The third state

I'm in that other kind of limbo state known to frequent travelers- packing hell. Packing hell occurs during the mid-state of packing, when all the little random items begin appearing and mysteriously multiplying. It's that point in time when you feel like you are spending all of your time packing, and boxes are getting filled- there's a pile to prove it- but you can't tell if you're really making progress. Perpetual packing aka packing hell.

Which is why it's no surprise that the highlight of my week has been falling in love with a new ab machine at the gym and making this delicious healthy treat at home. I've managed to stay away from them for the last 30 minutes, but I am not sure how. Distraction is my only savior.

It's a pleasure to find an easy recipe that I have all the ingredients to. In preparation for Mali, I am trying to remember all the things we made from scratch in Kinshasa. I have no idea how sparse it will be, but I do have a recipe for crackers. Your basic Saltines. That's how bad it's been. Baking is a pleasure though, something I am trying to remember on these gray rainy days. (And happily, there are even people in the house to eat it now, freeing me from that pressure.)

But it's entirely possible that I could be back to making tofu and soy milk straight from the soybeans, or souring my own yogurt on a weekly basis. I am not really sure what to do about the rumor that I won't find tahini there- we are all pretty addicted to yogurt-tahini salad dressing. And tuna mix. And carrot dip. And even straight spoonfuls. Mbalia favors it as an all over body lotion.

Luckily, the Minimalist Baker has me covered on that front as well, though I'd need to invest in a food processor. I am looking forward to a real kitchen to bake in. Inspiration is so much easier to find when you have a counter.

For now, though, we are all here trying to weather these cool, gray days. In France, I remember feeling shocked at how late the sun set. It really was 10:00 at night before the skies began to darken. While the first day was disorienting, soon enough it felt like a gift.  I was a little kid with permission to stay up all night. There was so much to see and do and suddenly, a billion extra hours to do it in. I could use a few of those hours now.

Back in Abidjan, the sun faithfully sets every day at 6:30. By 10 o'clock, the night feels hours old and morning seems just around the corner. I'm trying to be the minimalist packer, but I know that it will be comforting to have our familiar things. Luckily, we are able to ship by land this time. I still have nightmares about the move here. I can't believe how much we brought by plane.

I will be happy not to be writing about furniture dreams or which clothes wash best by hand. I am excited by the prospect of travel, and newness and learning. There is nothing like a good adventure for inspiration.

Six years in a box

The packing process inevitably begins with one of two self delusions. "It won't take that long," is the first hurdle one must cross. It could be the biggest hurdle because it is the one that leads to delay. Procrastination is one of my high arts. I have spent years justifying it in 2 ways. The first is based on a grand theory I have that mental work counts and so while I may appear to be putting off whatever task I am charged with, I am actually preparing mentally- which I believe is an essential part of the process, perhaps the hardest part and, once conquered, will lead to speedy and efficient action. Yeah.

The second is due to a college professor I had during my undergrad studies. He uttered some (deadly?) words of wisdom about my progress on my final art presentation that was a required part of graduation. I had worked and reworked and thrown out so many beginnings and parts of paintings......until the big date was just a week away. In the end I was able to produce 5 quality paintings as part of a series, with a bona vide theme and an artist's statement that made me sound like I'd been working on it for the whole semester. And I had, of course, mentally.  My professor was so impressed with my work he gave me an A+  - as much for the finished product as for the pain and confusion he knew all too well I had muddled through to come out on top. "Procrastination is a form of perfection," he'd said. "I've been there too. It is a process of delaying and thinking and working out how to get it just right. Until the last moment when it all just comes together." He'd given credit to my wayward approach and validated a habit that may or may not be to my benefit. It's become a way of working and as long as it's successful.....why fight my natural rhythms?

So, despite promising to use spring break and a variety of long weekends throughout the year to get a head start on my packing, I am here with days to go and a house full. The second grand delusion I am currently working through is, "We don't have that much stuff."  It's easy to look at a clean, neat house and think there isn't much hidden behind the doors, in the cupboards and the drawers. It's easy to think you have mastered the material demon and conquered attachment to earthly items. Until you have to think about leaving them behind forever. Added to this is the fact that we are not making a "stock up" trip to the US. In fact, a trip to the US seems like a far off uncertainty. What may have once been considered easy-to-replace has now become we-might-really-need-that.  Never mind the that-might-come-in-handy urge. That temptation needs to be silenced. No air play at all. That voice must be replaced with a series of no nonsense questions: Are you really gonna miss that? When is that last time you used that? How much does it weigh? And finally, compared to (insert much more useful, treasured item here) which do you really need?

Still, tough decisions have to be made. We are limited by the number of containers and suitcases we actually have on hand and by the cost of extra baggage. Books are heavy. Drums are heavier. Paintings are oddly shaped.  We can't take everything. With each day closer to our deadline, my resolve lightens. I become more and more un-attached. As I sit in the midst of my mess, I keep seeing Christian with his two bags. It's a good reality check.  He left his entire life behind, all his dance contacts, his music connections, his apartment and everything inside it. He packed up all his clothes, a few mementos and some necessary papers into 2 bags and set off for a brand new country. I have 12 containers at my disposal. Surely I can do this.

I am reminded that we are three people- though honestly, it's not the boys who have so much stuff. When I stop to consider, I realize I am not quite sure what is even in all these boxes. Little items to make our new home cozy. A bunch of clothes I can't actually wear right now. Blankets and towels. But really, what does packing up our entire life look like?

It's taken me months to accept that my paintings will have to be
removed from their frames. Aicha came over to help and lend
moral support. I'm fearful they'll never get restretched and remain
in a roll in the back of a closet somewhere.

A few paintings are on unconventional materials and can't be
removed from their frames. These get the ultimate in packing
treatment- wrapped in Vlisco fabric, gracious gift from a parent

Piles of books we hope to take

Piles of books we won't be taking

More piles....piles everywhere

Except it really looks like this because I am packing in the dark
3 weeks and several work order requests to have the light repaired =
a semi-romantic, candlelit packing experience

Half empty closets and more little piles

Bags of old shoes and clothes for my street kids- who have
managed to disappear these past two days. Nowhere to be found.
Were I cruising the boulevard with empty pockets, however,
I know they would surround me by the dozens. 

This egg holder makes the to-go pile for a variety of reasons 

A sculpture- luckily lighter than it appears- in the stubborn
must go pile (Ivory Coast flag added by me for moral support.
It will make a box, board the plane and liven up our space in Abidjan.)