Small, black, men's lace-up dress shoes...

...one large hoop earring that has wire strung across it like for a dream catcher, two bicycle seats, a sack with hermit crab food and a small book about hermit crabs, an enormous box full of packets of instant oatmeal, a gray men's t-shirt, a Paul Theroux book, a cassette tape deck for assembly with an amp and speakers but without these things.

When I was nearly 22, I'd returned to college to finish my undergraduate degree.  The only place I could afford was a furnished room on the second floor of a house owned by an elderly woman named Sadie Law.  She rented out three other bedrooms on the same floor to three other women, and the four of us shared a kitchen and bathroom.  My room cost $165 a month.  It had a dresser and a table and chair, and, oddly, beautiful Indian-print curtains in muted purples, maroons, and Delft blue.  (I say "oddly" because Mrs. Law herself favored as decoration little china figurines holding signs with cheery sayings on them like, "Jesus died for your sins" and heavy draperies gray with dust and age.)

My first order of business on moving day was the same as for every moving day of my adult life: to assemble my stereo.  In this case, my new-to-me Heathkit stereo, given to me by friends Martin and Vivien and supplemented with some small speakers from my dad.  I placed the turntable on top of the dresser, attached the speakers and put one on either side on the floor.  Then it was time for music.  That year, I had an enormous record collection because simultaneously, the afore-mentioned Martin and Vivien and my friend, GG Johnston, had left town for a year and put me in charge of their records.  While I unpacked my other worldly possessions, I acquainted myself with their music: the Roches, Keith Jarrett, Phoebe Snow, Joni Mitchell. 

A few short years later, in addition to assembling the stereo first, I added a beer to the moving day ritual. Then I would stay awake until I was entirely unpacked.  Those were the days when my possessions could be unpacked in one long night.  But the music was the main thing.  Listening to music - my music - as I placed my familiar knick-knacks around, and hung my posters, was the thing that pulled me in, that made this new place into my home.