Home again, home again, jiggity jig

So here we are, back in the USA, in Oregon, in Portland. But are we home? Depends on your definition. If home is where your “stuff” is, we’ve got a lot of homes.

When we sold the house in France we sold it furnished. That took care of the big items but left all those everyday items that every house needs, things we took there over the years, and gifts and mementos that we couldn’t leave behind. What to do?

We gave lots of it to friends in Labastide, and lugged the rest to Sauzet. Some of that got packed in our suitcases, some of it got mailed, some of it was carried back by friends who volunteered to take a suitcase home (bless them), and some of it—mostly camping gear and clothes—got left in Rick and Beverly’s basement. Our car is parked in their neighbor’s garage; plans to sell it were ditched when we caught the early flight home.

On this side of the Atlantic most of our furniture and household goods are in a storage unit in Corvallis. That large suitcase full of French “stuff” is in Bellingham. Until last week four small cardboard boxes were in Longview. Some clothes, Ray’s bike, and day-to-day necessities are with us in Portland. And the Casita, containing more of our “stuff” is parked in Tangent.

If by now you haven’t been reminded of George Carlin’s priceless “stuff” monologue you must be one of the unfortunate few who missed it in 1986. Nobody says “stuff” better than George, so take a look.

I think it's time for a garage sale.