just too much

I know I’ve been unwontedly quiet here. International moves and job transitions will eat your brain, separately; together they heterodyne into something that is more than the sum of its parts.

I’ve just spent a little time down in our storage room, and this will come as no surprise to anyone but I officially have Too Much Stuff. It may have been Lazarus Long who said something like, “In the course of along life, a wise man will be prepared to abandon his baggage several times.” Or maybe it’s a Chinese saying, which would be appropriate. The problem I have is that there’s baggage and baggage.

The apartment we’ve chosen, if it comes through, is almost fully furnished. Fortunately the owner is willing to take some furniture out so we can get stuff like our ergs and weights in. We’ll have them take out the desk, because it’s just not comfortable to work at, and the nightstands because we brought our own from our wonderful bedroom set, the rest of which is stored in Phoenix. Otherwise we just need to buy dishes, linens, pots, utensils, and some miscellaneous stuff. I was looking forward to buying furniture, but our detailed shopping list is about four pages long; I do not think I will be in need of furter retail therapy. Damned if I know what we’ll do with the extra set of dishes and pots when we get back, though the towels and sheets can replace worn ones.

Because tere’s lots of storage built into the apartment, and because it only has a tiny balcony, we are considering leaving behind some Ikea chests and shelves we bought here, an Ikea armoire that will probably fall apart and refuse to be put back together anyway, and the patio chairs we brought even though they match the table back in the US. I have no compunction about shedding these things.

The problem is clothing. Most of the stuff down there hasn’t been worn in the whole year here. In some cases that’s due to climate, and I’ve brought some T-shirts and shorts up to have ready to go. I’m considering giving away the suit I never wear because it’s just not me, the sundress I bought even though it would have suited Chita Rivera a bit better, and the wooden slides that are really hot but horrendously uncomfortable to wear for more than ten minutes. Again, no problem with any of this. In fact, I’m glad to give it away because it gives me the chance to buy things for those niches that I might love and wear. The problem is that, due to a miscommunication somewhere between me and the movers, some clothes got brought along that I really wanted to leave in storage. (They may have gotten mixed up with some sweaters I really wanted to have here that didn’t make it.) There are T-shirts, in some cases pretty ratty now, from most of the regattas I’ve competed in. There’s the Oregon T-shirt, once a very nice one, that my in-laws gave me with a book about their state the first time I visited to meet Rudder’s parents. There’s my grandmother’s trench coat. I loved my grandmother, I like trench coats okay, and they’re back in style just now. I’ve just never liked this particular tranch much. I think changing the buttons would help a lot but the fact remains that I’ve had it for over a decade and haven’t done so. It’s a bit too stiff to be flattering, anyway. I can’t bear to give this stuff away, but I hate to drag it along to yet another country and try to find a place for it.

I suppose folding it neatly instead of wadding it into a box might help.