And a sweet one

I'm writing this post in the empty space that used to be my apartment. I'm sitting in the corner where there used to be a TV, using an internet connection from my cellphone because my actual phone and internet service have been moved elsewhere. I spent the last several hours repairing and disassembling furniture for pickup by a line of strangers who found me on Craigslist.

It is Erev Rosh Hashanah, the first night of the two-day holiday that marks the beginning of the new year. A block from here, my congregation has already wrapped up their evening service, a service I had a ticket for, but did not attend. I was here instead.

Symbolically, if not doctrinally, I have almost certainly spent tonight in the spirit of the holiday. Rosh Hashanah is a celebration, but it's also the beginning of the Days of Awe, the ten days when one is meant to clean one's worldly slate in anticipation of cleaning one's spiritual slate on Yom Kippur.

Here I am converting the rooms I lived in for three years from home to... not. Six blocks from here is another set of rooms, one that has over the last week rapidly become a home via a lot of laughter, many houseguests, many cuddles, a whole lot of booze, and Erik Lensherr's sharkface.

But in order to let myself be fully present in that apartment, I have to do this too, clear the way for the next person who will make this set of rooms into a home. I felt mindful of that tonight, which made the evening's activities--taking a part a desk; scrubbing a wall; poking ineffectually at the adhesive my landlords told me I wasn't allowed to put on the wall, feel like part of something bigger. The desk and the bookshelves I passed on tonight are moving off to new places and new people just as I am, and that feels really good.

But? If you happen to know any good ways to remove adhesive velcro from a wall without bringing the paint with it, could you let me know? Marcelino was totally wrong about rubbing alcohol.