The Roof is on Fire

Notions of 'The Home' are much broader than the physical structures occupying our mailing address. In the last four years I've lived in nine 'homes' spanning six cities and three countries. My propensity for the nomadic leads to extreme possession-cleansing at least once a year, often condensing everything I own down to 3 duffle bags and the cash from craigslist sales. 

Each time I pare down, I have to assess the value of my stuff. This process is not dissimilar from the question posed by Foster R. Huntington on his blog The Burning House. He writes, 

"If your house was burning, what would you take with you? It's a conflict between what's practical, valuable and sentimental. What you would take reflects your interests, background and priorities. Think of it as an interview condensed into one question."

Apparently, three contributors answered- GINGHAM!

Note: 1950's gingham romper

Note: gingham baby tunic

Note: gingham oxford by Polo (complete with red pony, neigh)

In looking at these neat amalgamations of what people would take with them, I started to think about all the fabulous items I have left in cities I once inhabited. 

The hardest pills to swallow have been: 

1) A 1950's gold velvet brocade love seat. It took me two years to find this baby. I hope someone's ass is happy.

2) My books. In the great purge of 2009 (which claimed the love seat as well) I waded through my book shelves and selected a few key reads. I brought only those books I truly loved with me to New Hampshire where they too were ruefully abandoned upon moving to Toronto not six months later. The books still in New Hampshire. They include but are not limited to: (a) paperback copy of Franny and Zooey I bought in a used bookstore at age 14, (b) Cindy Sherman coffee table book (c) Lynn Hejinian's My Life, (d) my father's copy of HOWL, (e) The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing.

3) Wrought iron hooks in the shape of roosters, pigs, and cows. They were the perfect hooks for my apron collection.

Of all the possessions I've left behind, there are a few that have made the cut each and every time. It seems I can not live without:

1) My down pillow, aptly named Squishy.

2) A set of ceramic mixing bowls my mother bought me when I moved into my very first apartment.

3) A small framed photograph of my best friend and I, age 16, at the beach. 

If my house was burning down, I don't know if these would be the first items I'd grab on way down down the fire escape. However, there's something to be said for the little things that have made it through the past few years of cut throat downsizing and travel. Each time I cuddle up to my perfect pillow, make a batch of cupcakes in my mixing bowls, or look at the photo of Hannah and me, I feel I am at home.