The Shift


The removal men arrived today with all of our furniture and possessions. I wasn't happy. I stood for about three hours in the cold, silently seething, saying 'house' or 'barn' as a Generation Game-esque conveyor belt of items for the home that I neither want nor need rolled past me. And like most of the Generation Game contestants, I can't remember much of what went past, although I do remember a bag of cuddly toys... 

 Nearly everything has gone directly to the top barn, where it will probably stay. For years. Matching Phase Eight dresses and heels- why? When? About a thousand antique books- why? What for? My stamp collection, and a box of forty-one model windmills! Enough crockery and pans to cater for an army, literally. Ridiculous.

 It dawned on me that I've spent a lifetime gathering these things, and now these things no longer fit my life. All I need is food and waterproof clothing. And my technology. 

 The most exciting new arrival is the bread-maker and a bag of Co-op strong white flour- now, I do have a use for that. I'm using that already. As our gite building work progresses, we will eventually need some of the rugs, mirrors and items of decorative interest. And most of the furniture will be useful.

 The arrival of our things represented a shift. A shift of things, but, more importantly, a shift in thinking and being.  

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