A world of boxes.
All our worldly belongings
Crated into cardboard cubes,
Waiting like gifts to be unwrapped,
Handled and remembered.
A world of boxes.
A bittersweet bend to my thoughts
Reminds me that we ought not,
as Thoreau was convinced,
have possessions,
for we in maintaining them
allow them to possess us.
He thought that a doormat was acceptable.
For collecting and catching the dust from one's feet.
A functional thing, that.
However, we don't have a doormat.
So, I guess it's okay that we've got the projection TV to make up for that.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A World of Boxes in the New Home
Well, we did it. Finally. We moved. No, we didn't buy. Yes, it's a bigger place.
We thought that a SECOND burglary at our old place was getting a bit excessive. True, our wonderful neighbor scared this guy away and then memorized his plates and called the cops. So, we had great neighbors whom I will miss very much. However, I won't miss the burglars.
The new place has a beautiful balcony, and Lucas has his own room, and the home office is not collecting dust, jammed into the nursery between the crib and changing table. The home office is relegated to the master bedroom, where finally Francisco can work on his beloved mountain-biking videos and CAD projects. Which is a huge relief for ME, because they are his yoga, his prayer, his meditation, and he is a more tranquil person when he can unwind with his projects. Thus, the larger apartment means a happier marriage.
We are currently living in a world of boxes, and I'm under the gun to unpack it all quickly and efficiently because Lucas has figured out how to crawl as of this week. A plethora of scattered, half unpacked boxes laying around the apartment is frighteningly anti-childproof.
A world of boxes.
We thought that a SECOND burglary at our old place was getting a bit excessive. True, our wonderful neighbor scared this guy away and then memorized his plates and called the cops. So, we had great neighbors whom I will miss very much. However, I won't miss the burglars.
The new place has a beautiful balcony, and Lucas has his own room, and the home office is not collecting dust, jammed into the nursery between the crib and changing table. The home office is relegated to the master bedroom, where finally Francisco can work on his beloved mountain-biking videos and CAD projects. Which is a huge relief for ME, because they are his yoga, his prayer, his meditation, and he is a more tranquil person when he can unwind with his projects. Thus, the larger apartment means a happier marriage.
We are currently living in a world of boxes, and I'm under the gun to unpack it all quickly and efficiently because Lucas has figured out how to crawl as of this week. A plethora of scattered, half unpacked boxes laying around the apartment is frighteningly anti-childproof.
A world of boxes.
Free Time = Guilt?
Sipping a Mexican Mocha digests into guilt. Guilt over not being at home with my husband and son as they quietly drift into sleep for the night. And YET. Yet. It sure tastes good.
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