So much for being the Get Up and Go type, the girl who can live just as easily in a tent as under a roof, with a strong foundation beneath her feet. How did I accumulate so much--so much damn stuff, shelves overflowing with books and leaving me no place to hide knitting projects from those horrible kittens. And then there is the closet issue, the clothing, which I've been weeding week by week, but still I ran out of hangers this weekend. The addition of two paradise fish, in particular, sitting in respective bowls in the kitchen, taking up already limited counter space, proves that I am so like my grandmother, and the longer Wolfman and I live in this same house, comfortable-like, the more this home will mirror hers. And I love her home; I love all the hidden treasures in nooks and crannies, love her to-capacity book shelves. But, should we need to get up and go, should that be required of me, can I leave all these things behind? Am I still capable of being a proper nomad?
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