OMG! I didn’t mean to sell that! It happens. It happened to us today when we visited the just-posted estate-sale website of our stuff. It’s an exercise in folly. And fate. And, well, surrender.
We glance around to see what time it is, and the clocks are gone. We go out to sit on the balcony, and the chairs are gone. We look for clothes in the drawers, and the clothes are gone. We sit down to watch Jeopardy, and the television is Just. Not. There.
A red letter day! We put the first boxes in storage. This gave Tom a chance to rent his preferred method of transportation, a pickup truck. (Tom and truck pictured above.) It was a black Nissan Zipcar named Florencia the Frontier. (If you don’t have Zipcars in your ‘hood, it’s an hourly vehicle rental service with cars parked conveniently around the city, and they all have names that go with their species, such as Harry Hundai and Felicia Ford. It’s adorable.)
“Shambles” is much too nice of a word to describe our apartment — or our lives, for that matter — as we remove our worldly goods from closets and shelves and box them up for sale and storage. In a two-minute video, Louise conducts a tour of our Portland apartment — or what’s left of it — 25 days before we begin the expat life.
I was chatting with my son Ted about our adventure, and admitted I was a little scared. (Don’t worry—I have run all the cognitive therapy questions and I know intellectually that leaving home is no scarier than staying home. But I will allow myself to be scared anyway, because it’s a normal reaction to a big forthcoming change.)