A note to my few but highly esteemed readers. This entry marks the first of a handful of entries engaging in a practice I call back-blogging, which is to say I wrote them a couple of weeks ago and I'm just posting them now. Generally I'm opposed to the process, however, as you will shortly see, the last couple of months I've been going through a substantial business transaction, which is the sort of thing I feel it is unwise to provide live public commentary on. Also, because Murphy's law spares no one, my aged laptop took this opportunity to truly die, making blogging a bit more difficult anyway. (So long and thanks for all the bits, old friend.)
So we're moving. (Moved, actually, at least by the time you read this.) Not far, mind you. 3.4 miles to be exact. We love our town, but have been looking for a new dwelling within it for some time now. Something a little more central, something a little older, something with more cupboards in the kitchen.
We found it. And I love it. I love the wood floors and my little blue bedroom upstairs and the turn of the bannister. I like that it has some cracks and dents. I love that one room has wallpaper covered in trout. I would never in a million years pick wallpaper covered in trout and fishing flies, but somehow, it works for me in a bemusing sort of way. Mostly I love the way it feels, if you can dig that. And I can't wait to put pumpkins on the front porch and flowers in the window box.
Funny thing is, regardless of whether you're moving 3 miles or 300, you still have to box up all your stuff. And no matter how many times I yell Prestidigitonium! none of my crap shrinks and packs itself into neatly into a waiting carpet bag. Damn. It'd probably be too heavy to carry anyway. So we're scrounging for for boxes and going through packing tape like nobody's business.
Bleary-eyed, I looked up at my husband yesterday from a box I had just sealed and labeled. "The movers are going to think we're insane." The box in front of me said "Craft Room: Tutus, Gargoles, Books." He was trying to cram all of our swords into a ginormous shipping tube. "We can't be the weirdest thing they've seen."