I tend to hoard things, often in very neat piles. Aleisha tends to throw these piles away. I’m quite sentimental about them; they carry memories. And Aleisha carries them to the trash. But you know what they say, happy wife, empty closet, or whatever.
We’d lived in Phoenix four years when, last summer, we decided to move back east. Not because we got too hot (we did) or missed the existence of trees (we also did), no. We loved it there. After years of looming on Facebook Marketplace and pillaging every thrift store in the valley of the sun, we’d collected some really great stuff! Our dining table and chairs pulled from an executive’s conference room, the velvet green couch, the furniture and paintings in my office, etc. Even so, we were united in our decision to move east. The plane rides from Phoenix to Atlanta with a child and a dog were getting old. However, this brought our philosophies of stuff, keeping or chucking, head to head.
In an act of extreme grace and maturity, I sided with my wife (pat pat). Also on her side was the insane cost of moving things across the country. So instead of a big moving truck, we opted for two small U-Haul boxes and a huge yard sale. There I stood watching our good neighbors haul off our prized possessions, and other neighbors trying to knock a few more bucks off the already insultingly low prices Aleisha had put on our stuff. No, sir, I don’t think I will take $3. Read the dang sticker. My memories were being loaded into backseats five bucks at a time. I drove what was left to Goodwill.
On my last day, I left everything in my tastefully appointed office for the next therapist, along with a few tears of sentimentality (do not laugh – that is not a joke). Whereas I inherited an ugly blue room with a truly hideous painting of a rainbow horse illuminated by glaring fluorescent lights, the next bloke will wander into a lovely space with a rug, coffee table, soft lighting, and walls painted a carefully selected sage green. All this evidence of my incredible maturity and ability to let go (pat pat).
We arrived in Savannah, GA at the end of January to a rather large house with one couch, an end table, and some muttering about how we shouldn’t have had that blasted yard sale. The only consolation for the rate at which Aleisha can get rid of things is her uncanny ability to find new ones. That and the kindness of a few friends we’ve found so far. A couple with a truck told us about a big house with furniture that needed taken away, and they helped us load up several trip’s worth.
On Saturday, Aleisha begins as a shift-lead at a local boutique thrift store. We’ve found a small, quirky Presbyterian church that meets in the Savannah Theatre. The folks there have been very kind and welcoming. Ava has made fast friends with our neighbor lady, and they meet at the fence separating our yards to read books and have picnics together. Ava loves Wednesday story hour with John, the librarian, and she has been looking outside and saying, “It’s a beautiful day for the beach.” That’s our favorite place.
I started work at a mental health clinic, and that’s where I’m sitting now and wishing, just a little, for all the stuff from my old office. This one needs a rug. The walls are bare and butter yellow, except for some red and black horizontal scraping lines at head and knee level which tell of either past shelving or possibly a horrific mental health crisis. But I am evolving, and I am trusting. And I am confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the isle of the thrift store.
This article was published in the April edition of The Savannah Post, our snail mail club. Readers got it mailed to them with a stamp along with lots of other fun things. Sign up to get good mail here.
javen.bear. 