Move accomplished

Unpacking commenced and on-going.

Packing, Packing, Packing

I think we may have a little too much stuff

Living Room, three layers deep

My bedroom, as you come in

My bedroom, as you go out

Muffin Man's room

Living Room, different view

And there are more boxes, in the hall, and in MM's play room, and in the kitchen. And we're not done packing (though it's really only the bathroom cabinets that are left. And my desk. And a few things in a closet. And the stuff we're wearing and eating. And three place-settings, two pots, and a pan. And the coffee machine. And this lap-top I'm typing on. Dear God, just how did we accumulate so much stuff?

Moving, moving, moving

We're moving back to our old house, the one we own. Our tenants moved out and we're moving back.

Which means I'm typing right now on a box, marked "bills/filing".

I forgot how much I hate moving. Remind me next time, won't you?

Posted with Permission

The Everlasting 5! A stop-motion animation about battling zombies.

The ugly flowered curtains

Looking at the picture, I realize I was remembering the COUCH, not the curtains.

[Me, age 7 or 8, reading on the ugly flowered couch. The book is More-All-Of-A-Kind-Family. The skirt is denim with tiny embroidered flowers. The window is looking out onto Fischer Bay in Truro, Massachusetts.]

Where I'm From

I am from ugly flowered curtains, from Goldfish Crackers and tuna sandwiches and lemonade for lunch on the beach .

I am from the house across the street from the school I never went to, with the mulberry tree, and the ivy, and the stepping stones around the gas-lamp that still shines in my memory.

I am from the phlox, and the apple tree, and the roly-poly bugs under the bricks

I am from all the children playing Elijah, and from flat feet, from Jenny, and Mom, and Dad, and David, and Roz.

I am from the people who talk openly about illness and loudly about politics.

From Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

I am from Jewish Atheists who celebrate Passover and Hanukah and Christmas and who were fine sending me to a Quaker camp

I'm from Brooklyn and all over Eastern Europe, from chopped liver and potato latkes and steamed lobster in the Summer.

From the friendship of Bubbe Hoffy and Bubbe Yetta, and how Bubbe Yetta never knew Bubbe Hoffe wasn't Jewish. From my father's lifelong friends from Camp Kinderland. From blended families, and thirty cousins.

I am from rolodexes of photos on my mother's coffee table that my son and I look through everytime we visit.

for Magpie, who started it this time. Can also be seen at Crunchy Granola, among other places

Writing about other people

Please keep my Grandma in your thoughts. She broke her hip on Friday, and while she is recovering well and is in good spirits, she's 92 and has a long stretch of rehabilitation to go through.

Meanwhile, one of the people I write about here has asked me not to post stories involving this person without prior permission.

This is making it difficult for me to post.

It is summer, blog fodder is occurring daily if not hourly, and I...can't post any of it.

Book reviews and outfit blogging will be increasing. Now is a good time for suggestions for things to blog about!