article: I love the smell of cardboard in the morning | pretty paper. true stories. {and scrapbooking classes with cupcakes.}

I never watched Seinfeld the first time around. In fact, the first time I ever saw Seinfeld was the last ever episode. Which Seinfeld fans will confirm is a very stupid place to start. It’s the only episode with a plot. Apparently.

But years ago, I read some ancient issue of Reader’s Digest in a hospital waiting room, and without actually seeing an episode of Seinfeld, I managed to memorise an episode of Seinfeld. Well, part of an episode anyway. (No, my brain still does not understand that there are better things for it to do. It just memorises things so that later when I can google something thinking there is no way I have actually memorised that, only to find that actually, yes. I have. Anyway.)

When you’re moving, your whole world becomes boxes. All you think about is boxes. Boxes. Where are there boxes? You just wander down the street going in and out of stores. Are there boxes here? Have you seen any boxes? I mean it’s all you think
about. You can’t even talk to people because you can’t concentrate. Shut up! I’m looking for boxes. Just after a while you become like really into it you can smell them. You walk into a store. There’s boxes here. Don’t tell me you don’t have boxes. I can smell them… You’re at a funeral. Everyone’s mourning and crying around you, and you’re looking at the casket. Now that’s a nice box! Does anyone know where that guy got that box? When he’s done with it, do you think I could get that? It’s got some nice handles on it.

So right now, with about half of our non-furniture belongings packed and the other half needing to get that way by tomorrow, let me tell you just where all the boxes are. They are in our dining room. Stacked to the ceiling. I would show you a picture, but I’ve packed my camera. I think. It’s in there somewhere. But trust me, there are boxes there. Boxes galore. And yes, whenever someone mentions they have a box I can borrow, I borrow it. And as a result, some of the boxes have post-it notes secured with names so I can politely return said boxes to their rightful owners. Because trust me, I understand when you will mention to me that you are moving and it will be my turn to ask if you would like a box. We are all about the boxes.

And with that, I decided what could be better than totally non-related pictures of calm to show you just how peaceful it is around here right now. I mean, just show up on the doorstep and we’ll cook you dinner. Except the dining table is in pieces and all our dishes are wrapped in newspaper and packed into boxes. The photos also go along with all the philosophy that goes on while you are packing. Because really, picking things up and placing them in a box requires little thought but leaves you stuck in one place. So there is plenty of time to think. I dread to think the layers of philosophy I could get to if I had a larger house to pack! In the meantime, I am an oasis of calm, waiting for our new keys on Friday morning.

Oh, and I’m off to teach a workshop at Creative Living today. Apologies that I haven’t brought any cupcakes: my baking tins and my mixer appear to be in boxes. Some box, somewhere. Also: the flour.

xlovesx

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22 November 2007

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