When your house is in boxes and you're dreaming of the future

We packed up this week, about half of our house.  Maybe that’s too generous; maybe it was 2/5 of out worldly goods.  I’m not sure.  I do know that I packed up literally half of my kitchen, and I still have plenty of functionality.  This gives me pause.  If I don’t need half of the stuff I have, why do I have it?  This question, of course, does not apply to my beloved pasta extruder, which I so bravely packed up and won’t see again until after August – I have that because, while not necessary to the function of my kitchen, it is necessary to my soul.

Please forgive the low-light, phone pictures.
Either way, this is the last proof I have of my wall like so.
These frames are now boxed, and my house is returning to its generic-builder-look

We packed and packed and packed.  You can see the digression in our packing and labeling skills.  The first few boxes are packed to the tops, nice and tight, with like items and then taped in 3 places and carefully labeled with both the contents and the designated unpacking room.  The last box I packed?  “Stuf”.  Not even two t’s.  Its pathetic. But we did it, poorly or no.  We packed, amid box shortages and uncertainty and “should it stay or should it go now” songs, and especially, despite feelings.

You guys.  There were so many feelings.  If you've ever moved from some place that you loved, I don’t have to explain these feelings to you.   There is most definitely a heart-ripping part of this.  We will never be totally separate from our sweet S. Carolina.  Its impossible, we've been changed too much by the place, by the people.  By the realization that BBQ can be something beautiful and not just chopped up deli meat & Sweet Baby Ray’s.  We've spent our whole married lives with SC driver’s licenses.  It’ll be 6 years by the time we pack the final final box, and my word, they've been good years.

But since this is a truthful place, a place to find and celebrate beauty, despite circumstances, I have to tell you that there were happy feelings too.  There is so much I want to do differently with our second house.  I’d be lying if I said that the timely arrival of The Nester’s new book didn't have a hand in that.  The ache is still in the leaving, but there’s a small spark of anticipation building too.  There has to be.  If I don’t look at this new step as an adventure, I’m sunk.  It is happening, regardless of my attitude, and so it only serves me to have the best attitude I can.

And so, after devouring The Nesting Place in one evening while sitting curled up with my new Delicate Fortress Creation’s reclaimed, hand-quilted Sari throw (so perfect!) and eating a little bit of a Divine Milk Chocolate bar, I've got the beginnings of a new Manifesto. 

Scratch that.  Manifesto implies a cohesive, well-thought-out set of ideas that can withstand time and scrutiny.  I think that what I actually have is just a motto, albeit a long one.  Whatever.  I’m proud of it all the same (hashtag: own it).  So here’s my extra-long-motto-but-not-quite-a-manifesto, because you've earned it. 

This time, I will do tings differently.

- I will not make a home for some imaginary future owners.  We are the owners, we are living our days inside these walls, and we will make them our own.  

- I will take risks, and not stick to the one decorating trick I know (read: no more empty picture frames on every floor, in every room).

- I will see the value that exists in taking time and resources to build a comfortable, peaceful home.  Yes, it takes cash dollars and brain power, but having a purposeful, intentional home is worth it.

- I will be me in this home, and this home will look like mine.  I will own it, in every sense of the phrase.  No matter if people don’t understand why Christmas lights are hanging from the chandelier, no matter if I get on a first name and “how are your daughter’s grades?” basis with the Salvation Army people, no matter if I decide I don’t like something I begged for.  If it is not known to be functional, or believed (by me) to be beautiful, I won’t have it in my home.  And if it is either of those things, it will be.

- I will share my home in all of its imperfect glory, because to me, homes are merely  tools building community and keeping the chill out.  Although my house will reflect who I am, it will not be my identity.  It will be full of warmth even when the furnace breaks, it will be a source of calm to haggard souls despite the clutter that will never be totally picked up, and it will be where people know they are welcome and loved.  It will be a fabulous home.  Even if the walls have wood paneling on them (I can't abide it, I'm sorry).  Even if there is carpet in the bathrooms when we move in (that can’t stay, and for that I don’t apologize).

Those are my plans, my hopes, my ambitions for our new home, whatever it looks like.  Now that we've packed our fingers off, we’re driving half of our belongings North to be stored in my Father-in-law’s shed without telling him (because telling him gives him heartburn), and then we’re going house-hunting.  Seventeen houses in a single day, with over 100K between the cheapest and most expensive houses we’re looking at.  Because we Magagnotti’s are cheap and dreamers and like neighbors and large plots of land, and a great many other things.  Wish us luck!  Oh, and if you've got any advice, I'm all ears!

<3 M.