Over two years ago I flew to Sweden, packed up what possessions I have left and sealed them in boxes, where they've been waiting in a cold storage unit ever since. There are not many boxes-I don't actually have that many things. After a lifetime of constant moving around, doing a runner from no less than three relationships, and leaping from the springboard of three different countries, my possessions, they are pared down.

I have almost nothing from my early days-a baby quilt, a rag doll, and a hardbound book whose spine is falling off are all that marks my very early childhood. All but the hardbound book are here in England with me, the other items I have personally flown with instead of entrusting them to moving companies.

The childhood, pre-teen and teenage years have, I believe, nothing at all to show for it.

College life may have an item or two-a few pictures, maybe. There is certainly a silver box lurking amongst my possessions. My college diploma is over here, folded and stuffed in a box under the bed as an article that I needed for various visas (certificates mean fuck all to me. I'm not the type to hang up my college degree. I have awards and certificates from work, and I know where they are only for the bureaucratic helpfulness, but they are not things that will go on the walls. To me, these things are all just pieces of paper.)

There are binders that contain all kinds of forms-tax returns (I have kept them all, copies of every 1040-EZ ever. I only ever made enough money my last year of living in the States to file a 1040 regular. The other years were amalgamations of various W2s and hopes that for the love of God, the tax refund would be mighty.) I have a few items of poetry I've written, including one that won a prize. I have a few photo albums, things that may hold memories that I myself can't recall.

I have no journals.

I burned them all in the smoking tiled Swedish fireplace, after losing my job.

I don't think I regret that.

There are a few boxes of clothes, only I haven't seen the clothes for two years, so I don't really remember what's in there. I can remember a grey wool skirt with sparklies on it that look like shifting snowflakes. I can remember comfy pajamas and thick socks. I can't really remember what else is in there but since they are my possessions from Sweden, I imagine there are a lot of sweaters in there. There are other boxes that my ex hastily packed and slung into the unit-I don't know what's in them, I only know that I didn't pack them. I am curious, but not worried.

I have a small dresser. An enormous bag of hockey gear from when I was a goalie. A massive REI backpack, a throwback from the college days and what I used to trek through Belize and, years later, to sail between Greek Islands. There are a number of framed prints, including some of my favorite pictures by my favorite artist, Marc Chagall. I look forward to these pictures, as they make my mind swirl.

And the one thing I am looking forward to the most is a rocking chair. I bought this rocking chair on the Swedish island of Gotland a few years back, a rocking chair that's over 150 years old. It had a beautiful design on the chair that sadly had to be covered over as it was repaired. This rocker is unusual in that the rockers themselves are extra long, so you go very far back in one smooth motion, although currently one of the rockers is broken and will need repairing. I love this rocking chair, and of all the items it is the one I have missed the most.

A few weeks ago Angus flew to Stockholm and combined our things-his possessions were boxed up and lingering in one of his and his ex's houses (the property that they used to jointly own and which she now owns has two very large houses on it-one is lived in, the other is currently empty.) His boxes are full of power tools, kitchen things, and items of his past-he has memories and reminders of years past. Since we bought the house and have settled in (and because his ex was making noises about putting all the goods on the lawn) we moved everything into my storage unit. We could finally do this, as the streets were melted of snow, the flights were cheap, and the cost of my storage unit has gone up. All told, the sum total of our lives has turned out to be 6 cubic meters. I don't really know what 6 cubic meters is, all I know is that it's contained in the smallest Shurgard storage unit size possible.

Why am I bringing this up now?

We arranged last week to have it moved. Last Tuesday a Swedish firm took a considerable sum of money off of us, went into the unit, packed it up, stuck it on a ferry, and it all arrives here this afternoon.

Two and a bit years later, and everything we own and love will finally be under one roof again. Our things will mingle together. We will finally have a home.

I wonder if this means our things will copulate and we'll wind up with an overflowing Tupperware cupboard.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:09 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 928 words, total size 5 kb.

1 I'm happy for you, not having all your stuff scattered around the world anymore... and you can never have too much tupperware!

Posted by: Hannah at May 22, 2006 10:33 AM (5w+E2)

2 No, tupperware disappears like socks in the drier. It's the lids that multiply.

Posted by: donna at May 22, 2006 12:58 PM (jptsW)

3 I agree with Donna-why the hell do I have so many lids, and why do I keep them? Actually I know why-I keep thinking the minute I throw them away the containers will 'magically' appear. Interestingly enough, the only thing I have from my childhood is the rocking chair my mom rocked me in (and my baby book-thank goodness). My mom was only 18 when she had me, and to this day tells me that she didn't know any better than to just throw things out or give them away after I outgrew them. She wised up some with my sister and brother, but that rocking chair is like gold to me. Home really is where your story begins, isn't it? Here's to a brand new chapter!

Posted by: Teresa at May 22, 2006 02:40 PM (hYosL)

4 Oh, Helen, this brought tears to my eyes. You have a knack for doing that with your writing, as it pulls at something in my heart, so visceral - so honest - and it feels as if you are giving a voice to the secrets harbored in my heart. Welcome Home, Helen. Welcome Home.

Posted by: April at May 22, 2006 04:08 PM (MSB13)

5 Interesting; I've been having these conversations with my dad and my boyfriend (separately) about how I feel sort of fractured because I have stuff all over the world. Some of it is en route to Albania, some of it is in the suburbs of San Francisco, some of it is in the northern suburbs of Atlanta and some of it is in the southern suburbs of Atlanta (Atlanta is my current home.) I pare down every time I move. Fortunately, mom and dad have been good about the baby things, but still... so many things, so spread out. I feel like a nomad.

Posted by: Marian at May 22, 2006 04:49 PM (Xc0hQ)

6 I, for one, cannot wait to see what you find when you open the boxes. There is bound to be something good that you'd forgotten. You will tell us, won't you?

Posted by: kenjukenju at May 22, 2006 07:27 PM (2+7OT)

7 You haven't written about ex-partner unit in a very long time. Has all communication that way ceased?

Posted by: Teri at May 22, 2006 07:34 PM (K7jOL)

8 You have more things from your youth than I do, love. I regret it, occasionally. Mostly, what I miss is all of the baby things from my first two boy babies (hastily chucked at my ex-partner unit as I flew to my husband). But in the end, it's just stuff. And, as you write so eloquently, you can save your memories to paper. At least that's what I plan to do. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at May 22, 2006 08:17 PM (BRtaN)

9 I love expecting packages! Hope you find something forgotton but loved in the boxes!

Posted by: a duck at May 22, 2006 09:11 PM (mdrh/)

Hide Comments | Add Comment