The end of the summer

"The summer ends and we wonder where we are
And there you go my friends with your boxes in your car."

I have always liked those lines, from a song by Dar Williams. I have lived near a university since I was 18 and recognize the ritual shifting of the roomates as a seasonal change. They are in the midst of it on our street, so many scrambling to be out by the first and into their new space later the same day. Several people I know are leaving their old situations for new ones and this adds to the sense of progress and expectancy a sense of rootlessness and uncertainty.
I have been viewing the annual angst over "the stuff" with a bit of a twinge this year. Three years ago, I did the same thing, trying to dissociate my identity from my stuff (do you bring the books you haven't read, or the ones you read and loved?). I decided the art would come along before the furniture, that there was no reason to study if I couldn't do it at the beautiful desk rtg made for me, under my great-grandmother's lamp; that She could bring only one box of books (but stuff as many as possible into her suitcase). We fit everything we needed into six feet of truck space; a coup when you consider the quantity of stuff still in our basement waiting to be given away.
All this was on my mind last week when our property tax assessment arrived. The same day, a group of Lord Nelson Victory Tugs arrived in Seattle, including this one. Rtg spent some quality time trying to figure how many years of moorage our equity would buy. Amortization was discussed**.
We're on a 12 year track to giving up everything we own, but what will we take with us? Where will I put art on a boat?

**a side note added later: I countered with the first boat on this page.