Monday, August 30, 2010

Random musings.

As usual these days, I'm not quite sure what to blog about and have nothing terribly exciting to report. So I've gone through my phone (again) and taken some photos to blog about.


The husbeast, Son of Gadget, has always been very into rheostats (the brightness controls for lights), switches, and other gadgetry. Living in rentals, we never spent much money on anything like that because the only thing more ridiculous than fooling around with the switches in the first place was going back and fooling some more before we moved. So we've had a long series of cheap things purchased, installed, and left behind.

Well. Living in a house we OWN has gone entirely to the husbeast's head. Last week he went out and spent a positively horrifying amount (for anyone less than a gadget head) at the hardware store. I could knit a really nice sweater for what he spent. I've knit really nice sweaters for HALF what he spent. But when he was done, we had things like this all through the kitchen/dining room where we spend the bulk of our time:

On the right is what I call a 'gimp switch'. It's a simple rocker switch, much like a regular light switch, but about an inch wide. MUCH easier to hit as you go past, or with an elbow, or a knuckle on days my hand is really funky.

On the left is the controller for the fan/light over our dining room table. I fear the husbeast went 'round the bend. The gray buttons are high, medium, low, and off for the fan. The round green button is for the light; a simple tap for on or off, hold it down to dim or brighten. At the bottom is a master on/off switch.

He was terribly pleased with himself over this project, and I've gotta say, it is pretty nice. You should see what he did to the back porch lights; we could probably outfit a space shuttle with the stuff we've got in this wall. He's got plans to work his way through the house, room by room, doing this. He's insane. He married me. Go figure.


The Goober's beanbag chair exploded rather hilariously one morning a couple weeks ago, so we went and bought a new one. Nothing very newsworthy about it, but she was sitting in the back seat of my Jeep, patting it and talking to it, and it was cute, so I took a picture.


The Goob is also working on The Art of the Pout:

When she does this, I grab her bottom lip, wiggle it, and yell "WOOBIE WOOBIE!" Then she complains that I'm ruining her bad mood. Yup. That's my job.


There is a family legend about my father-in-law when he was a child. He would put his chair on his head, turn it, and then it would get stuck. After the first time this happened, his mother would stand and laugh at him for a while before taking the chair off his head. So, when the Goober did this on the back porch one afternoon:

I shouted "WAIT!" and ran for the camera. I sent it to my father-in-law's phone with the message "DNA frightens me". I'm told he shrieked with laughter when he saw it.


And Sekhmet is still a cat. She's really enjoying the front door.

Heard her growl at a dog the other day. Good kitty.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Maybe I'm still annoyed.

Dear P & W BMW:

Today at around four PM, I got behind one of your fleet vehicles - #13 it said on the back window - poking its way up ____ in ____. It was going about ten miles an hour under the speed limit, in the left lane. The left turn signal was on for about ten miles, with no turn that happened, that I ever saw. The driver was on the phone. When I tooted the horn in the hope the driver would start paying more attention, I got a waved hand and nothing changed. The waved hand may or may not have included a raised middle finger; I honestly couldn't tell.

I can think of two scenarios here:

1. That was one of your sales people, who needs to understand THE NAME OF YOUR BUSINESS IS ALL OVER YOUR CARS and he is essentially driving a mobile billboard for your business, or

2. That was some sort of loaner car for your service department, in which case YOU need to understand it is a mobile billboard for your business, you have no control over their driving, and it would be wise to remove said advertising from it ASAP.

Either way, in this lousy economy, I can't really understand why a luxury car dealership would be so incredibly stupid as to offend potential customers with every mile driven. I know that I, personally, would never do business with you. Life is too short to give my money to people stupid enough to do this, let alone trust them to fix my vehicle.

With annoyance and disgust,
Julie _____, thankful to drive a Jeep and not have to deal with you people

Then I pushed "send". The husbeast's comment, "Don't hold back, now."

Grrrrrrrr rawr.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010


After ANOTHER two days of phone tag, I think I've got the Goober's school situation ironed out. She's got to do all kinds of cognitive testing, and assuming she passes (ha), she'll start school late in the middle of September.

Of course if they'd had a coherent answer for me last Wednesday when I first called, that would have sped up the process. Did you know I was supposed to have an information packet? Yes. Finally got that today. I must have made quite an impression on the phone, because people were visibly recoiling and/or hiding from me when I popped over to the administration building to pick up the pile of semi-useless paperwork. The admin building is 3/4 of a mile from our house. Very handy for harassment purposes. The advantage of small towns. (Though I betcha Doctor Shithead is cursing it.)

They had a list of three shrinks suggested for these tests. One had a phone disconnected. One was out of the office for four to six weeks for health reasons. One was on vacation.

That's what I've been dealing with.

Otherwise, not a whole lot. I've been stressing. Not terribly exciting to report. Though apparently the rants over on Twitter were amusing. There was discussion earlier today about me showing up to the next school board meeting dressed as Boudica. Though I think my wild-eyed, lavender-haired, Jeep-tee-shirt-wearing entrance today made quite the impression. Looks like I'm gonna be That Mom. Not sure I'd doubted it, but it's locked in, now.


Remember, oh, a week and a little ago, when I said it was a shame we couldn't get Vans with steel toes to wear as safety shoes? Yuh huh. Today the husbeast bought a pair of leather Chuck Taylor tennis shoes. With steel toes. He was cackling with glee on the way home.


The Goober cried for two hours yesterday when I told her she might not go to school this year.


Now that my kitchen is set up, I'm trying to motivate to cook. But the only thing I feel like cooking is cake, and I'm on a cake moratorium until I lose the four pounds I gained during this move. By, um, eating cake for breakfast. The doc brought up my weight gain at our last appointment. I said yes, I'd been trying to lose weight. He offered a nutritional consult. I said "Well, I'll start with not eating cake for breakfast, and we'll see how that goes." I got That Look. You know, the look doctors give you when you're fucking up.


I'm babbling. It's been an insane last week.


The Goober has spent so much time running through the sprinkler that the grass in that part of the back yard is growing about twice as fast as the rest. (I do not normally water the lawn. I'll skip the 'intelligent use of resources' rant.) The Goob's figured out how to aim the sprinkler and nailed me in the side of the head with a blast of water last weekend. At the time I howled, but looking back? Bwah. That's my ornery kid.

And this seems like a fine place to stop babbling.

Woo sah. Perhaps something coherent tomorrow. I've got a book review I've been wanting to post, and WE ARE GOING TO THE COUNTY FAIR! There's a figure-eight demolition derby tomorrow night. The Goob will plotz.

PS: Have painted my toenails.

That helped the stress some.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

First the Navy. Now this.

I knew it was too good to be true. The husbeast retired from the military and there was this sudden dearth of bureaucratic nonsense. I reveled. I wallowed. I enjoyed. And it's a damn good thing, because I'm back to hoop jumping and stupidity. This time, instead of Colonel Whosit, I'm faced with Doctor Whatsit, something (shrink? administrator? HMFIC*?) for the local school district.

But wait, first, the back story, so this makes more sense and I don't look dumbassed.

Back in June, when we made the offer on the house, I called the local school district about enrolling the Goober for kindergarten. I was blown off. They told me that there's a list of forms and documents needed on the web site (there is), but no one wanted to talk to me, see me, or discuss until I had the school tax form thingie (hereafter the STFT) in hand. The STFT makes me exist, essentially.

Right then. Gathered up all the needed documents. Didn't have the Goober's immunization records. After a great deal of sleight-of-hand, two months later, I think I've got those out of the Air Force medical facility in Charleston. Forget missile launch codes. Try to get medical files out of those sons of bitches. It's unreal.

Anyway. I waited for the STFT. And waited. Called the county. Waited. This week, we got our STFT. It is dated August 16. (Keep that in mind; I'd have done this back in freakin' JUNE, if I could.) It took about twenty-four hours to get someone on the phone at the school, and then, finally, they were willing to talk. With all documentation in hand, they can pretty much enroll the Goob on the spot, so I said I'd be up Monday afternoon to enroll her, after her physical Monday morning. School starts August 29, so in my world, we're cutting it pretty close.

Then I dropped the anvil into the precision works: The Goober is five days short of the cutoff date for age. (Child has to be five by September first. The Goober turns five on September sixth.) I was - stupidly, in retrospect - expecting an "oh, swing by and meet the school shrink, let them talk to your kid, sign a waiver" sort of thing. That's how it worked when I was in school, in another state, lo these many millenia ago. I mean, come on. Five fuckin' days?

Oh, no. Gee. Huh. That's a problem. I need to call Doctor Whatsit at the administration building. I call him. Oh, gee. Huh. That's a problem. Normally early admission paperwork is due in FUCKING JANUARY, but since we just moved... huh. Hm. He'd call me back.

He called back. The Goober - WHO THEY HAVE NEVER MET, WHO IS FIVE FUCKING DAYS SHORT - needs a formal psychological evaluation for IQ, social skills, and behavioral problems. Then the stuff needs to be signed off on by the freaking SCHOOL BOARD.

Okay. So where do I go for the evaluation?


So, I've spent the last two days on the phone with half the shrinks in western Pennsylvania, trying to find one who does an early school admission exam or whatever in fuck it's called. No one does them. The freaking CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL doesn't do them. What in the HELL?

Called back to the school, informed them in Polite Yet Strong Language that while I'm willing to cooperate, I can't unless they can find me someone to cooperate WITH. After ten minutes on hold, they came back with the name of one shrink they know of who does these exams.

She isn't answering her phone. I'm going by her office, in person, Monday morning.

So. That's why I haven't been blogging. I've been on the phone, waiting for a phone call, looking up phone numbers, or having myself a swoon on the back porch. To say I have brain melt is a vast understatement. I'm taking the weekend off and starting fresh Monday.

At which point my brain will melt again.

*Head Mother-Fucker In Charge; it's a military rank. Really. Just ask them.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Day off.

Not of blogging, but unpacking. I'm trying very hard to get back in the groove of daily blog posts, so here's today. But the rest? Screwt. Spent the day playing Plants Vs. Zombies, then went shopping with the Goob once the husbeast got home from work. So, here's a jumble of stuff as I think of it.


The Zombie Knitting project is nearly done. I need to do a beaded cast-off (okay, no, I need to figure out how to do a beaded cast-off, then string some beads, then...) and then I'll take photos of it. No. I'll block it, then take photos.

This is a neck scarf sort of thing, using two Crazy Zauberballs. It's a prototype for the first of my "every little bit" patterns, that are meant to, well, use every bit of yarn. They're inspired by hand-spun yarns, but really, who wants to waste yarn, regardless of manufacture?

This particular pattern is also gauge-less and swatch-less, meaning you can just start knitting. I hope to do more of those, as well. Obviously you're somewhat limited when doing that sort of thing, but within those limitations, you can do some really cool stuff. Hopefully people will think this one is cool.

Also, this is basic enough I'll be offering it for free. And since it's free, I'll just post it and let whoever feels like it test-knit and correct from there.


Haven't touched my spinning wheel in months. I'm feeling it, too; my hand strength is in the toilet. Hopefully that'll get going, soon. I've got a wild and crazy Corriedale batt purchased on Mother's Day that will hopefully get me in the groove. I desperately need to get back to the Steampunk yarn.


Um. Haven't been reading much in the way of research. Mostly I've been unpacking novels, so I've been flipping through them, reading Good Bits (hot sex scenes or hilarious sarcastic dialogue, seems to be one or the other) and either tossing the books (HORRORS!) or shelving. I've read some really cool books on wood-working and home building, and am slooooowly working through an amazing book on wool prep and spinning at bed time, so I really need to do some book reviews and what I think of as 'information posts'.


I'm running dry. I've got a lovely ending to my day, sitting on the back porch on my futon swing (it unfolds into a swinging bed, so cool). There's still a faint pink glow in the west from the sun set, and there are tree frogs chirping like crazy. (There's a small creek about half a mile from the house.) A train went through a while back, just close enough to be heard, but far enough away that the noise is atmospheric and not annoying. We're far enough out in the country that the air smells green; they've been haying across the valley from us.

If I can't be in Hawaii, rural eastern woodlands is the next best thing. Aaaah.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

And then...

Blogging of more stupid crap, simply because I've got nothing else to say, and I've gotta get this crap done.

After a night of little sleep (I'm sure yesterday's caffeine binge had NOTHING to do with it), I've finally surfaced in a semi-lucid state. Have given up on the living room for now (long story, may explain below), and am back in my work room for the day. I'm falling back on an old trick I learned from my mother, when feeling overwhelmed by a cleaning job: pick one spot, work at that until it is DONE, then work outward from there. So. Today's smaller project, the table that I will eventually use as Dye Central once things are organized.

As always, it is amazing how much easier it is to put things away once I move all the crap from in front of the shelves. Also, how is it I have two sewing machines?

Husbeast has put reds in with the other clothes again. You'd think he had learned after the Pink Underwear Incident. Apparently not.

Cautiously stirred a laundry basket to see what surfaced. Found my backup girl knife and a buck fifty-three in change.

Took a better look at my trashed loom while moving it. I think I can fix it, once I'm done being infuriated about it. In, you know, another year or two.

Holy fuck. There's a table under all this stuff!

Husbeast has been stashing ice cream in my office fridge/freezer. Hmmm.

And then, BOOKS.

More weeding-out of books I want to re-read. Some of these paperbacks I haven't seen in six years and it's like a visit from old friends. But it sure slows down the unpacking.

You know, unpacking goes a lot faster when I'm not hauling each load of books down a flight of stairs.

Child is throwing her stuffed animals down the stairs for fun. Have decided not to worry until she tries it with Sekhmet.

One more box of books unpacked. Woohoo!

Afraid to open the last box on the table. It is labeled "computer things". Given the track record of these movers and the way the rest of my office seems to have been packed, the gods only know what is in here. Okay. Cover me. I'm going in.

Box is initialed by the same person who trashed my loom. Oh, there's a fuzzy feeling.

The box is full of - big, BIG shock - books. Mostly refrence that was NEAR my desk, but how in hell is that 'computer stuff'? Sure, she shoved some CDs down between the books... oh, bugger it. The packer was obviously a moron.

Sekhmet has appeared from somewhere to swear at me for messing with her space. Ha.

Who in fuck packs books UPSIDE DOWN?

Hey, I'd been looking for that pencil.

Once in a while, I really miss the ability to get stinking, fucked-up drunk. Like, oh, now. (With all the medication I'm on, a bender makes me violently sick AND pushes me a bit closer to liver disease. Around here, washing down pills with alcohol of any kind is known as "pulling an Elvis".)

Sekhmet just came in, stunk up the entire room, sneered at me, and walked back out. Fucker.

Running out of steam. I DID find the top of the table... and am doing laundry. Thinking I'll shelve these books and call it a day. Or at least take an extended break.

Goober just threw her stuffed animals over the stair railing and yelled "WHEE! IT'S RAINING STUFFIES!" Imagining what the first four years would have been like in a house with stairs. Eeek.

Shelving all the conspiracy theories behind the door.

All rightie. Books put away. Still a pile of discs here, but until the computer's running that's not a biggie. Gonna call today a win and have a sit-down.

Monday, August 16, 2010

The living room.

Today's task.

Someone mistakenly put two boxes of books in the living room, and they actually belong downstairs in my office. So today's self-bribery: One load of books hauled down and put away, one level of Bejeweled played on the computer. We'll see how that goes. (Self-bribery is the only way I get ANYTHING done, and I've got to find an alternative to cake.) I originally thought it was ONE box of books and was rejoicing Saturday when I finished it up. Then I started opening the boxes left to see what else I had to deal with, and, fuck, there was another box of books.

Stray boxes of books. Yeah, that's so rare when we move.

Oh, and I have a migraine today. I've recently figured out that caffeine triggers them (shock!) and so I've been limiting my intake. So lately, getting a migraine is good news. It means ALL THE TEA I CAN DRINK! Hey, if I've got a migraine anyway, why not?

Just found a $40 pair of gloves. Not the $40 pair I bought last winter; ones I thought were lost. Apparently they were lost in a moving box. Now I've got two pairs of expensive gloves. Yay? Well, my hands will be really warm next winter. Though even after I lose one pair, I'll never be sure if they're Truly Lost or just hiding somewhere. Again.

Need more caffeine.

Making a separate stack of books I want to re-read. Oh, this won't take long at all.

Husbeast and Goober arguing over TV. About to ground both of them.

Box emptied. Still a pile of books upstairs that I want to read again. Well, it about half worked.

Looking at the lair, I keep thinking if everyone would just leave me the hell alone for a week, I could knock it into shape. Haven't they done studies showing that constant interruption is hell on productivity? I've got a potential case study, RIGHT HERE.

Found an 18"x12"x12" box entirely full of loose photographs. No idea where in hell it came from. I know the people in the pictures, though, so I guess it wasn't a mixup.

Husbeast talking about putting a mirror on the ceiling of the guest room.

Now making tea by the pot.

Need to knit a tea cosy. And a mixer cosy. And...

Pot of tea made. Drinking while contemplating the weirdness of the universe.

Pile of floppy discs thrown out. Feeling old, and/or geeky. Pretty sure both.

It's faintly possible, barely, that I've had too much caffeine.

Trying to find the energy to shelve some stuff in my office. Doing it will require hauling a ladder or step-stool inside from the garage. Hence the distinct lack of motivation. Maybe I'll have more tea.

Self-bribery works better when I'm bribing myself with cake. Which probably doesn't surprise anyone, but I'm throwing the info on out there, anyway.

Whining child is whining.

Thinking about baking bread. Can you say 'avoidance'? Hey. I could bake a CAKE, couldn't I?

Husbeast started a load of laundry and went to work. Contemplating homicide.

Did I mention the husbeast is on nights? Meaning our schedules are all fucked up. Meaning, oh yeah, NOTHING IS GETTING DONE!

Fuck it. Going out on back porch with kid, to play for a while.

Wait. Husbeast is folding the laundry. Canceling mulch plans.


Friend helpfully sent me a link to the Vogue Knitting fall preview. Ha ha. I'm surrounded by smart-asses. (Do not ask me if I'm looking in a mirror, thank you.)

Child humming the theme from Rawhide, or a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Not sure which.

Now have theme from Rawhide stuck in my head. Damn. It.

Screw it. Day declared a wash. Gonna go read some of those books and have another go at the living room tomorrow.

How's that for an exciting blog post?

Still want cake.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

More pictures.

So, I'm hilarious? Hee. Okay. How about a random sampling of photos off my phone? With the accompanying stream-of-consciousness commentary. And be warned: The live-blogging of insanity will continue. Right. On to the phone!


One of our first and favorite additions to anywhere we live is kitchen lighting. We've done many wild things over the years, including installing huge daylight fluorescent bulbs in our last place in Charleston. With the skylight in our new kitchen (still freaking love it), daytime lighting is not a problem. But night, not so much. So the husbeast put in little LED lights under the cupboards, so we can wander through at 3AM for a drink and not go blind with the overhead lights. The best part with these new LED white lights is how little power they use; we can leave them on all the time and barely notice it on the power bill. Plus, the LEDs don't get hot.


Remember yesterday's mention of safety shoes? Instead of my pink with skulls, the husbeast goes for the more traditional checkerboard Vans.

It's a shame we can't get Vans with steel toes.


Last month we did a tour of the husbeast's work place and I finally got to see what he inspects. He works on turbines. These are the innards of one. Imagine high-tech water wheel, used with steam, petrochemical, and, well, anything imaginable.

I thought they'd look more like the blades of a fan or a boat propeller. Silly me.


Favoritest thing EVAR. Those LEDs I was talking about? The low power draw means you can run them forever off a small battery. Which means ALL KINDS OF FUN STUFF! This is a little gizzy that screws onto the end of the water spigot in my kitchen. When you turn the water on, the LEDs sense the water, turn on, and the light stream turns the color of the light. Blue for cold water, red for hot. In the middle of the night, it's like having a swig of alien mouthwash. When the Goob spotted it, she said in an awed voice, "That is SOOOOooo cool."

Got it from the wondrous people at Think Geek. I'm gonna e-mail them and ask for a USB glue gun. They'd be the folks to make one.


A while back, Grandpa stopped on his way through to the east coast. The in-laws are really enjoying the guest room. (So am I; I sleep in there when the hub's snoring badly.)


It rained the other day, so the Goob went out and jumped in the rain.


The Goober has also discovered my old motorcycle helmet. She feels particularly clever when she puts it on herself. Watching her reach in the helmet and pull her hair out of the way cracks me up. Sooooo funny.


And, some views of rural PA.

Tomorrow I'm really serious about finding the living room floor. Look out, I might blog it again.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Live-blogging the madness.

Still alive. Trying to organize my work space today, and you guys seem to think I'm hilarious no matter what I'm writing about, so we'll see how this goes. Let me know if you think this is a really bad idea in the comments. You know, if you think it's a really bad idea.


Have set up my net book on a box, behind a sewing machine (am reaching over sewing machine to type while standing) in the lair. Beside me is the loom I found last week in a box labeled "yarn spinner". All the heddles are ripped off, a pawl is missing, and I get pissed off every time I look at it.

Goober has informed me the room is "Dirty and stuff". Thanks, kid. No shit. Glad you're here to tell me these things.

Working at clearing off work bench so I can build a ribbon rack at the back of it, then re-clutter it up again. Right. On that.

Now I remember what I wanted the hook for at the hardware store earlier today. Did I buy it then? No. Because I couldn't remember what I wanted it for. (To hang knitting bags on. Putting it here so maybe next time I WILL DAMN WELL REMEMBER.)

Hey, all you people I've owed boxes to for the last year? I just found them. Beating my head on a wall for a while...

Meanwhile, Julie, thinking of herself in the third person, contemplates getting seriously drunk.

Gee, I bet I could put stuff away on that shelf IF THERE WASN'T ALL KINDS OF SHIT PILED IN FRONT OF IT.

Surface of work bench located. Right. Finding pencil and tape measure.


And then there was a noise. Sounded like someone drilling through the wall. Oh. Wait. IT IS THE HUSBEAST DRILLING THROUGH THE WALL.

Still looking for pencil and tape measure. The stuff I don't need yet for this project is, of course, right in front of me.

Child begging for food. Would tell her to have cat food, but she'd actually eat it. DRAMA. WE HAZ IT.


Eyeballing some measurements. Yes, indeed. That always ends well. Learned that from knitting.

Now off to find out if the husbeast has located the miter box yet. And argue with him over power tools and spade bits and these HIGHLY ACCURATE measurements.

Child's life threatened for playing with light switches.

More drilling through the wall. The fun never ends.


Husbeast is laughing at my choice of safety footwear: Pink Vans with skulls on them. He, Mr. Drill-Through-The-Wall, is barefoot. The term 'idiot' is not used by either party. Though it very well should be.

Miter box completely worthless. Used the saw without. Sawdust everywhere, including inside the toolbox I dumbassedly forgot to close before sawing. Length of board, perfect. I'm gonna cling to that. Next, the power tools. Specifically, a cordless drill. It seems I have my own.

Husbeast through cleaning the garage; that sounds like a fine time to go out there and drill some more holes.

Large holes drilled. Bolt holes and guide holes drilled next.

Broke a nail. A fingernail. FUCK.

Bent a drill bit. Husbeast grudgingly impressed.

Eyeballed measurement NOT EXACT. I am shocked. SHOCKED.

Hammer has fixed above problem.

Husbeast helping. First thing heard: sound of splintering wood, followed by "oops". FUCK.

Silence from that end of the work shop. This is a fine time for me to do another load of mildewed laundry from the clothes that were in storage.


Shouting at child. In unison. Ah, togetherness. The romance never dies. (Above profanities were not shouted at child. They were just shouted.)

"Do you have a lot of these wood screws?"

Still mildew on bathrobe. Overwhelming urge to drive to Charleston and slap the shit out of people.

"If you got rid of all these books, you'd have room for all kinds of stuff." And yet, I let him live. A fine example of my generosity of spirit.

Houston, we have Shop Vac.

"Are you making a blog post out of this whole thing?" "Yes." "You fucker. Make sure to tell them I got your butt with the Shop Vac." My butt was gotten with the Shop Vac.

Husbeast now scaring Sekhmet with said Shop Vac. He's laughing now, but will he laugh at three AM when she jumps on his head? NO.

First person who asks me to cook dinner, dies.

My arm hurts. Gee. I bet NOBODY saw that coming.

Et voila.

One step closer to organized.

All sarcasm aside, without the husbeast's help, I'd be upstairs in the bedroom, laying down with a heating pad and serious painkillers. Instead I'm down here laughing and thinking "gee, my arm hurts". So.

Tomorrow is another day. Maybe then I'll find the floor of the living room.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Hell year OVER.

Last Friday we went over to the apartment and picked up the last of our stuff; some shelving, a table, some of the Goob's toys, like that. We were in and out in two hours. Then we turned in our keys and shut off the utilities.

It is over. Done. All of the moving. Our things are officially gathered under one roof again. Better, for the first time in twenty years, I don't have a deadline. There's no "we'll only be here five years" hanging over my head. I can put down roots, paint walls, decorate, and otherwise nest. Life is very good. Oh - another first in twenty years: Not having to give a shit about hurricane season (except of course concern for my friends living on the coast).

One of the first things I've done is quit watering the plants. Next spring I intend to plant medicinal and dye plants, and to do that well, the easiest way is to make room in the flower beds we've already got. My method of choosing what goes? Yup. The high-maintenance stuff is bye-bye. Everything that croaks by fall will be ripped out. In the spring I'll replace it, either with useful things or native plants that won't need babied along. The beds are looking a bit ratty already, but I'm good with that. Heehee. Gotta at least pull stuff out, though, or the neighbors will be appalled.

Otherwise, I'm getting my work space organized, the Goober is playing in the back yard daily, and we intend to do a whole lot of nothing for the rest of the summer. Well. Next week at the local park is the annual re-enactment of our only local battle (from 1760something). I think we'll check that out. And I've got to hit the county fair in August, to see what the competition is like for when I enter next year. Plus I want to try finding a local wool supplier.

It's very nice to be back in a small town.