It’s the strangest thing when you are planning a big move — like across the world, not around the corner. You begin to imagine your new life in your new house in your old town in your old country and sometimes your brain can take you to some interesting places in its eagerness to make the move and get you back to your original home. Where, apparently, you now belong.
During my recent visit home, when I also needed to gather up my possessions and books that were all over town in other people’s houses after the last book show, I did something I have never done before. I rented a storage unit. Yes. I have often thought that storage has to be the way to make easy money without lifting a finger; but I have learned otherwise.
Storage is serious business. You are in charge of someone’s prized assets — or, at least, possessions that they think enough of to actually pay quite a sum for them to be in a guarded place. You must provide oodles of access to said storage for the wiles of the storing folk to come and go at will. That requires staff seven days a week! You are required to clean out abandoned units and rent out new ones — it’s quite the palava, I’ve learned. Still good money to be made though.
Anyways, I rented a covered space in a big warehouse. (Outdoor is cheaper, but that would not be good for my boxes of books!) My friend called my storage “Carrie”’ because we would be “carrie-ing” lots of stuff to and fro said unit over the course of the next few days. True story.
In fact, we made so many trips to Carrie, the car I rented (not fondly called The Hearse) could almost drive herself to Carrie without me. Once I had gathered all the boxes and bags from the garages and storage rooms of kindly folk and delivered them to Carrie, it was time to do a reconciliation of what I had previously stuffed in said bags and boxes, before the fun could truly begin.
And when it started, it never stopped. We visited an antique shop in a neighboring town — one of my fave things to do — and there I found a rusty wall goddess I just had to have. I called her Rusty Rosie.
“Rosie will look so lovely on the wall of my courtyard!” I said to my friend, who is so used to nut-job me that she doesn’t even blink.
“You mean the outside wall you plan to have in the yard of your future house?” she queried, a bit sardonically.
“Yes, that wall.” (Note to self — must include courtyard in the specs of all I need in my house of the future.)
My other friend, who believes that if you tell the universe what you want (and you are a good person), it will deliver it to you, advised me to always talk about my future house in the positive, affirmative way, so that the universe would start working on my plan and making it happen. We’ll just go along with that. When I get my house — not if — it will have a courtyard. That type of thing.
In the next antique shop, because antique-ing is an addiction once you get started — trust me — I found more things I didn’t know I needed in my new house. An antique wooden bedside table, a hand-crafted wooden bench (made by The Wood Man who lives in The Forest, no less), an enormous vintage enamel tea pot and saucepan (likely destined for the outdoors. I don’t think I’d actually eat or drink anything out of them — surely from the ’30s or ’40s — but they are aesthetically delightful) … oh and another stone goddess for the courtyard. We named her Charis.
“So, there’s definitely NOT going to be a garden at your house?” my friend asks me.
“Well, only a small one, if so. I’m done with the big garden thing!” And there I had said it out loud. From super-acreage in California to a courtyard on the East Coast of England and I simply cannot wait. Whether we ultimately have a small greenhouse on site, we shall see; but there are so many lovely farmer’s markets and garden shops around the place, I don’t see that as being necessary in my future life. A simple courtyard will suffice with maybe a tree, definitely a bench, a few flowers and likely at least two goddesses.
It is so exciting planning for my imaginary house (that I have no possible way of buying until I sell my current one) in the coming year or so.
At yet another antique emporium, I found some very good quality solid silver serving spoons and unused/rare Sheffield steel knives and forks, like Granny used to have in the “special drawer” for “special occasions.” Those were a must buy. Along with an incredibly old wooden bucket (perfect for kindling — we will need that for our wood burner, another essential) and a well-loved wooden footstool — an absolute yes for chilling by the fire during those drizzly chilled evenings. I adored the hand-crafted wooden mirror I found, also the vintage crate for the courtyard, the blanket rack, the classically-old bread bin and bread knife, the cutting board, blanket rack and vintage 1960’s Scrabble game (made in England).
I had to have the old Railway sign, the classic Robertson’s transistor radio and the covered bird seed hanging, as well as the stripy 1970’s deck chair (beautifully made and perfect for book signings on the beach). The 1970’s “counterpanes” (bedspreads to you) in ochre-yellow will be great for beachy picnics or wrap-ups in the courtyard, the ancient card table will be perfect for all kinds of things. Oh, and a tiny baby stone rabbit that can keep Charis and Rosie company in the courtyard came home to Carrie. My house is coming together. (Did I mention I don’t actually have a house yet?)
“I wish you could move back here NOW!” said one of my friends in my hometown. “We so badly want to plan a housewarming party for you!” Oh lordy, a housewarming party for my imaginary house in my make-up street in the town where I used to live. This is going to be way too much fun.
When you are carefully selecting objects for your “Carrie,” it is imperative that you make an inventory of all that lies within her special walls, in case, like me, you are really moving out of Dodge. I was informed of this before I became a renter of a “Carrie” overseas. As I made my fourth or fifth visit to her, I wondered if I had skipped something on the vital inventory list, or if it even mattered, since I did not actually have a house yet to put all my belongings in. That was, maybe, a bit of a negative thought and I quickly knocked it on the head.
If you too are playing imaginary house and gathering objects to bedeck this fabulous future place in your mind, I highly recommend that you visit local antique shops and let your fancy fly. I have realized that I have a great penchant for 1970’s memorabilia, vintage kitchenware and stone statues. I’m not going to share my Carrie location with you in case you feel pressed to break into it and steal my assets. (Warning — it’s heavily guarded!)
My new-found sister-goddesses, I miss them already. It’s going to be a long couple of months before we are reunited, and I must remember to take along some twinkly lights with me at that time to decorate my goddesses in the courtyard that I don’t yet actually possess. It may be that they escape “Carrie” for a few days and get to stay with me in the rental house I’ll be temporarily inhabiting at that time. It has a courtyard — and aren’t we the lucky ones.
Columnist Lucy Jensen may be reached at lu*************@***il.com.
