blue artichoke

There is a place down the road a bit, toward St. Louis, called Nostalgiaville. The real Nostalgiaville, however, is under my bed.

Yesterday I helped some friends pack up for their move to Montana. For two people, they didn't have a lot of stuff. Gentleman Caller and I have a lot of stuff; probably not as much as most people because of my love of throwing things away, but more than could fit in our cars. If we moved, we'd need one of the bigger trucks. We don't have a lot of stuff for show; most of what we have performs a vital function, but there is still quite a bit of unnecessary clutter. So, I'm going through the house, room by room, pretending like we're moving and getting rid of the stuff I wouldn't want to haul around the country. I started this morning in my office/guest bedroom/Larry's Lair. Under the guest bed are boxes of my stuff. One is full of candles and various sized and shaped votives. Another has dining room accessories, such as placemats, cloth and paper napkins, stored until we have a dining room and/or a dining room table. Another large box holds office supplies. Then there are several smaller boxes full of letters and notes from high school and college, pictures and CDs. Reading through them makes me laugh, but also makes me sad. Lots have inside jokes that I've forgotten, or are from people who are strangers now. I haven't done much paring down so far. Maybe I'll have better luck cleaning out my desk, or my closet.

Dinner last night: spinach-phyllo pie and cucumber salad at a friend's house
Dinner tonight: pulled pork and mango sauce