Our House on King St.

I was looking back at my blogger archive, scanning over posts from earlier this month, which is the beginning of this blog. Each post relates to the situation this family was dealing with, perhaps indirectly, but the stress of working, living, loving, being is evident--to me--through what I've been writing in this blog. What struck me most was how much has happened in the space of the odd month which I've been writing here. Christmas is a distant memory and the promise of the season has worn thin already. February looms ahead the future remains consistent only in its uncertainty. This i am learning is life.

We are preparing to move, this week actually, to another house in Bellingham. But preparing to move has layered another element of complication to our lives. The process of packing is chaotic at best, the house filled with boxes and things slowly disappearing from shelves and drawers, nooks and crannies into boxes to move or bags to through away. Getting rid of the fat in life is somewhat cathartic, bags and bags of miscellaneous stuff to the local Goodwill, things listed on craigslist for sale, somethings we are giving away--you can't always take it with you.

Part of the process of moving is a very real and practical re-evaluation of materialistic priorities. My inclination is to hold onto things, moving this this and that around on the shelf and through a process rearranging making space for everything. I can see usefulness in almost anything, not to mention the aesthetic value i see in parts and pieces of old tools and machinery, and it accumulates rapidly. As a poor carpenter and aspiring woodworker i collect lumber fall off and rippings from various job sights, letting my collection of interesting and unique wood varieties grow--albeit slowly--until the accumulation is almost out of control. I don't collect haphazardly, rather with a future vision and purpose containing the very best intentions. Good intentions are only good intentions and eventually i have to let go. Another side effect of moving is the realization that things in this life are temporary.

This realization has been hitting this family, me at least, in a very real way over the course of this past year. At one point in the summer--I was unemployed, side work had dried up, and my eligibility for unemployment insurance was questionable--i remember walking around our small house and looking at the things we had acquired. Nice things like my coffee pot, our computer, pots and pans, cell phones, coffee grinder, tea pot, mp3 player, my mt. bike, and other things that are essentially non-essential but bring a great deal of comfort and to our lives. I remember thinking that in a flash, if i didn't have work or unemployment didn't come through, or something, a minor thing glitched in our bank account it could all be gone. Nothing around (I was home alone) me had a permanent quality about it. Moving has a similar effect except the dwelling we call home is changing. A by product of renting is that we never own where we live. We attempt to take ownership over the space by implementing our own decor and taking on little projects with an outcome we desire, but ultimately the space belongs to someone else and what we do will be changed and eventually we will move on. This is, also, the nature of life, we grow and learn and change in an ever evolving story.

I am excited to move, to have more space and new projects and a greater degree of ownership over our space but the process of getting there is filled with hard work and a degree of mourning i didn't expect. Formative moments were spent in this place and we will always look back with fondness at our house on king st.