I feel like putting a sign up beside my front door, right at eye level, that will read:
“You have everything you could possibly ever need. “
I don’t spend a lot of money when I shop, but I seem to be always looking for something, and always getting at least a little something when I do shop. This is to be expected, as we sold, donated, or were storing all of our possessions TWICE in as many years. I feel like we need things to get us back to the level of normalcy that we sort of had before we left for Alaska in the first place. We’re not the same family or individuals we were then, so we don’t. Granted, we do need a vehicle (we’re still using my father’s – which we will be able to hopefully return soon), and we do need a random throw rug or two (maybe). We still have no television (hallelujah I hope it lasts forever) and are subsisting on a desktop and a laptop to keep our creativity and entertainment at tolerable levels. Most of Xander’s toys have stayed in the fray, too.
It seems, though, that since I gave away most of my Fall and Winter clothes to a dear friend in Chugiak, AK, that I do need a few items of clothing. It also seems that I have a growing boy who is quickly growing out of a great many things, and has virtually no Winter things that fit him anymore (he’s long and and lean and grows like a kudzu vine), and a beautiful little home that actually needs very little (but that I feel could use sprucing with fire-hazard candles and pillows and general bullshit stuff that I find at World Market). So I can’t stay away from shopping for too long or we’d be shabbily underdressed for the cold months ahead.
I felt empty the entire time we lived in Alaska. Mostly. I don’t know why. I saw the beauty I was resting in and felt numb, felt like I wasn’t really in it. I was depressed. I felt empty. We had lost a home in the process and most of our possessions. A lot of the people were as cold as their climate (at least in Anchorage). I despise clutter but do like a few things to make my home feel like a home and not a hotel. For a minute, once we moved back to Tennessee, I felt a panic. We had nothing. No furniture and no money to purchase it. Luckily a few sources arrived, and then we had to turn around and pitch several of the pieces that had been given to us because the first place we rented turned out to be infested with vermin and insect life that would make William S. Burroughs cry.
So in two years we purged it all twice, and then in two days we purged what little we had again.
Stuff doesn’t matter. But I still like to buy pretty things.
So I’m making a sign to remind me.
Our new (clean, non-infested) place is light, airy, pretty. It’s safe and it’s beautiful and set back in the trees. It’s filled with furniture that was mainly given to us by my parents, some of it tacky Mediterranean-70’s stuff that I grew up with. I kind of love it, now. It represents coming home and being wrapped up in comfort again. To being back where people speak with beautiful and fast lilting accents and where barbeque smells good and doesn’t cost you $15.00 a damn plate. We didn’t spend more than 40.00 on any one piece of large furniture in here. The kitchen table was made my Gary’s great-grandfather and the chairs were made by his grandfather.
So really, I don’t need anything. Except for a sign.