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Where’s an Iceberg When You Need One?


Here’s the good news: my ship has come in.
Here’s the bad news: it’s full of junk. Trash. AKA, my household goods, now highly valuable junk thanks to the cost of the luxury cruise they took around the world.
What were we thinking when we packed? Was there something strange in the water? Did the workers who built our house in 1970s Southern California leave something in the walls that suddenly started to leak out? Because even as sleep deprived as the Husband and I normally are, we must have had some kind of extra pharmaceutical influence too to have packed the way we did.
This is stuff we actually put in boxes and spent money on to ship across two oceans and a sea:
- 5,000 unrelated Lego parts, not gathered together but instead tucked in the corners of 4,999 separate boxes of toys, converting the Legos from something to play with to something good only for steeping on with bare feet and cursing
- at least six somewhat ugly pictures and/or home d├ęcor items that I’ve never really liked
- books from college courses that were barely touched when they should have been and haven’t been cracked open since
- clothes that might be great as soon as I lose those “ten pounds”
- an assortment of plastic cups and lids, along with their chewed-on straws, that are given to kids with their drinks in chain restaurants
- a ridiculously high proportion of Son the Elder’s three- and four-year-old art career in a high-output preschool
- a jogging stroller that Son the Younger has refused to ride in for ages and that needs its tires pumped up to be used, with the tire pump being one thing it was useful to pack but which – naturally – is currently missing
- two full bags of outgrown baby clothes and other sentimental used baby items
And so on.
The last we saw of our stuff in the U.S., it was pathetically clumped together in a big warehouse of the shipping company, carefully separated from other people’s sad clumps of possessions. The warehouse’s parking lot was half filled with completely wrecked cars awaiting shipping. Our stuff fit right in. We should have just dropped it off and run. Instead we not only shipped it, we spent more good money to ransom it out of the port here.
Spring cleaning should take on new meaning this year. I’ve come to realize that Valencia’s Fallas celebration, where you make a big construction on the street – and set it on fire – is really quite a useful tradition.

Share  Posted by Deborah Klosky at 4:28 PM | Permalink

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