The Eventual Move

I know that we are moving out of the house. So why is it that I still feel so attached to it?

Looking around the house, I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around the fact that we have to move soon. Part of it might be because we haven’t done any packing yet (I’m not the only procrastinator in the house) but another part might just be because we’ve been here so long. I mean, we moved into the house the first day of September in 1997. Yes, the same day that Princess Di died, which we found out while listening to the radio during our last big haul from the apartment we were living in before.

Over the last thirteen years we’ve accumulated quite a bit of stuff. The unfortunate part is that we got rid of the stuff we no longer wanted to make room for the stuff we did want, which means a majority of our current collection of home and garden things were acquired to be permanent (or semi-permanent) replacements, most of which we’d have to get rid of if we move into an apartment. That sucks balls. And don’t even get me started on the amount of fabric and crafts stuff I’ve stuffed my craft/guest room closet with, as well as under the futon, armoire, side table, work table, wall unit, bookcase, on top of the bookcase and wall unit…

We wanted a deck for so long and finally a few years ago made that a reality. Last year we finally got a patio set that isn’t an embarrassing conglomerate of white plastic chairs and mismatched table and umbrella. Of course, we only replaced the table after a windstorm knocked it over and shattered the glass top. More than likely that set will have to go. Along with all of the various flower pots, barrels and… I’m going to stop listing stuff we can’t take with us. Because you know what? It’s just stuff. Stuff can be replaced.

I wonder if after we find a new place to live and start moving our things out of this house whether or not my attachments to it will begin to cease? I mean, is it really the house I’m attached to or the memories we’ve made in the house? It’ll be interesting to see the house empty again like when we first walked through it. I remember the sense of awe at the amount of space we had, even though it was the same square footage as the apartment we were living in. I guess there is something about a house with lots of large windows, a garage and large yard to make someone as claustrophobic as me feel not so closed in. Alas, reality better set in soon. This isn’t our home anymore. It’s just a house.