I’m house hunting right now and discovering the highs and lows of house buying in today’s environment. As I continue my search, I’ve begun dismantling and packing my apartment. When I started, I thought I would not have a large pile to send to charity as I try to operate a lean and mean operation here.
But a funny thing happened when I started packing. Certain things, which had traveled to several apartments with me during my adult life, suddenly no longer seemed worthy of moving on. If I was moving to another apartment, these items would have made the cut as they have had before. In the light of moving into a HOUSE — and not just any house, my FIRST HOUSE, some stuff just seemed too dowdy, too apartment-ish, too unhip. For the first time in my life, I will have a home that I can truly put my personal stamp on. The large decorating notebook, stuffed with photos, paint chips and pictures collected over the years, has seen sunlight and again spurred my imagination. What is my style? What do I really like? What colors am I going to paint the walls?
A few of my soon to be departed things also represent an end of an era, as the saying goes. When I left the Oklahoma prairies and moved to Galveston Island, I was 22, fresh out of college, and ready to conquer the world. One of the Egyptian metal plates, hung in every apartment kitchen I’ve had, was given to me by Josie, a woman who lived in my first apartment complex. The rest were found at garage sales that Josie and I went to a few times. She taught me one secret about shopping garage sales and junk stores. “No matter what color it is, you can always paint it black,” she counseled. And that’s what I did to furniture found in various Galveston County junk shops.
The Egyptian plates served their purpose in my decorating life, but they have become more a habit these days than loved objects. It’s time for them to go. Once I realized that our relationship was over, I discovered other relationships with things in my apartment were also ending. Knowing certain things were leaving after so many years didn’t make me sad, unhappy or anxious. I felt like a mentor who knows their student is ready to face the world and go out on their own. It was simply time for them to go. I have to move on to my future house and home. My old stuff has to move on too. We all have new adventures out there.
