We have been here 19 months, lived in two houses and are well into our second year at school. Yet my dearest possessions remain in storage in Montreal. When we left Trinidad, having no clue, really, where we were headed, we decided to store the majority of our things and hold the rest in storage until it was time to bring them over. They are still there and I am kicking myself for packing our few boxes so badly. Many times a week I shout “Damn! That is in storage!” while I hunt for a favourite book, cake tin, pie tin, spoon or scarf. I packed enough for a year, thinking that beyond that we would be reunited with all our worldly possessions. It has not quite worked out the way I wanted; the cost of bringing that beloved containerfrom Montreal across the Atlantic, down the Indian and over land to Kampala is very steep. While I cannot rest easy and feel settled or home without my essential objets d’amour, the cost can be perceived to be an extravagance. I think as we grow older our collection tells the tale of our life. I am highly sentimental and being far from places and people I love has placed many of my possessions on a pinnacle. Am I wrong to want the evidence of my life around me?
Saddest of all is that once, if ever, they do arrive, Princess will be too old to play with the toys we have stored. We have robbed her of these last few years of playfulness. She often muses on what she would play if her things were about her. Dolls feature highly, as does a certain Playmobil Castle. She daydreams of sitting on her floor surrounded by tiny plastic treasure. I daydream of books, a lime green sofa, paintings on my wall, photographs. Trooper in her most matter of fact manner, wants for nothing. With a good book and a bed, a laptop and some music she is as content as she should be. Likewise Handsome Husband misses nothing in that 20 ft container.
How different we all are.