The possessions of my life fit into less than half of my Mother's back room. This always has me thinking, should I have more? As I push towards 40 shouldn't I have more to show for myself? Of course they say moving home is stressful, because it forces you to confront all the dusty corners you've been happy to leave under the bed.
After a full day of sorting, labeling and valuing, my things are itemized into a list which I will present to Canadian customs next time I head over. It includes a great deal of knitwear produced by the hands of my family. I also have a large collection of fabric that I've gathered from all over the place, with no final use in mind. I somewhat think that fabric is a bit like my life. A series of wonderful experiences, each with their own colour, texture and attraction that don't all hang together into anything other than a nice collection of memories. And I don't mind that. They are all a moment when I really enjoyed being alive.
I have thought about making a quilt of them all. I had a book when I was small, at least, I think I owned it and I didn't just imagine it. Every night the girl climbs into bed and each patch of her quilt becomes a story which she tumbles into as she dreams. Perhaps when I'm home again, I'll make one. Home is a fuzzy concept right now. Sometimes its Canada, sometimes it's Scotland. After ten days traveling around my own homeland I know that I am no longer recognized as one of its own. People constantly ask me where I am from, and they don't mean which part of Scotland. That's ok. It makes me feel like I have a secret, that my roots are hidden but solid and I'm free to adapt to wherever I'm am above ground.
The last two times I've been back I've gone to view houses in Johnshaven which is a lovely, quirky, artist, ome-time-fishing village south of Stonehaven. I'd love to have a bolt hold there. I know, deep down, I am testing myself, and my commitment to moving continents. I could afford to do it, but, I wouldn't then have the money to do the coffee shop. I love the idea of having a place here that I can visit and friends can use, but I also know that this is really me wanting a security blanket. As I don't have cash for both, I'll keep forging forward and maybe one day I'll no longer feel a need, or want to have a place in Scotland at all. Or maybe I'll be successful and lucky enough to have both! It's not that these ventures are enter into without fear, but I have a greater fear of living with not having tried. Scotland is not going anywhere and there is no rule that says I can't ship everything back again.
I was smiling to myself when I got to my hiking boots. I am taking my rucksack, bike panniers and outdoor gear back with me on the plane so I can enjoy the Newfoundland summer. As I loaded up the tent, sleeping bag, mat, stove etc, the adrenaline started rising. Pure anticipation of good times ahead. I've not been camping for at least a year. I was actually happy to realise I still have the desire to go!
It's easy to get wrapped up in all the nostalgia and memories. There is a large box of old letters I've kept, though it is rarely added to now with everything being online. Right on top there was one sheet of a letter from a hand I know longer recognise. It was a lovely thank you note, about friendship and wishing me all the joys in life and I thought, how can it be that I cannot recall who this person is, this person who valued our friendship enough at one time to write to say thank you.
I'm lucky because I've moved my stuff 3 times after selling up and I've been whittling it away. I think I threw out 1 book this last time, and some clothes the mice got. The bare essentials would be the hiking boots and travel diaries, but allowing myself the indulgence of stuff, I'm content enough with what I have to show for myself. They are the tangible pieces that keep me connected to everyone and every place that's been important for me. And I'll also be happy when I have a home again to put it all in.
And guess what the surviving toys from childhood are? A moose, polar bear and Siberian husky wearing an Iditarod vest - didn't I know early I was heading north. And, I have Snoopy's bird friend Woodstock, who is described in Wikipedia as scrappy, resourceful and flitters around in an erratic manner. Hmmmm, also sounds familiar!!
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