My house is down to just a few bold lines of personality and structure. The noise, the daily projects and dishes, have all been put aside. We’re down to four plates and sets of silverware. Four wine glasses, the cheap ones … the crystal is packed. The piano remains because it’s heavy and precious, and the katana remains because I received it yesterday, and because I like the look of it on the mantle. The cats remain … but they hide. They’ve both seen this movie before and they didn’t care for it.
The library is packed, but the current topic of thought (buddhist thought and the martial arts) is consolidated on the one remaining bookshelf. The toaster remains, but the deep fryer and the press-grill are packed. The cherry wine continues to ferment, but the makings of future batches aren’t re-appearing in this house. We can do sauteed greens, and we can do stir fry … but I don’t think that we can do them at the same time right now.
All this was done in a frenzy of tape and cardboard. Now, we live here for a month and a half. Then we shift the lightened form to Braintree and receive a truckload of noise and depth at some point after that.
It’s odd to see what stays and what goes.
I wonder what would happen if it *all* went … except the cats, of course.
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