The right move

Early in September, Chris voyaged to San Francisco for two and a half weeks to hunt down our lost belongings, (also known as everything we've ever owned that didn't fit inside the pickup when we drove out here,) go through and pack up two decades' worth of objects and tools he's accumulated in his shop, load all of everything onto a moving truck, and then prepare our house to be rented.

It was a blur of packing, cleaning and decisionmaking for him, and Craigslist posting, single mothering, and logistics for me.

He flew home the morning of the 17th, and I headed out that afternoon on a work trip.

I'd never checked the arrivals and departures boards at the same time.

We were just getting reacquainted with each other when we got a message from the movers at 9:30 in the evening last Wednesday letting us know they'd be at our house at 8 in the morning on Thursday. Yikes.

Instead of freaking out, which was my first instinct, I stuck with my morning routine: reading, meditating, making a dutch baby for Stella and Zoey.

Yum.

And then, Chris and I just tried to psych ourselves up.

In this 18-month experiment of life stripped of all of the belongings that we thought mattered so much, I've really let go of a lot. We've done just fine, great even, with the four of us, a truck full of warm gear, and a lot of trips to the Salvation Army and yardsales.

That said, it sure is nice to see our art again. Going from a sterile house with not one thing nailed to the wall and catch-as-catch-can furniture to a home full of art from generations of family and friends and furnishings, many of them handmade or passed down through family, is deeply soothing. I can feel myself relaxing, like slouching into a favorite chair.

I cut open every art carton as soon as the movers pulled it off the truck.

Inside the truck.

There were quite a few:

Art boxes

 Soon, our guest room was filled with old friends.

 

The two huge boxes of my shoes that have appeared in our garage, along with the 59 other boxes of random stuff, are less welcome. Each item inside represents a decision - to keep our not - and, if to keep, where. Our minimalist experience so far in Montana, along with a new friend who is an expert on the subject, have really changed me; in my experience, less stuff makes space for more of all sorts of things.

As soon as the truck was emptied, the art liberated, and Mr. V. busy curating the collection, drill and screws in hand, I headed out for a walk. Part of me wanted to get crazy on all those boxes, but I knew it would just tap me dry.

Instead, the hounds and I soaked up some fall colors and ran into our friends Katie and Loxie on the trail.

I think the walk was the right move.