Drawer Space

Every newly married couple faces the challenge of combining two lives into one. This summer when Mark and I attended the Precana weekend (the Catholic way of preparing for marriage...an intense weekend retreat with 14 other couples), where to live was a hot topic for everyone. One couple in their late 60s (first marriage for both) had just bought a condo; they advised us to get condo hunting quick. Another couple was moving into the groom's place since he owned and the bride rented. "He said he didn't mind me moving his stuff out of the way..." she said skeptically.

At that time, Mark and I had yet to decide where we would live. I couldn't imagine him living in a tiny overpriced two-bedroom condo, or renting my apartment. I couldn't imagine him living on land at all. But could I imagine myself living on water?

And as the opportunity was presenting itself, could I turn away?

Mazurka is a nice sized trawler: 38 feet long, a forward cabin with a v-berth, aft cabin with a double bed, two bathrooms (one with a shower), and a salon with a kitchen and a table. It is also a bachelor's trawler: the dorm-sized refrigerator is filled with salami, cheese, and steak; the front closet is stuffed with winter coats and fishing gear. Open any drawer and you'll find it overflowing with electrical connectors, wire splicers, flat-head screwdrivers and wrenches (one of our best wedding gifts, in fact, is a Snap-on adjustable wrench with our names and date engraved on the handle).

So now we get down to it. The generator working (sort of), I am faced with moving on board. Not just a backpack, not just for the weekend. We've come to the precipice, the end of long, hot baths and chairs with ottomans. I've been up front about my trepidation, while trying to keep an adventurous spirit. But now my books and desk are bound for storage, and I have to decide which cooking spices I absolutely can't live without. Half my clothes are going to Good Will, the other half into boxes until the seasons change. Plants go to work, furniture to anyone who can haul it away.

I am trying to think of the spiritual value of living a life of very few belongings. 'Cause in about a week, my life's satchel is going to be reduced to nine narrow drawers, a foot-wide closet, and a bathroom big enough to stand in.