week, and not just because it’s within walking distance and I have hours of unsupervised time on my hands. It’s because they have good product at the WSLCB—and it comes in sturdy cardboard boxes that are free for the taking. This is my focus now—find good boxes, accumulate newspaper, pack everything I won’t need for the next six to eight (?) months and stash it wherever I can. Which, sadly, amounts to quite a bit of stuff, begging the question, if I can live without it for the next half a year, why not just live without it for good?Why, indeed! Because a life without a squeezable squeaky nun, a glow-in-the-dark 
Virgin Mary and a collection of vintage perfumes from the late 80’s would not be a life worth living. Seriously, though, how many times have I moved (do NOT answer that, Mom) and thought to myself, Why on Earth do I own all of this shit?! I have one bed, but 11 sets of sheets. I have two tables (dining, coffee) and (I’m not making this up) I own 17 vases. A couple hundred rubber stamps, 337 CDs, 3 vacuum cleaners, a set of South Park finger-puppets, a collection of tiaras, and—surprise!—a truckload of books, including an entire Xerox box full of what can only be categorized as “death books.”
If
I wanted to dispossess myself of my unnecessaries, all I need to do is station them on the sidewalk in front on my house, without even a sign indicating FREE, because apparently, placing items on the edge of one’s property is universal for TAKE ME. This was my experience with the cord of wood I stacked at the perimeter of 1510 17th Street after the woodcutters chopped and chipped an alder, chestnut, and assorted shrubbery on my lot. At least now I don’t have to worry about giving all that quality firewood to my friends. Thanks, thieves!
As I watched the tree people clear the building site, a few curious neighbors stopped by. Cooper, Brandon, and Evan were fascinated by the machinery. Arlene, as welcoming and friendly as
ever, reassured me that the noise was no bother, as she’d been away on her morning walk to the Y. Only one woman had anything dream-crushing to say, commenting, “It’s so sad to lose a vacant lot…I didn’t even know the land was for sale.” My reply, that she would be getting a really cool neighbor in exchange, didn’t seem to console her. Evidently, she’s the glass-is-half-empty sort.
Emptiness surrounds me—my closets and cupboards, bookshelves and bathrooms are slowly being drained of things I can live without, and my lot is nearly void. But my life is full—of baseball games, bicycle rides, swims at Lake Padden, friends to have fun with, and best of all, it’s full of anticipation. I can’t think of anything more intoxicating.
Virgin Mary and a collection of vintage perfumes from the late 80’s would not be a life worth living. Seriously, though, how many times have I moved (do NOT answer that, Mom) and thought to myself, Why on Earth do I own all of this shit?! I have one bed, but 11 sets of sheets. I have two tables (dining, coffee) and (I’m not making this up) I own 17 vases. A couple hundred rubber stamps, 337 CDs, 3 vacuum cleaners, a set of South Park finger-puppets, a collection of tiaras, and—surprise!—a truckload of books, including an entire Xerox box full of what can only be categorized as “death books.”If
I wanted to dispossess myself of my unnecessaries, all I need to do is station them on the sidewalk in front on my house, without even a sign indicating FREE, because apparently, placing items on the edge of one’s property is universal for TAKE ME. This was my experience with the cord of wood I stacked at the perimeter of 1510 17th Street after the woodcutters chopped and chipped an alder, chestnut, and assorted shrubbery on my lot. At least now I don’t have to worry about giving all that quality firewood to my friends. Thanks, thieves!As I watched the tree people clear the building site, a few curious neighbors stopped by. Cooper, Brandon, and Evan were fascinated by the machinery. Arlene, as welcoming and friendly as
ever, reassured me that the noise was no bother, as she’d been away on her morning walk to the Y. Only one woman had anything dream-crushing to say, commenting, “It’s so sad to lose a vacant lot…I didn’t even know the land was for sale.” My reply, that she would be getting a really cool neighbor in exchange, didn’t seem to console her. Evidently, she’s the glass-is-half-empty sort.Emptiness surrounds me—my closets and cupboards, bookshelves and bathrooms are slowly being drained of things I can live without, and my lot is nearly void. But my life is full—of baseball games, bicycle rides, swims at Lake Padden, friends to have fun with, and best of all, it’s full of anticipation. I can’t think of anything more intoxicating.
