Such Stuff

“The crystal vase, a wedding gift, which through the years has made the shift. What once held flowers now holds ash from my two packs a day.”  ---The Last Royals, Crystal Vases

I’ve been fiddling with the layout of the blog. A fresh start, if you will. Microwaving myself a cup of coffee. Time to write. But what to write when creativity is elusive?

My life lately has revolved around my retail job. Oh yes. Retail at Christmas. I’ve run into very few rude customers, it seems most of the people here in Idaho are pleasant enough. Which is fortunate, since after all, I am afraid of people. The oddest seasonal item for sale? The men’s reindeer briefs, with bells on them. In my mind I refer to them as the “Jingle Balls.”

In other news, awaiting the day when I know when I’m getting the rest of my stuff. It should be in January. With the stuff comes a storage bill, which isn’t ideal. With my possessions also comes the deluge of memories, some of which will be difficult to bear. But, this separation of items is necessary.

Who will keep the wedding pictures, I wonder? It will most likely be me. Give me a minute to breathe, I haven’t given myself time to really think about this. It’s just stuff. But right now it’s stabbing me in the heart. Gah.

The house? His. Of course. He always referred to it as his house anyway, never our house.

The treadmill. Who needs it? He is the runner of the family, he should be the one to keep it. The piano, a gift from my parents upon my graduation, will now be for the little girls who grace this house. Unless my uncoordinated hands can learn to play it again. I’m not going to lie, that thing is awesome, but a heavy sonofabitch.

My miscellaneous college papers and half-written projects. My reports that I wrote in ninth grade, each a miniature book. Abigail Adams and Henry Clay were some serious business. Hoping these examples of my nerdiness  weren’t ruined by the leak in the auxiliary garage.

The lovely crystal vase that his boss bought for us as a wedding gift. I suppose he can keep it for when he buys his new significant other flowers. An antique sewing table, my Norman Rockwell posters. Pieces of my personality. A book and bookshelves, because BOOKS. The David Sedaris boxed book on CD set. The signed copy of Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls. Coffee mugs. CDs. My favorite horror movie. Seemingly insignificant knickknacks. Office supplies, oh, how I have missed my notebooks and office supplies. Stuff, stuff, and more stuff.

The wedding cake topper. A blown-glass castle, broken by many military moves. Fitting, in a sense.

The person I was? No longer exists. Back to my maiden name. Trying to pursue some of the dreams I had before I became part of a rather dysfunctional couple.

And what do I have here? The important stuff. Sure, a few closets full of clothes. Hats and purses and miscellaneous personal items. But I recognize these are insignificant compared to the snuggly little cat. And my lovely daughter, who I could not breathe without. Since her conception she was always the individual that mattered most to me.

I've lived without these things  for more than a year and realized more than ever that it is just stuff. It only has meaning as far as I manage to attach that meaning to it.

Breathe in and out, put one foot in front of the other. You can do this...