I actually began this journey as long ago as February, slowly attempting to sort
through the cacophony of junk that buried our house and our lives, hoping to
separate myself somehow from the idea that material things held any great
importance.  I’m not sure how well that process worked, but I do know that I sold,
gave away or trashed what seemed like a mountain of stuff, and still, when the end
came, our 10 x 20 storage space was packed, quite professionally, to the very door,
top to bottom, and even now I dread the thought of delving into it once more.

Having never sold a house before, I’ll admit we were a bit skeptical when we
reached an agreement on the sale of our house, even had a closing date … we
seemed to feel that something might fall through, so a bit of lethargy set in.  As a
result, we were rushing around the last week getting everything together.  By closing
day, we were not quite done with our packing, and it didn’t help that I got no sleep
at all the night before.

When we met our landlady, Monica Grey, here in Patzcuaro, she took us to her
lovely home to finalize things and have a beer.  As seems to be quite common around
here, all you can see from the street is a terra cotta colored wall with a big door in it
– but when you walk through that door it’s like another world.   You step into what
is essentially the front yard, a quaint garden and lawn with some statuary here and
there.  Next is the actual front door.  Inside, the house looks ancient, though she tells
us it was built maybe fifty years ago … the rooms seems to go on and on, with
exposed beams everywhere, a small pool in the middle of the house with a wall
fountain on one side.  And everywhere you look is the coolest chatchki you could
ever want – little statues, paintings, masks, urns, books.  I remarked how beautiful it
was and, thinking back to our recent history, how I would hate to have to pack up
and move all of it!  This, though, is her family house, and they certainly aren’t
planning on going anywhere soon.

It made me wish that I had the resources to have a house big enough to display all
the cool stuff I could collect while we travel the world.  I’m sorry, the typical
American house just doesn’t cut it for me.  I suppose I could settle down and pick
up a few things from Pier One and call myself exotic … but it’s just not the same as
being able to say, “Oh, yes, I picked that up at a little roadside shop while we were
driving through Turkmenistan …”  

#  #  #
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Moving Sucks
Eleanor serves up brewskis at
the Ocracoke campground.
Pen's Essays - 1
Front porch of our new
apartment.
An artifact one might choose to
decorate her showcase home.