Honey, they’ve shrunk the house!

 

Honey, they’ve shrunk the house!

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When I moved to Etzatlan in Jalisco, Mexico, I said to myself, as well as to anyone who would listen, “I will live here until I die. This is my last best place.”

Unless I die in the next few weeks, I find that I have one more last best place to experience in this life.

It had been a month since I’d visited my new house in Oconahua, a casita tucked into a corner of property owned by Ana and Michelle. This morning Leo helped me load his car with a few things I could take over early along with a deep-dish mango pie I made yesterday.

Somehow, my very first impression could only be expressed as, “Honey, they’ve shrunk the house!”

I know my new place is smaller than my present small home. I know the patio is smaller. I know I won’t have a bodega in which to store extras. I know I won’t have the luxury of a yard. I know all this. I’m agreeable.

Little by little, I’ve been packing. Winter bedding. Winter sweaters. Dishes I can do without but want to keep. Keep—I am keeping the bare minimum. Bare. Minimum.

My constant questions to myself: Keep? Throw? Give away?

I am many things but a hoarder I am not. I moved here with what I could cram into a cargo van. And, yes, I have accumulated bits and pieces. I believe everything I own should be used. If I’m not using it, I want it to have a good home. Or, a different home.

Frequently, over the years, I’ve looked at my items with a critical eye. Often, the trash can is heavier for my effort. Keeping things because they might have a use someday may be a virtue. It is a virtue I don’t have.

On the other hand, if I had the space and the inclination, there are some lovelies I would find nice to collect. Collecting is not hoarding. Right?

Collections have no place in this chapter of my life. 

Back to my shrunken house. While diligently packing and purging over the past several weeks, in my imagination, I’ve configured my new space with those pieces of furniture which I will keep. I’ve filled the drawers and cupboards. In imagination, I’ve moved things around, here, no there, or maybe over against that wall. This cupboard in today’s kitchen, might live nicely in tomorrow’s bedroom. I can drive myself batty-watty with this mind game.

My new abode is beautiful. Windows and doors are works of art. The bathroom is lovely. Floor tile is being laid this week, or maybe next week. I’ve never moved into a pure space, new in every way. Unique doors made from century-old outside doors, can slide to separate the spaces. Rather dazzling, it is.

Standing inside the casita this morning, I realized that the only way I would really know what to keep and what to re-home, would be to wait and see. I have to wait until me and my stuff are all moved, all in one place. Placement will be trial and error or maybe, trial and trial is a better way to say it. Trial and trial again.

After the house tour, we gathered around my friends’ table and face-planted into mango pie, mangos from my last harvest from my own mango tree. Not to worry. Everyone has mango trees. In season, somebody will drive up the street past the house, announcing mangos for sale. All I will have to do is step out my door, stand on the stoop, and agree to a price.

This afternoon, my mantra is “Lead me not into temptation. Oh, lead me not into temptation.”

My inclination, the temptation I don’t need, is to unpack and repack everything I have packed, just so I can reassess, keep, purge, give away. I know that the blue glass pitcher is in one of the book boxes, because it fit the empty space. The dinner plates nestle in a bin between folds of winter bedding. And so it goes. All a-jumble.

So far, I’m white knuckling it, resisting the urge to empty boxes and bins and repack, still using my best guess as a gauge, and how futile would that be.

Instead of giving in to temptation, I am going to paint my little cupboard which holds my sewing supplies, both because it could use a fresh coat of paint and because it will look dandy fine in its new home, in my next last best place.

I will not repack. I will not repack. I will not, will not, will not.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

August, I can’t believe it is August 8!

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