On liminality

Today has been all about the packing. I don’t move until next Saturday but I can’t abide a last minute rush. Mind you, I don’t much like living in chaos either, it’s just hard to avoid when there are boxes everywhere, either flat-packed and waiting expectantly or already hiding their contents out of sight.

Odd how you dismantle a few key things and a home is transformed back into simply being a building. The cottage is currently mid-transformation: the spare room is packed, the sitting room contains the packed boxes. But the kitchen is largely intact and the bathroom hasn’t been touched. The pictures are down from the walls and all the windows are naked, because the curtains have gone for dry-cleaning. To round things off, I ran out of oil this morning so it’s a bit chilly. How’s that for creating the appropriate metaphor in ambience?

So the week will be spent in a kind of limbo, while I technically still live here but only in a makeshift sort of way. I’ll do more packing tomorrow and over the course of the rest of the week, and my plan is that by Friday night (when I go out for dinner), the only remaining objects will the kettle and the last mug. Then there’ll be a bit of hanging around, nowhere to sit and nothing to do. Which is why I have The Woman in White tucked away for emergencies.

Moving day itself will be the usual mix of exciting and exasperating, of course. There’s no way round it being a bloody great hassle for all involved and I expect there to be a lot of swearing. And that’s just from me. But then, when the heavy lifting is over, there’s all the fun of fitting stuff into a new environment and effecting the reverse transformation: building to home.

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I've run out of books. Again.

2 thoughts on “On liminality”

  1. Good luck with your move, Ms M. Moving is seldom fun, but it’s usually rewarding if you’re going somewhere you want to be (I think there might be a metaphor in there, too).

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