The Things We Treasure Also Weigh Us Down.
Why are humans so driven to collect stuff? A few animals, like ravens and magpies collect objects. Cats collect their favorite toys. Foxes like to steal shoes and cache them. But humans are in another league. Some of it makes our lives easier and civilized. Much of it helps us survive. There is the stuff whose only purpose is to arouse an emotion or stir memories from the past. Other things feed our ego until they are no longer new and we feel compelled to replace them. Items that are just pretty to look at. Stuff that entertains us. Whatever space and resources we have, we’ll fill it with stuff. Even Minimalists like their treasures, they just hide them better.
When I moved to Portugal, I put most of my belongings in storage. It was an insurance policy in case things didn’t work out and I moved back to the US. Fourteen months later, I had no inclination to move back, and I was tired of paying the monthly storage fee. So week before last, I flew back to the US to liquidate everything.
A Reckoning
On a drizzly cold December day, I began going through a lifetime of belongings and selecting what I would take back with me.
The 10 ft. X 15 ft. unit was crammed to the point of explosion. Dozens of boxes were packed with kitchen utensils, pots, pans, tableware, glasses, appliances, and my treasured cast iron pans. Other heavy cartons were full of favorite books – the ones I had not been able to bring myself to delete before I moved. Three dressers were crammed with clothes. Old photos. Sentimental mementos. Lovingly crafted tables, chairs, and cabinets made by my father. My expensive-and-worth-every-penny Hag office chair. Fine art pottery pieces. Carefully wrapped decorative items. My bed. More boxes packed with linens and towels. All the stuff one collects in life.
I hoped to find someone willing to take on the job of selling the better items, but when that didn’t happen, I decided to give it all to a young family that I’ve come to know and respect. They moved to Greensboro from Mexico and are working hard to build a good life that provides opportunities for their two girls. Martin works a full-time job and is building a landscaping business on the side. He’s been taking care of my yard for years, doing a wonderful job and taking pride in making things look just so. I knew that whatever they did not use, they would find someone who needed it.
I loaded boxes full of personal papers and photos into my rented van so I could take them back to the hotel and sort through them. Once again, the Universe was looking out for me. I had reserved the cheapest economy car at Alamo, but the only thing available was a 7-passenger minivan whale. My room was designed for wheelchair guests, with about an acre of floor space. It all turned out to be necessary for hauling boxes and sorting through stuff.
My brother, Bob, drove in from St. Louis and my oldest niece, Sarah, flew down from NYC to help. I’ll be forever grateful for the moral support, the physical help, and our time together. We are each wise enough to appreciate how precious that is.
Going through old photos, papers, and objects together inspired moments of smiles. But also, sadness for so many times and loved ones now gone. It was gratifying to see how Bob was tickled to receive his old Navy shirt that I had long horded.
Martin loaded the pine dining table that served thousands of Mom’s home-cooked meals. I remember the tree it came from. Dad made 6 stunning maple chairs to go with it. They were piled on the trailer in a cacophony of upward pointing legs at every angle. Dad’s simple pine bench that he made for us kids to sit on at the kitchen table joined the exodus. Watching that iconic piece float away will forever be a bittersweet knot in my heart.
Finally, we were done. We had a long, lingering breakfast together before Bob pointed his car westward to St. Louis. Sarah and I ran errands, including a Costco run for items I can’t buy in Portugal. Then we went to the airport and I watched her stride to security, heading home to her husband Tomer and their two girls who eagerly waited for Mom’s return.
I packed the few things I was taking back to Portugal: my Sonos speakers. The gloriously waterproof Barbour coat and Hunter boots. Some clothes. A few books and photos. The least heavy of my rocks (more to come on that). A framed watercolor of the Devon countryside, acquired during my equestrian stay in England in another lifetime. And importantly, stoneground grits and cornmeal from the Old Mill of Guilford, because I’ll never stop being a steel magnolia Southern Gal.
After an overnight flight, I collected 3 big, heavy bags from baggage claim. I was stiff and in that strange fugue one feels after a long flight. In the dark gray of early evening, I stepped around the corner to Pedro dos Frangos for a comforting home-style dinner of pork loin, roasted potatoes, and salad. Then back home to a long shower and my own bed.
It’s good to be home.
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Para português nativo e especialistas, por favor, perdoe quaisquer imprecisões nestes blogs. Sou iniciante, otimista de que, à medida que aprendo, vou melhorar.
Mamie Moves to Portugal 
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