Sylvia's Journal

I don’t live here anymore, I think, while cleaning up the kitchen early Sunday morning, putting things people have left where they last used them, into the places they belong. It is an odd experience being guest in your own house and a little unsettling. What used to be my office, and where I had expected to be making the piles for the shipper to pack up for Kabul, has been made into Tessa’s and Steve’s computer room. I don’t live there anymore.

Our room is the barn with all the space we need; actually it is perfect for making the piles I had in mind. We can take 1000 pounds which is, apparently about 25 boxes of stuff. I couldn’t imagine what I would fill 25 boxes with but now I am sweeping through the bookcases, the stacks of DVDs and the discarded kitchen equipment in the basement and the boxes are filling up. A wok would be nice; we have, for the first time in 20 years a gas stove and can actually use it – a new cook training project for Axel.

With everything that I put on the Kabul pile I ask myself, would I mind if I never saw that back again? It is one way of clearing your house of unnecessary stuff.

Outside the cove is churning with foam covered swells that hit the beach angrily. A warm winter storm is hitting us and melted most of the snow, revealing the dirt and mud of the septic system construction project; this is more familiar than the picture perfect white Christmas landscape that we found on arrival. This is more like Kabul.

We are snug in our camp space with our heating pad below us and the small stove flicking on and off to keep the temperature inside comfortable and even.

We are now midway in our stay here, as much ahead ad behind us and we have to think very judiciously how to use the remaining time well so that when we leave there are no regrets.