A Pig in a Suitcase

The countdown is ticking loudly and I am not as cool and prepared as I thought I would be.  In fact I am having reactions I would never have expected.  My heart has taken over and my brain is allowing it to happen.  I feel a bit betrayed really by my reasonable, practical self which usually navigates through unknown waters.

We have rescheduled our flight to the 18th to buy ourselves 5 more days.  5 more days to get this construction done, to finalize paperwork and transitions.  A very needed 5 days.  But that 5 days has cost me my sanity somehow.  I have been planning for quite some time exactly what things I need to pack to go with us to the new land.  We took 6 suitcases in October.  2 very stuffed carry-ons (that ended up too big to actually carry on), and 4 giant fifty pound suitcases.  Two were free, the other two cost $25 each.  Perfect.  We put a LOT in those 6 suitcases.  My plan was to take 6 more in December – the rest of our very important ‘stuff’.  We will not be able to take the majority of our belongings until we get our residency which can’t be for at least a year thanks to Mr. Tax Man.  So these last 6 suitcases were to be it for a while.

So back to the tale of the extra 5 days.  We rescheduled our flight – but in doing so we had to switch airlines.  After paying the change fees, the cancellation fees, the who-knows-what fees, we had a new flight scheduled for the 18th.  But in reading the small print of this new airline I realized we cannot take a second bag each, and our first bag can only be 40 pounds.  So we have gone from taking 200 pounds to now only being able to take 80.  Now I have been lecturing/nagging Grant for 2 years that we really don’t need to take much stuff with us – we can buy what we need there.  It will be fun to get new stuff.  To pretend we’re newlyweds again setting up a new home.  But somehow when I was robbed of 120 pounds of my stuff, I seriously freaked out.  I am not kidding when I say that the stuff I was planning to take was really the weirdest combination of stuff ever.  It was not valuable stuff – it was just things I had decided I desperately needed to be okay.  Like 2 short lawn chairs that I may have used twice in my life but that would be great on the beach when we need a picnic.  The green vase that I hardly every use but it would look great in the kitchen.  This very large metal yard pig I had purchased in Vancouver – I absolutely NEEDED that pig in my tiny new yard.  Some totally average candles.  A bunch of shampoo because I can’t read labels in Spanish – and what if I don’t know how to Wash, Rinse, Repeat in Mexico?  The list went on – stuff that I barely use here, that I have never been attached to but that seemed extremely important to my new happiness.  What on earth is wrong with the sensible, practical, not attached to my crap person that I have always been?

Last night some of my dearest friends showed up with Chinese Food and Guacamole and memories to share.  We laughed and reminisced and talked about the sadness of saying goodbye.  We joked about my new suitcase crisis and Grant rolled his eyes at my angst.  But when they left I realized that it is just really hard to let go of those you love.  I don’t want to do it.  To make it hurt a bit less I have been gathering silly possessions around me that I thought would help me feel comfortable in a crazy time of transition.  If I could imagine the perfect sunset picnic with Grant on the yellow lawn chairs, if I could fill an unfamiliar house with pretty flowers in that green vase, if I could see my smiling metal pig when I sat in the yard with my morning coffee maybe I would be okay.   But now I have to let go of that strategy.  My 80 pounds will be taken up with a few months’ supply of vitamins, the last of my summer clothes, some winter clothes for when I travel up north for work in January. Practical stuff.

Pig in a suitcase

Gonna be tight!

There will be little room left for silly sentimental crutches.  And I’ll be okay.  My security has never been in what I own but in the God who has me in His hand.

But don’t be surprised if Mr. Pig somehow makes the cut – I haven’t fully given up!

3 thoughts on “A Pig in a Suitcase

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