I like to think that I'm not materialistic. I really try not to be. I hate pointless shopping and the status attached to being able to pointlessly shop. But I do attach some importance to my stuff, quite a bit more than I realized before moving to Hungary.
Come to think of it, stuff began haunting me shortly after moving from Bend to Portland. I had frequent panicky dreams about having left a whole lotta stuff behind in the house we sold. In the dream, I traveled back to Bend to salvage as much stuff as I could before the new owners returned to catch me.
I would wake up with the most delicious sense of having barely gotten away with something. Shortly after waking, I'd feel crestfallen that it had all been in my head. I wanted that stuff, especially the stuff I never really had.
Moving from Bend to Portland was a good thing and not just because we minimized our stuff volume. And we really did not get rid of all of the stuff we could have and so, before we moved to Budapest, we had yet another huge yard sale, this time to dump even more of our stuff. This time we got rid of all but ten or so small boxes of stuff, books, mostly, and a few cherished keepsakes.
My prized Calphalon cookware collection was gone as was the dishware Boone and I were given when we got married. The excellent knife collection. Our furniture. My plants. It was really hard to part with those plants.
This stuff does not haunt my dreams. This stuff haunts my reality. I have very brief panic attacks about not having anything, ANYTHING to sleep on, to cook with, upon our immediate return to the States. The idea of replenishing these necessities is only half appealing. The memory of my stuff is heavy on my mind.
The good thing about all of this is realizing just how little stuff we need to get by just fine, if not ecstatically. Our current cookware collection consists of one large, enameled, Russian made stock pot, a smaller enameled sauce pan, a stainless steel sauce pan and a decent, textured skillet. The last two items we lifted from our last place in Csillaghegy. The stock pot and the skillet share a single, wobbly glass lid with a broken handle. I splurged on a glass, rectangular baking pan and a bread pan at IKEA along with a whisk and a ladle. We have two cooking knives...one crappy Romanian tool with a decent handle but shitty blade, and another with an unstable handle but more quality blade. Our plates and utensils belong to our landlord. Cooking in our kitchen, with its elderly gas stove that has no heat control numbers whatsoever, has been described as being "like camping".
Our flat is sparsely furnished. We have a few collectibles to take back and that's it. You get the idea. Not so much stuff.
I do hope this spartan sensibility carries over, to some extent, upon out return. A real bed will feel like a naughty luxury. A desk will feel like a decadent indulgence. Counterspace will get me high. I will shop intelligently and discriminatingly for new cookware and treasure each piece like it was made of gold. A blender will feel outrageous.
I am making a promise to myself to appreciate less stuff. Less is more.
Here is George Carlin's classic bit about people and their stuff:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvgN5gCuLac
