, but I can't help but draw some parallels between our situation in Iraq and our situation down in the garage. Like the war on terror, our war is equally vague and without resolution. Our enemies are plotting against us. Our war will continue until we have moved to another building. Our goal keeps changing. Before this degrades into ranting, back to my original point... A little over a year ago, we moved in and consolidated much of our stuff into this one small vacation home. We still had a large amount of stuff in the house in Somerville which we sold in September and were forced to CRAM everything into this house. As a result, our closets over-flow, we are crowded by piles of junk which are relocated when I tire of looking at them there. We drive truckloads full to the local donation place and STILL we do not fit. Our house is like the closet that you hold all of the stuff in with a foot and one hand and then quickly slam the door shut with the other hand before it all falls on your head, knowing full well that it will fall on the head of the next person to touch the knob- but that's their problem. We still shuffle and organize and put like objects together so that we know that we have 52 CPU power cords and 5 9x13 baking dishes and enough mugs to send all of our guests home with 2 for the next year and still enough to serve all of Grafton a steaming cup-o-jo. I keep saying, if only I could build the window seats, the laundry room, the sewing nook, I would have shelf space to put all this other junk on the shelves and out of my way. (In my head, that list sounds reasonable, until I realize that in order to do all of those tasks, I need to have room to build the window seats and room to put them where they belong. But oh, to have my fabrics on a shelf where I can see them and fondle them and scheme. And then, even more miraculous- a place to sew my masterpieces!) But for now, we wind our way through the maze of boxes like mice after the cheese. Sadly, our maze is ever changing, and so the hunt is ever complicated. Who moved my cheese? Dan and I talk a lot about our “next” or “the final” or “the main” house. This house was originally built as simply a vacation home and eventually an in-law suite. We are in the middle of no where, with lots of family and friends, and no hotels to speak of, afterall. But we also have plans for a barn for my sheep, a shed for firewood and small engine tools, a sauna, and perhaps a building at the end of the driveway for Northeast Renewables and our grass-roots wireless ISP for Grafton - Oxymoron Communications (oh, did we forget to mention that? Yeah... satellite be damned). Anyhow, with all of these buildings on the docket, I can't help but wonder the fate of our stuff. Will it continue to multiply to fill the space we allow it? Will it be spread out to the farthest corners of our property destined to be lost, covered with dust and unearthed long past it's useful days as we continue to build new holding space? And perhaps most importantly, will I ever go back to my pack-everything-in-one-weekend, pick-up-and-move existence? I miss knowing where everything is. In any case, like any good marine, the war wages on here in the great, white, damned-cold north. We plod tirelessly, but the laundry room is shaping up, we should be starting wiring today. Perhaps I won't have to go to the laundromat again (looks at hamper)... ok- maybe once more.

Last Updated ( Sunday, 21 January 2007 )

 

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