As my husband and I pile up our lives and our history for display on the driveway, to be accepted or rejected by strangers – at a dollar a pop – I can’t help but get a little melancholy. I see some trends, there are at least three things that I will never be again.
First, I am pretty sure I will never be a size 8 again. But it’s OK. I was an 8 for many good years and now my body doesn’t want to be an 8 anymore. I like to think that comes with wisdom, comfort and calm and for me that is only available in a size…. never mind!
Second, I am pretty sure I will no longer be a handbag hoarder. Don’t get me wrong – I kept a half dozen that I love. But I think I am done experimenting. The ones I kept suit my needs – I’ve got the hobo/hippy bags, the “dress to impress” purses and my pack sacks – that fit my laptop, a book, a moleskin notepad, and my wallet. I like all these versions of my life, especially the last one.
And thirdly, I know for sure I will never be a vintner. I never really was. I was a vintner’s assistant. Ok, I wasn’t really even an assistant, I was a taster. But as my husband, the vintner, puts out his winemaking supplies for sale, I remember the promise of rich and wonderful, robust and plentiful homemade wine. Well there’s a reason that it’s sometimes called hooch. It’s really hard to make drinkable wine – and our standards aren’t even that high. So we will sell the equipment but keep the many gallons still aging in the basement. I think we will have to have a tasting party – what a fun theme. Taste: Toss or Bottle. And I will no longer be a sampler but a full-time purchaser.
So I say goodbye to these “things” – and wonder what I will be next.