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Writing, all boxed up.

I'm moving. Still can't quite get my arms around it, but it'll be okay. Daunting, though, after twenty years of packratishness.

So I started with some books. I fancied myself a writer wannabe for several years, stocking up on all the Deep Writing/Courage to Write books available. The fact that I'm packing them up to take with me makes me realize I'm hopeful they might still come in handy. Someday.

I'm not a slave to housework. I just don't do it.

Love Billy Collins and I'm bringing him with me. And that Spanish dictionary? You never know. Plus, I used it in Venezuela.

Found this faded, water-stained photo of Emma and Lamby when I was sorting through stuff. It was damaged in an air-conditioning episode and I'm not sure where the original is. Such a sweet photo of her--taken in a hotel room when we visited the Detroit Zoo. For some reason I remember that she was wearing one of Jay's big white Pluma t-shirts.