In order to do the renovations we're undergoing, we've had to purge a great deal. Three truckloads and 10 carloads packed with boxes and stuff to Value Village. Freecycled oodles more, including mattresses and old stereo receivers. Even got rid of the first speakers the studio ever had, and my prom dress. And still when fabulous husband said “do you think we could fit our lives into an apartment?” a chill ran down my spine. He likes his armory. I like my library. I gave away 10 boxes of books and four shelves and as I unpack what was stored to make room for new flooring I really hope we’ve got enough space as is. It’s weird, how much of ourselves we put in our stuff. This sewing machine I do not use is not essential to my life, but I keep it. This gigantic empty fishbowl may indeed house ironic punch one day, but likely not. And still it's here. Icons and implements of religions I no longer practice still bear importance for what they once meant, and books I'll likely never get too still achieve shelf space by merit of their dust covers and potential. This extra watch is not my mind, this unfinished painting is not my eyes but we keep them, and I think it's a dogged determination not to accept that the substance of life is impermanent. It's wacky, and I kind of love it. I have 8 books on Buddhism that I’m not prepared to give up and it inspires no end of giggles.