Making a place a home
In my closet there are towers of cardboard boxes. They were either tossed in haphazardly or stacked crockedly. It's as though ruins of a flimsy medieval castle have appeared behind the wooden sliding doors.
I've collected these boxes from various locations. They came from my parents' house, from the supply room of my workplace and from the teacher's lounge at my mother's school. Now, they lie in jumbled piles, waiting to be filled and marked with Sharpie pen.
My days in my apartment are numbered. This coming week will be my last week here. Pretty soon, everything that occupies this space will be wedged into those cardboard boxes and moved to a new location.
It's a beautiful new location. Made even better by the fact that it possess things that I now hold higher than anything else for a home - a dishwasher, a washer and dryer, and a garage. I keep telling my family the first time the dishwasher is used or the first time the laundry machines are turned on I just might pull up a chair to watch the mechancial magic unfold.
Plus, there are blank walls to paint, bare floors to cover with rugs, furniture to save for. But before any of that gets done, I need to pack.
Packing is not a new thing for me- I've moved a lot. Growing up, my family transported boxes to Massachusetts, New Jersey, Tennesssee and Colorado. Those Mayflower moving boxes were a common site in our houses.
Things got more creative when I moved out on my own. My parents and I stuffed odds and ends into my Beatle when I made the trek to Salida. I took what I could fit in the small car; furniture came later. For a while, I used a stack of Rubbermade containers as my dresser and made do with a hideous metal chair and a pea-green plastic cushion as a desk chair.
A U-Haul was rented when I traveled to Los Alamos. And although I declared my studio apartment far better than what I had rented in Salida, I still needed to have my father loan me his fold-up camping chairs until I could buy a sofa.
Every move is different. They all have their quirks. Moving to my latest apartment, however, was the exception. There was no need for any Rubbermade dressers or camping chairs. It only took me one evening to unpack and set everything into its rightful spot.
In short, I got spoiled with this place. So as I begin to dismantle my current apartment setting I also start to think how it will all be reassemble. This, of course, is the best part about moving. All the possibilities that are available to turn a new place into a home.
I've collected these boxes from various locations. They came from my parents' house, from the supply room of my workplace and from the teacher's lounge at my mother's school. Now, they lie in jumbled piles, waiting to be filled and marked with Sharpie pen.
My days in my apartment are numbered. This coming week will be my last week here. Pretty soon, everything that occupies this space will be wedged into those cardboard boxes and moved to a new location.
It's a beautiful new location. Made even better by the fact that it possess things that I now hold higher than anything else for a home - a dishwasher, a washer and dryer, and a garage. I keep telling my family the first time the dishwasher is used or the first time the laundry machines are turned on I just might pull up a chair to watch the mechancial magic unfold.
Plus, there are blank walls to paint, bare floors to cover with rugs, furniture to save for. But before any of that gets done, I need to pack.
Packing is not a new thing for me- I've moved a lot. Growing up, my family transported boxes to Massachusetts, New Jersey, Tennesssee and Colorado. Those Mayflower moving boxes were a common site in our houses.
Things got more creative when I moved out on my own. My parents and I stuffed odds and ends into my Beatle when I made the trek to Salida. I took what I could fit in the small car; furniture came later. For a while, I used a stack of Rubbermade containers as my dresser and made do with a hideous metal chair and a pea-green plastic cushion as a desk chair.
A U-Haul was rented when I traveled to Los Alamos. And although I declared my studio apartment far better than what I had rented in Salida, I still needed to have my father loan me his fold-up camping chairs until I could buy a sofa.
Every move is different. They all have their quirks. Moving to my latest apartment, however, was the exception. There was no need for any Rubbermade dressers or camping chairs. It only took me one evening to unpack and set everything into its rightful spot.
In short, I got spoiled with this place. So as I begin to dismantle my current apartment setting I also start to think how it will all be reassemble. This, of course, is the best part about moving. All the possibilities that are available to turn a new place into a home.
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| The cardboard mess residing in my closet. |
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