Today is the Big Day …
As you read this my daughter and I are in the process of moving into our new home. We are working alongside my beau, my parents, sundry friends, and a couple of hired helpers to lug all our worldly belongings from our old apartment to our very own house.
Though our new address is only ten doors down from where we’ve been renting for the past eighteen months, this move has been just as time consuming as the other four we’ve made in the past seven years. Is there any such thing as an easy move? I doubt it. I have yet to hear anyone ever say that they enjoy moving. More often than not, people tend to shudder at the thought of having to uproot and relocate.
I have come to realize that my own dread of moving may play an influential role in my
lust for fascination with tiny houses. The idea of paring my material goods down to only what will fit in a 300 square-foot house is made even more appealing by the prospect of having to once again cart, heft, and haul all the paraphernalia of my current domestic life.
The good news is that since we own the house we’re moving in to, we will (hopefully!) not have to move again for a good long while. This is a huge relief. It’s also delightful, after having rented for the better part of the last decade, to daydream about customizing our new home. I already have visions of some built in bookcases for the living room, “floating” shelves in my bedroom, and some floating/corner shelves in the upstairs hall. Hell, I might even find a nice bookcase for the mudroom. I’m also thinking about eventually putting in some window seats … with bookcases underneath, of course.
These are the elements of a writer’s dream house. Bookshelves in every room, and books on every shelf. The only downside is having to move the books from one house to the other. As I wrapped up this most recent packing, I found that (despite pretty major purges during our last two moves) I have almost fifty boxes of books to move. My books on writing fill three boxes all on their own, and then there are my favorite novels, childhood picture books, and current reads. I have several boxes of nonfiction and several more filled with my daughter’s personal library. That’s not to mention the boxes that contain books we no longer want/need to have on the shelf, but can’t bear to part with.
And then there are the journals. Having journaled fairly consistently since I was seven years old, you can imagine the collection I’ve accrued at this point in my life. I have, I think, three Rubbermaid storage bins filled to the top with old journals, diaries, and sketchbooks. There are also two wooden crates and several bureau drawers filled with more recent scribblings. I also have several magazine caddies filled with back issues of Writer’s Digest and Poets & Writers. I have hard copy files filled with swipes, story ideas, marked up pages from writers’ groups, and miscellaneous notes. In short, I am comfortingly weighed down by the very concrete trappings of a writer.
Though it will be hard work carrying all those boxes and boxes of books and notebooks from our old home to our new home, I don’t really mind. After all, as Horace Mann said, “A house without books is like a room without windows.” And, as Marcus Tullius Cicero said, “A room without books is like a body without a soul.” Happily, my house will have both books and windows, and each room will enough literary material to guarantee it’s full of soul.
Jamie Lee Wallace Hi. I’m Jamie. I am a content marketer and branding consultant, columnist, sometime feature writer, prolific blogger, and aspiring fiction writer. I’m a mom, a student of equestrian and aerial arts (not at the same time), and a nature lover. I believe in small kindnesses, daily chocolate, and happy endings. Introduce yourself on Facebook, twitter, Instagram, or Pinterest. I don’t bite … usually.