Fast Trains and Burning Bookcases

Time picks up speed like a freight train on an open plain.  The move that once was far in the distance now comes barreling into view.  Baggage comes with the move; some things get left behind. Decisions will now be tested.  Some great experiences behind.  New unimagined treasures to discover. 

The word is ‘intentional’, as opposed to ‘incidental.’  My daughter lives here.  For twenty years we’ve met face-to face. Now there’s techno-face time.  One to one in real time is so much better. I have some close friendships forged in this high desert. I’m moving two hours away---two hours driving the worst freeways in southern California. I will fight to be in touch.  Aggressively carve out time.  Intentional bonds last; the incidental slip away.

What furniture are we willing to get rid of?  This is the discussion we had over breakfast.  On the list so far---one armoire, two bookcases and a bed.  Easier to burn it or give it away than to store it.  Since we’re moving into part-of-a-house and storing everything else. Perhaps I can convince the wife to rethink our entire lifestyle!  The average railroad boxcar is about 40 feet long, 10 feet wide and 10 feet tall.  “…Third boxcar, midnight train, destination...Bangor, Maine, Old worn out clothes and shoes, I don't pay no union dues….”

My Life Is In Boxes

My ‘will and trust’ is packed in a box to be placed in storage.  The box isn’t marked.  It’s stored with a bunch of other stuff I won’t need ‘immediately.’ To find it will be like that last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the ark is stored in a crate along with thousands of crates that all look the same.  Or like the joke where two fools find a great fishing spot in the middle of a lake and one marks the bottom of the boat so that they can find it again.  The whole experience is unsettling.  That’s a good thing.

Tent dwellers downsize.  I’m temporarily here.  Campers don’t stay in one place for very long; bad weather and policemen make you move.  I’m moving the book collection, the Vinyl, the CD’s, stamp collection, the miscellaneous paper files and five plastic tubs filled with photos.  I want easy access to this stuff.  Placing it in storage feels like it’s gone. 

The Santa Ana river bed runs through Anaheim and out to the ocean.  A bike path follows the river.  A small city of tents has cropped up along the bike path; wall-to-wall tents next to Angel Stadium.  I don’t know anything about the tenants.  I suspect they can’t afford regular housing.  I suspect they didn’t wrestle with moving a book collection.  One thing we have in common is that we temporarily dwell in earthen vessels.

Change is difficult.  Downsizing can be tough.  But it’s a blessing when the packing and moving is an option and not a necessity; when the new real estate is a bonus and the options are all positive options. I’m not boxing up my life.  I’m boxing up my stuff.  I’m living my life—and that often involves choosing change.

Walking Alongside

Six years walking alongside,

And I have hardly any pictures,

Which sucks,

Because my brain,

Can’t recall,

The richness of these many moments,

Walking alongside.

In Downtown Disney we talked,

 Of walking alongside,

Shared dreams,

Scared hugs,

Because the past,

Was a step-stone to a future,

Walking alongside.

Waiting out a hailstorm

We sat on a bench,

Cuddling, cold,

No place we had to be,

But together,

We’ve faced some hail-storms,

Walking alongside.

Sequoia and Slide Rock,

You dove in,

Positive optimist,

When I’m not,

In cold or in hot water,

Buoying each other up,

Walking alongside.

Beach to desert,

Nightmare two-hour drive,

You moved to marry me,

Leaving comfort zone,

It’s what we do for family,

Now it’s my turn,

Walking alongside.