Living in the Center of the Universe - Part Five

Going...

For Florida it was a very clear and cold morning with temperatures in the thirties.  It felt glorious.  After waking early and running around to finish up what I could  for the sale it felt like Springtime in New York.  Luckily for me the cold delayed the usual throng of garage sale enthusiasts.  I unlocked the door to find only two women standing in my driveway.  One of them handed me a dime she had found lying there.  A mother and her grown daughter, nice ladies.  Opening my home to them they  went to work in hopes of finding the bargains they needed.  They needed shelves and immediately bought all of mine.   

What do you do when the first sale of the day takes all of the places  on which all of your things are sitting?  I suppose I could’ve said wait until Saturday to get them but more people were coming in and it was a sale and I had cash in hand and they were nice about it and helped put the stuff on the shelves on the floor and on the counters and on the table and look at the dust behind the place where the shelves used to be, I need a broom quick  and more people were coming in and they were strangers in my home asking what this box from Spain cost and what about that platter that I bought at Crate and Barrel and that platter that I served Em’s first birthday cake on and a box of children’s books for $30 that cost hundreds over the course of a little girl learning how to read and love books and were in wonderful condition because isn’t that how you’re supposed to treat your books and more people were coming saying Hello We’ve missed you and I could give them no time because more people were coming and the bed was sold and dismantled and don’t worry we’ll figure out where we’ll sleep tonight, and buckets of clothes for a dollar each but wait that table cloth wasn’t supposed to be in there, but you said everything in that closet was a dollar and my son in Montana who lives on an elk ranch would love the embroidered elks. He Would? Okay take it, what about this stack of books for ten dollars?  Ten? Books?  They were great books but usually those are left for last and weigh a lot and okay go ahead Hey Em are you selling these art books? What? No!  But we already bought them! You did? Yes that’s why I’m guarding them, wait a minute those Narnia books are $10 by themselves, they are worthless open, I’m not going to fight you over my stuff, no, okay how about $20 but you said you bought them already...what? More people are pouring in the door. Take them and go. 

All day long for two days, what happened to that Blue bowl, did you sell it? No I didn’t . It’s gone. The big beautiful clay bowl my friend Mike crafted and I filled each year for family Easter dinner with rice, asparagus and mint salad? It’s gone.  Em your violin! Put it under the sheet You should put this somewhere safe it looks like personal letters from a family member What are you doing that was put away behind the barrier get out of there the things were topsy turvy Em’s coming home from the hospital dress, my grandad’s love letters, my Mother’s skirt from Panama how dare you open that, I could see it though you should put it somewhere safe like under this sheet where it was? I want to see this rug I’ll give you $20 for since it will only be outside at my house it’s a good rug roll it out on the driveway no I can’t do less than $60 it is wool no too much okay fine Just keep going decide sell sell price it Stack ‘em High Sell 'em Cheap here’s my card if it doesn’t all sell I’ll buy it and cart it off for you No time to feel keep going decide price sell decide sell decide keep sell.  

 I silently thanked that customer who unrolled the carpet on the driveway when the day was over and four of us gathered under a high Florida sky to eat lunch at dinnertime and hold on to the earth for a few moments.  Drifting away in listless cirrus rainbows amid the rustling of the palms a momentary reverie was broken by the arrival a friend I had missed dearly.  Even at this moment I ache knowing that I was not able to give her my Selfless attention since the spell was broken and I went back into work mode. 

 

Living in the Center of the Universe - Part Four

The Stuff of Life 

 

I knew I had a lot of stuff, but I did not realize just how Much Stuff.  Luckily the house had a large garage with double wide door.  The perimeter was lined with shelves filled with containers of stuff that would not fit inside the house.  For three days Em and I cleaned, purged, set aside and got ready for the sale. 

 

The ad had been placed on Craigslist:

 

 “Moving Sale. Must Liquidate (Doris Dr. New Smyrna Beach)

Leaving Florida for good and moving to 300sq ft apartment in New York City. If it doesn't fit we can't take it!  Nice furniture, antique Deco armoire, clean area carpets, Christmas collection, mirrors, knick knacks, great books, books shelves, beanie babies, American Girl dolls and clothing, estate sale finds, women's clothing, vintage and thrift clothing, size 9 women's shoes. Jamis 3-speed Bike, Vintage lamps. Ping pong table. Art. Entire series Patrick O'Brian Aubrey/Maturin. A lot of good things we’re letting go.

Friday 1/17 Saturday 1/18 8am-3pm
If it doesn't fit in the minivan we have to get rid of it.”

 

I read that ad now and still quiver.  I don’t know how we did it.  Em doesn’t know how we did it.  At one point she was almost in tears trying to deal with the momentous task before us, wondering if we could get it done while her heart was breaking saying goodbye to her precious things. But we kept moving. Moving. Cleaning. Tossing.  Wiping. Sweeping. Tossing.  Deciding. 

 

The ad was a mere image of what I was getting rid of.  Uncountable presents, travel souvenirs, memories, promises, former lives and lovers, and lives hoped for.   During my presale planning people who love me gave a lot of advice; “Be ruthless”, “Think hard about what you will keep”, “You have so much stuff, do you have any idea how you’re going to deal with all of it?” STOP! I know!! I haven’t been sleeping thinking of all this!   I have  looked at this from all angles, including within.  I am getting rid of things, yes, but things that I love, that have meaning to me.  I know you can’t Love love them but what they represent is far greater than what they are.

 

Em and I had both promised friends and family that we would make the circuit while we were in town and visit the people we missed and loved.  But there was no time. Time became a fog through which we worked.  It was the only way we could survive the week.  We were up against a hard deadline and kept at the plow.

 

There was one moment when I stole away with half a sandwich and sat to eat it while overlooking the beach.  I recall that half hour as a time of still thoughtlessness in the vast embrace of the calm ocean before me.

 

Onward.  Over those days we pulled out the items that we knew we were keeping.  Some of them were meaningless emotionally but we knew they would have more value in the city.  Other things were special things of my parents.  Priceless artifacts that meant something only to us, letters, photos, childhood mementos of my baby girl young woman that we tucked away in neat boxes and hid in a corner under a sheet.  This pile would grow larger as the weekend progressed. 

 

As we pulled items I cleaned the house that had been ignored in the year I had been away.  Inch by literal inch the house was being wiped clean of my presence and absence.

 

One of the most difficult chores was pricing each item.  How could I put a price on something that meant so much to me but was a bargain to a stranger? With a broad stroke I priced the big things, shelving, couches, lamps, cabinets, beds, the pieces that only served a purpose.  The personal items would be dealt with one by one.

8 a.m. Friday morning came early but we were ready.  Bring it on.

 

 

 

Living in the Center of the Universe - Part Three

Every Picture Has Its Shadows 

Saying goodbye to each picture as I pick it up, I dust where it was then put it on a shelf in the garage.  That artist is pretty well known in Washington.  These I purchased at the Annual Art Festival, a new piece each year.  Who will look at this little statue I got in Arizona when it sits on their own shelf? This little fossil came from an estate sale of a man I never met.  I bought his small collection because I didn’t like the idea that his family could get rid of his things without a sense of his love for those belongings.  Maybe he had bought them when he and his wife traveled the world; perhaps he purchased them on a business trip to bring home to the kids.  No matter.  I have them now and every time I see them I think of the man whose home I walked through all those years ago.  I have no idea who he was but I think of him fondly. 

What about the empty turtle shell, what should I do with it?    I found it in a park in Land O’Lakes, Florida.  1988.  A secret weekend in Longboat Key, romantic with the wind blowing across the Gulf on a cool February evening.  He saw colors in my eyes that he said reflected the sunset.  I never had anyone look into my eyes like that, before or since.  I can still feel the pull.  We took our time driving backroads to the east coast through parts of Florida made famous by old fashioned postcards of Spanish moss covered oak trees. 

Somehow we found ourselves walking on a broad expanse of lawn incredibly green under the cloudless sky when at the same time our eyes fell on two small turtle shells side by side on the grass and completely empty as though their occupants decided to vacate them and move on to another life leaving all vestiges of their old lives behind. We looked at them as a romantic sign and each took a shell to remind ourselves of the weekend and each other. Sell it?  Take it?  I’ll leave it on the shelf and see if someone makes the decision for me.

I found a first edition of Marjorie Kinnan Rawling’s Cross Creek at another estate sale.  This time I did know the person.  She was a young woman, a poet, and I had often heard her name, Noelle, as one of those whispered wistful wishes of my older brothers when I was little.  It wasn’t until after she had died of cancer and I was looking through her bookshelves that I realized whose home I was in and that I had even met her on the beach a few summers before.  Not as the sweet Noelle of my brother’s longings but as Noelle, a really nice lady I met on the beach.  As I stood in the room and read her poetry it washed over me how I missed out on being a friend to this very lovely and special woman.  I longed to reel in the few years I knew her casually and create more of a bond but I was too late.  I didn’t even know she had died.  She got cancer and was gone.  I grieved for her loss and cried in her bedroom.  I think she would have been surprised to have found me there with tears in my eyes.  The estate people sure were.  I could not bear the idea of strangers walking through her home without an idea of who she was so I placed her personalized bookplates in anything I could so that her name at least lived on.

I added to Cross Creek another book, Rawlings’ own published cookbook.  I had heard rumors they existed  and so I looked one for one whenever I was in the bookstore of an old Florida town.   Finally, tucked away in the San Marco Bookstore I found my prize.  I was bound and determined to cook that whitefish stew in my heavy iron dutch oven.  A layer of onions, a layer of potatoes, a layer of fish, salt and peppered, layered tomatoes, onions, potatoes, fish again and tomatoes.  Water to cover, seal and bake.  Cornbread and swamp cabbage slaw.  Beer and friends.   

Why did I feel the need to wash things before I sold them?  Was it to make more money or just the idea that if strangers pawed through my things I wanted those things to be clean?  Both I suppose.  As I put a load of handmade aprons in to the laundry I tied the strings so that they wouldn’t tangle.  With every apron I pictured the life I had pictured, one filled with dinner parties, company around and good food on the table.  The perfect martini glasses were still up on their shelf in the kitchen, part of the same vision.  I had had the glasses since the trip to Coconut Grove with my sister and Mother for a cousin’s wedding. I was in my mid-twenties.  The glasses were Swedish and made of glass so thin that my lips barely felt them when I lifted them to drink.   

The life I had actually lived in was always so casual the glasses and aprons were on the shelf for most of their time with me.  As I stood over the washer I could feel a welling loss rise up inside me when I realized I need not regret their going but thank them for giving me the latest incarnation of a new and exciting life before me.  I had used them for a time and now it was time to let them go on to another world.  In essence, selling these things enabled me to move into a new life with new dreams and visions before me.

 

Living in The Center of The Universe - Part Two

The Road Before Us Is Not Long Enough

Wending our way to New Smyrna was a two day trek.  We stopped in Washington to visit Lincoln and have a meal at one of our favorite dining spots, Lauriol Plaza, and did I mention we spent the night at The Mayflower Hotel?  Thanks Priceline!  It had been a sloppy weather day getting started so it was a great first stop. 

Greeted by a bright blue sky the next morning we were off to Florida, but not before another night on the road, this time in Savannah. There is nothing like leaving the bright canyons of the city to find ourselves in a tunnel of live oak trees and Spanish moss in the dark of night. 

Long showers, clean towels and a good night’s sleep put us in the right frame of mind for the last leg of the trip.  But not before exploring some of the gardens near the riverside with some coffee, oh and perhaps I’ll try on that pair of boots in the window. 

Well, we’d better hit the road. There are no more reasons to delay the inevitable.

We finally pull into New Smyrna around dinner time but first at quick look at the house.  Yes, it’s all there.  There is nothing quite as disheartening as a cold, unused and unloved house to welcome us back.  I knew there was a reason it took so long to drive down.  The house was only that, a building that held our stuff.  It was not a home that held special memories and warmth.  In fact, it was a reminder of the promise of what could have been for not only was I returning to purge the stuff that had been acquired over the course of a lifetime, but I was coming to end a marriage. 

I had been in New York for a full year and had a husband in Florida.  Granted, it was a short lived marriage, but the union was made with the intent of commitment and the promise of love.  Walking into the house felt no different than when I lived there, alone, cold and temporary.  All of my belongings were inside yet I did not belong there.  With no love there is no sense of home, with no love there is no sense of belonging.  Love is the actual stuff of life.

I thought I remembered everything when I tried to recall just what things were in the house.  I had actually forgotten just how much stuff I had! Glass bibelots I had purchased in Venice,  a collection of boxes, my depression glass platters, pottery, so many lamps, carpets, paintings, books, photos, frames, my iron dutch oven, presents I had been given, boxes of letters I had saved, rocks I had picked up in the Grand Canyon, in Hawaii, in France.  And then there were all the things of Em’s life.  Her school career, her art work, Beanie Babies, books, gifts, thrift store finds and mounds of clothes! Essentially, we had an entire store of belongings we needed to organize, decide which to keep and which to give, sell or throw away, clean, and say goodbye.

 

Living in the Center of the Universe - Part One

The Road Before Us

It has been a year since Em Steel and I arrived in the Center of the Universe and to our surprise, it is a space of only 300 square feet.  We live in our own cozy nucleus within the energetic system of New York City. 

Belong.  Belonging.  Belongings.  Is it our belongings that make us who we are?  Or do they hold us back from our longings?  Em and I belong where we are right now, in this small apartment in the center of everything.  Everything!  The whole of New York City lies right outside our door. 

 

Here there is no room for extraneous stuff.  The cabinets store only enough for what is needed over the next couple of weeks. The closets limit clothing and shoes to the particular season outside the window.  I cannot hold on to that too small pair of pants while vowing to get down a size by summer. Pretty things in shop windows have no space on our shelves.  

What then to do with an entire house filled with our belongings 1100 miles away?  I have every card sent to my parents on the day I was born until my birthday last year.  Every report card, every "A" I ever earned.  Awards, little dresses my mother sewed for me, broken jewelry I thought I would get fixed one day, photos, paintings, pretty things that sit on my dressers, shelves of books, Christmas ornaments, a lifetime of collecting things that I really love.  I have every card that was sent to me when Emily was born, her homemade costumes and files full of her art and her "Walking Encyclopedia" award from kindergarten.

Em has her own collections that she has had no need to thin.  We have always had a central place that we could call home, for no matter how the road turned there was always a place we knew we belonged to and that held our belongings.

The logistics of the task before us kept me awake for months ahead of the action itself.  Having already sold my car do we fly back to Florida?  Baggage restrictions curtailed that option, not to mention renting a car, the cost of two round trip tickets for both of us and holding ourselves to a strict arrival and departure date was too limiting.  We had no idea what lay ahead.

I thought I could book a flight and drive a car back filled with what we could fit, but the cost of a one-way car rental was prohibitive. 

When we first moved to New York City, we travelled by train carrying 12 suitcases filled with what we thought we needed at the time.  Travelling with 12 suitcases is not a simple thing and the cost of train travel is not viable. 

So night after night I would either put off thinking  about what lay ahead or I would go over each option looking for the most cost effective, efficient and sensible plan. 

I finally settled on renting a car, driving to Florida and back to the city two weeks later.  We would need a ride while there and we would have a way to bring back what we decided to keep.  I reserved something full sized which meant a four door sedan.  Upon arriving at the rental garage the service rep suggested, without knowing the purpose of the trip, that I get a minivan with unlimited miles. It was perfect.  They even folded the seats away for us. 

 

For the first time in a year I was behind the wheel of a car and was looking for I-95 via the Jersey Turnpike in weather that varied between rain and fog with traffic that was light but very quick. White lines seemed to disappear on the wintered asphalt leaving me only the cars in front of me for navigation. 

This is a road I haven't been on before.