Attachment

My mind has been performing feats of mental gymnastics determining what we are going to take to New Zealand and how we will take it.  It's a math of cost to take vs. cost to replace minus hassles plus attachment.  We have so much...so much more than we need.  There are things we can't take because of size or the fact that it's made of wood parts which can't be imported to the island for fear of bugs.  So I take stock of the life we built over 14 years in our adobe mountain chalet.  There. Is. So. Much.  Toys--all of our toys.  Skis, bikes, snowshoes, outdoor toys, indoor toys.  Thousands of lego pieces...literally.  Some of those are here so that we do not go insane during the winter.  You want to ride your scooter in circles around the living room? Go ahead.

Kitchen stuff.  So much.  I taught myself how to cook here.  I never particularly cared about food until I had children and then I cared very much.  We've accumulated kitchen gadgets over time--handheld parmesan cheese grinder, fat separator, nut chopper, knives, two lemon squeezers (one handheld and one counter top), pastry scraper, pastry marble board, two crock pots, several birthday cake molds--firetruck, tractor, Lightening McQueen....  It goes on.  Handy things but not entirely necessary.  It's really a function of time: gifts, hand-me-downs, inheritances.  I decided to just dive in and take photos and put things for sale online via eBay, Craigslist, Facebook.  Then still we'll have a big moving sale.  And I'm sure we'll still have stuff to donate.  STUFF.

So I opened up our fancy cupboard.  This houses a complete set of lead crystal ware, our fancy beer glasses, our pewter chalices from Ireland.  It houses sets of glasses we got at our wedding:  a complete set of delicate champagne flutes and a complete set of margarita glasses.  I remember getting these.  I remembered creating our registry at Pottery Barn.  I remembered the person I was 14 years ago and the life I imagined I would lead.  I don't think I put the margarita glasses on the registry--though I did put a lot of other things.  But someone clearly thought we needed margarita glasses.

Funny thing is that tequila hurts my stomach and I always regret a margarita.  I guess that my native New Mexican heritage is only by place and now can I admit this truth, on my way out.  Back when Mike and I had a two professional income and no children I thought we would have soignée gatherings and go to the effort to make fresh squeezed authentic margaritas.  I appreciated the gift and though it helped make a complete kitchen.  They came with Williams-Sonoma margarita salt that was in a donut shaped tin perfect for the glasses.

I figured we'd have kids at some point but the picture of how that would be never really entered my mind.  I was incapable of understanding how it would change my life.  I reflect on that me, non-mom.  I sat back for a bit and watched that young lady, who had an interesting mix of naive overconfidence and endearing modesty.  Striking out to build a practice, build a life in a beautiful place.  She wanted to ski.  She wanted to mountain bike and trail run.  She wanted to make her little piece of the world a better place by maybe making some patient's life a little less painful and a little more healthy.  She wanted balance, and felt so incredibly lucky to have a job in this beautiful, earthy, organic, diverse, poetic, remote spot.  She had an amazing husband who was really fun and adventurous.  He kept her from being too boring and serious.

Then she wanted kids.  She always knew she wanted them.  She thought she would have them and continue right along with working and everything else.  She really, really had no idea of who she would become when she became mom.  I remembered how in a fit of pregnant anxiety 10 years ago I got rid of an entire collection of our teflon-coated pots and pans (also wedding presents) because it was poisoning my baby.  That pregnant me and new mom me let go of those pots.  And then later, a career, and the facade of control over life.

We do occasionally have friends over.  Usually it's for some child's birthday.  We drink from juice boxes and cans or bottles of beer.  I have never once used the margarita glasses.  Never. Once.  They sit pretty in cabinet of glass and crystal items, on a glass shelf with glass doors.  They reflect light and sparkle.  I have never needed them.  I am letting go of the glasses and many other things in my kitchen.  I thought I would feel sentimental but I don't.  I don't care that I got them for our wedding.  Our wedding, not our marriage.  I don't care that we never had margarita parties.  I feel a liberation in releasing the stuff, yet again.  I am more attached to the box of Halloween costumes my mom and I made for the boys, the leftover birthday party bits of decorations.  I am figuring out how to store the reams of art produced over the years.  Those boxes of paper I am keeping.

I giggle a bit at 29 year-old me.   I'm glad she made the choices she did--to come to Taos, to stop working at times to be with her babies, to learn how to cook.  She met some absolutely amazing people in this quirky town. She sees the real Taos now too--not the image.  The harshness, the dryness, the dirtiness, tenseness, poverty, addiction, and disempowerment.   She helped a few people live a healthier life.  She soaked up the solitude and beauty of this place.  She let go of a lot of ego, a lot of image.  She tries less hard now to be perfect.  She doesn't really care about skiing anymore.  She drinks wine from stemless cups.

I can let go, once again, of the stuff, and try to show my boys that it's not the stuff that makes the home. You can leave it all and start anew.  We will take some of our kitchen with us--a pared down, lean kitchen, since I know exactly what is really useful.  Good, sharp knives, first of all.

And with this one wild and precious life we set off on a new adventure.

Let me know if you want some margarita glasses.