I have not made a decision about where to go, but I know that I am going, and this means it is time to purge.
My possessions have been languishing in various hidden corners, and this week I decided to deal with the worst of the lot.
The Eames lounge has been on loan to teenage offspring, and upon retrieval is found to be rapidly disintegrating; I’ll need to have the leather replaced. Most of the other large pieces have been in a borrowed garden shed, and when I opened it I found the Wegner sofas are moldy… though salvageable.
Trunks that have traveled across continents and centuries, however, have been destroyed by damp. I stood staring, aghast. Byron looked from my face to these heirlooms, and after a pause said I am so sorry I didn’t organize my life fast enough to save your things.
It had to be stated out loud, I suppose.
The apology is officially accepted.