Someday Syndrome

What's in My Car

So here are the things I decided were too precious to leave behind.

1. All my clothes and towels (makes sense – I use them all)
2. All my toiletries and medications (I have a LOT of French medications from when I was sick – but now I have my Canadian drugs and I'm happy)
3. All my technology bits and bobs (of course)
4. The books I brought with me and my writing stuff (I'm a writer – I need books)
5. My tent (likely won't use it, but good to have)
6. An outdoor collapsible chair (not necessary, but I have it, so why not – good for impromptu picnicking)
7. My rolled up white board (the best way to storyboard writing ideas)
8. My duvet, comforter, pillows and things to cover them (if I need to use the tent, I'll need these!)
9. A small box of kitchen stuff and my kitchen knives (the knives live in a metal briefcase and a few kitchen things might be useful places)
10. My iron (yes, my iron – I never used it the entire time I was in Sauveterre, but then my mother went to such an effort to iron all my shirts while she was visiting that it seemed like a waste not to take the iron along to touch up the shirts when I wore them)

The things I left in Sauveterre were:

1. Kitchen hutch (too funky to get rid of if I'm going to settle in Europe)
2. Stove (why rebuy it if I might need it?)
3. Table, chairs (easy to dispose of if I don't use them later)
4. Most of my kitchen (see explanation in #3)
5. Mattress (see explanation in #2)

Funny how that little list takes up so much room in my friends' storage space.

But overall, not bad eh?

Someday Lessons:

• Precious doesn't necessarily mean useful or strong memories. It can occasionally be more random.
• If you were to reduce the things you own to a list, how long would it be?

Holding on to Precious Memories

This is the second of five pre-written blog postings while I travel.

Most of the precious things – the impractical stuff that I didn't get rid of – are connected to people. For example, I used to have a moneybank collection of 30 pieces: moving ones, traditional piggies, cats, clowns, and a rhino.

When I moved to France, I kept only the first three:

A Cat: The first of my collection. It appeared on morning beside my bed when I was six and a school janitor accidentally broke a piggy bank I'd taken in for show and tell.

A Clown: The second one, given to me by my Mom's parents to save for my first trip to the UK and Ireland when I was nine. He's chipped, ugly, and likely cost Grandpa pennies. But he has always kept the cat good company.

A Brown Pig: My third and the first actual piggy bank in the collection. Grandma gave it to me. It had been hers. She told me to put a penny from each year of my life in it and I've done so, which means every time I look at it and wonder if I've remembered to add the current year's penny, I think of Grandma.

The rest all had stories too. They were from friends, or were interesting reproductions of antique moving ones, but the first three are the most precious and so they got to stay.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Now go hug a loved one.

Someday Lessons:

• Everything has a story. Keep the things that most fill you with love.
• Display your precious things well so that you can be reminded of their stories.

My Choice, My Grief

Yesterday when I pulled the day's theme out of my category pile, I read the words, looked at my two-person (ha!) tent set up in a small area of my apartment and nearly cried. I was so upset, I couldn't write about it.

"Is it precious?" refers to those things that aren't essential, things you don't have to have to survive.

When I choose travel and new experiences over comfort and stability, I choose to give up precious things. I'm not going to carry with me the hutch that I bought here just because I think it's really cool. In coming over to France, I wasn't going to bring my piggybank collection.

Hutch or travel? Piggybanks or France? Easy choices, but I still need to grieve for the discarded options.

When we get rid of precious things, we prune roots. We dig down into our past and sever ties to events, people and places that no longer have meaning. We send out other roots, but every time we get rid of something that at some point was precious to us, we need to acknowledge it and grieve a little.

So, yeah, I'm totally stoked about giving up my apartment and traveling, but I'm going to shed a tear for the connections I'm severing while I do that.

The funny thing is that while I'm grieving for things acquired in France, I'm finally grieving for things I gave up in Toronto. My choices are finally catching up with me.

Of course, it could just be moodiness brought on by the arrival of snow here.

Someday Lessons:

• An emotional response to a decision may be delayed and triggered by something later.
• Sometimes precious things from the past must be discarded to fulfill new dreams.

Stream of Nomadism

Have you ever considered going totally nomadic?

Getting rid of everything except a car, some clothes and a laptop. I think that might be my next step.

Living out of a car is the epitome of a small space! I'm suddenly reminded of some show or movie where people lived in cars in the future. Excuse me while I go look that up.

... There found it! Americathon with John Ritter. All I remember about the movie is men wearing hot pants (men should never wear hot pants!).

Okay, back from that detour through my mind...

Cars... Nomads...

Right, I was talking about going nomadic, selling up everything here in France and buying a car, then working my way across Europe for room and board at organic farms and old crumbling chateaux bought by overly optimistic couples who then need help they can't afford.

It's an alternately terrifying and thrilling idea. Of course, one of the things that makes it feel safe is knowing that I have a woodshed full of furniture, dishes and personal stuff sitting at my parents' place waiting for me to claim.

Speaking of which, I can't even remember half the stuff I put into storage. I remember adding my favourite four stuffed animals, and three piggy banks from my childhood, and some books and records (unavailable on CD or as MP3s).

Even if I decide I'm going to stay in Europe longer, I have to return to Canada for my parents' 50th anniversary in August. At that time I think I'll go through all my boxes and get rid of more stuff, maybe even some furniture. I'll let you know if I have a yard sale.

Someday Lessons:

• When it comes to stuff, absence makes the heart forget.
• Letting go of things happens in stages.

Lunch Today:
At La Belle Auberge in Castagnede, an avocado and baby shrimp (still in their skins!) salad and a so-tender rack of lamb.

Terrible Parent

Another short post today. I leave in a few hours for a night in Paris then a week in Ireland with my parents. I hope to find Internet cafés along the way to continue posting. If not then I'll add a bunch of posts next weekend.

When I was finalizing details with my mother, we talked about my cats. The two of them are doing well at my parents' place, settling in and adjusting well to the other three cats.

I think about my cats, but I don't miss them at all. I almost didn't come to France because of them. "How could I give them up?" I thought. I considered bringing them here with me, but decided against it since I was traveling alone. It would have been too traumatic for them (and for me!).

But I expected to pine for them, worry about them, wish they were here with me. But actually I don't. I think about them, but only casually.

I feel like a terrible parent. They've been with me for over ten years. How could I be so callous?

Because I'm practical. They wouldn't have liked living in an apartment where they can't go outside. I wouldn't easily be able to travel like I do. And they get much better taken care of at my parents' than they would have here.

So, I guess I'm not a terrible parent after all.

Someday Lessons:

• Something that you think is precious to you might not be. Try living without it for a short period to test it.
• Giving something precious away might allow you to explore something you never thought possible.

Lunch Today:
Will be Cheese and Crackers on the train.

Am I Heartless?

When it comes to stuff, I'm not a sentimental person. While getting to know my newfound cousins, we discussed inheritance preparations (yes, a morbid subject, but with several generations of tea services and dishes, it's a necessary conversation). The (now adult) kids in both families tell the parents what they like and the parents put imaginary coloured-dots on each piece.

But I wonder what I actually want. Maybe it's because I've uprooted myself and am living with bare essentials, but I picture the crystal and the 18th century serving spoons and think m'eh.

It's interesting that my three times great grandmother served nobility with a certain spoon, but does it mean I want the spoon? Not really.

There are a few pieces of furniture that I want because I think they're beautiful, plus they were a constant presence in my childhood.

Oh. Okay. Good. I'm not completely heartless.

Just selective.

I'm also interested in things my parents have made themselves. That's what is precious to me. Like my mom's quilts or my dad's art.

When I was packing up my house, the non-essentials fell into two categories – the practical (like kitchen stuff) and the precious. Precious stuff included four boxes of books and papers, and a box and a half of knick-knacks, plus some art. It's amazing that everything precious to me (non-furniture-wise that is) can be packed into six boxes. Plus I bet when I get back to Canada and start unpacking, a bunch more things are going to go.

How may boxes would your precious things fit into?

(Of course, if I had kids, it would likely be quite different.)

Someday Lessons:

1. Being highly selective is not the same as heartless.
2. When deciding on precious things, figure out your criteria first (e.g., things made by my parents).

Lunch Today:

It was too hot to cook, so lunch was a croissant, ham, sharp cheese, avocado and Sauce Basque (eaten in pieces, not as a single sandwich).