So when we made our move, my wife and I decided to cram as much of our belongings into 4 very nice suitcases we got as Christmas gifts.
The contents of these four suitcases has been the majority of our home for at least 3/4 of the month; mostly consisting of clothing, and a few other personal items. But because our boxed up house was going to be in California for a while, we were loaned a mattress, a café table with two chairs, a couple pots and pans, kitchenware, and some beach chairs for our living room. It was just enough to get by.
But last week, with the help of a couple of movers, we unloaded every single box that was, at one point, lying in a room in Salinas Ca.
Now, every single one of those boxes is here. Right next to me. In front of me. Behind me. It's like a maze of boxes. Truly a child's dream playground. It seems my imagination no longer see's boxes as monster trucks, space ships, or secret caves..
But René, why don't you just unpack them all?
Well, that's a good suggestion. And I guess to a degree we are doing just that. We actually have about 90% of our living room unpacked. The television is up, so is the xbox, Jess's work computer, some living room decors. We actually endeavored to put a dent in our kitchen the other day; only to leave us realizing how much stuff we had.
Yesterday I wrote a blog about influence, though it was more about abstract forms of influence like relationships and words.
And although again, this concept isn't new, being around tons and tons of boxes does something to the mind.
It brings in a sense of being claustrophobic; leaving one desiring for a clear open space.
I'm not fond of unpacking. When the two go head to head, packing and unpacking, packing snatches the prize when it comes to being painless.
I'm just anticipating having a carton-free home at some point.