I crossed one herculean-feeling task off my list today — I finished reorganizing my stuff in storage, and moving it into a smaller space. I have no fingernails left, my feet are killing me, and my hair is terrifying. I also have the satisfaction of a job well-done. I think that outweighs the rest of it.

A few days back, Pseu posted about her collection of kitchen-fowl, and asked what we collected. My collection of blue and white crockery is my pride and joy. Nearly 30 years’ worth, it accounts for about 50% of my things in storage.

As MamaRubi and I worked our way through box after box marked “kitchen-fragile,” unpacking and rewrapping blue and white dishes and mugs and soup “latrines,”* it was like catching up with old friends. I remember where every single piece came from — which business trip I lugged it home from, which flea market or tag sale I found it at, which friend gave it to me as a gift. I said hello to the Spode cheese wedge** hand-carried from London, the set of five (never four!) chopstick rests from Tokyo, the Izmir plates that decorated my dining room wall.

And then I tucked them into sturdy new boxes and locked them away. When my life is fully my own again, I’ll take them back out of storage, arrange them in my new place, and start finding little bits and pieces to add to the collection. I’m looking forward to it.

*When MamaRubi and The Moustache were married in the late 1970s, they received as a gift a serving dish that was so spectacularly ugly, it seared the retinas. It was immediately christened “the soup latrine” — and such dishes have always been called that, ever since. Even my beautiful antique “Blue Imari” one.

**What? Where do you keep your Stilton? I suppose you don’t have a toast rack, either.