last day, first night

A couple of days ago, it got up to the upper-60s. I sit in a corner of my room at my desk with a window in front of me and a window to the side of me. I sat there all day thinking, As soon as I finish this, I'm gonna get out there and enjoy this weather. But I didn't get outside until 4:30.

I didn't want to repeat that "mistake" yesterday, since it was going to be in the mid-70s, and then the temperature was going to drop for a while. So I blew off work in the early part of the day and spent several hours raking the yard. I got warm and took off my shirt and had on shorts. It was very nice.

The rake scooped up the pig and dog and cat poop in the yard (most of which I couldn't see because of all of the leaves). The first day, I raked a small third of the yard, and yesterday another third (a larger third). I thought I would get through the whole yard, but I was already feeling the muscle aches, so I relaxed, left the lines of leaves in the untreed third of the yard where they were. They're probably blown about a bit now because it's kind of windy out there.

I'm working this morning. Still feeling a bit depressed. I can't decide if I want to try to talk myself into going to First Night tonight. I got a request from a friend -- who's kid I'm an Official Uncle JB to -- to meet them downtown and hang out with them. That's at 3:00 p.m. That's a possibility. But she told me to not dare try to drive there, since they did last year and it was insanity. Another friend is DJing tonight, which I would love to go to. But dancing outdoors in the nighttime? It makes me uncomfortable just to think about it!

There are vegetables in the fridge I need to use, bok choy and kale, cauliflower, carrots, beets. S went over everything he was leaving undone (much of it washed and cut, I just have to throw it into a pot or pan or some sort of cooking device). I found a recipe on 101 Cookbooks for Garlicky Greens, which sounds good, but I couldn't inspire myself to cook anything last night. I'm thinking maybe that's what I'll do tonight instead of going to First Night. A soup would also be good and would last a while.

Last night, I ordered some empanadas from the pizzeria/empanada shop down the street. I had a mushroom, a bean, a spinach, and a pear enpanada last night with a Guiness while I watched the movie that came in the mail, Soldier's Girl. S had already seen it, so I don't think he will mind that I watched it without him, even though he said he would watch it again. Dang! I would watch it again, too.

I put it on my Netflix queue because of Lee Pace, who is the male lead in The Fall, my favorite movie from last year, one of my favorites of all time, I think. He plays a transgendered woman in Soldier's Girl who falls in love with a soldier, and vice versa. It's based on a true story; it doesn't turn out well. Another intense movie viewing!

sitting with desire

S left for Indiana Sunday morning and I've been feeling a bit depressed. I hate to put those two things in one sentence because I don't like to be defined by my relationship with S. Or I should say I don't like other people to see how I'm defined by that relationship. We are not a couple. But we are closer than I think I can expect to be with another person in my life. We are not lovers, but we share more about ourselves and know more about each other than anybody else does. Our relationship is hard to define. It's not enough to say he's my housemate or my best friend. Both of those things are true, but sound limited. I've used both of those words when talking about him to new people because I don't want to have to explain our relationship, because the explanation always confuses the truth.

So why am I feeling depressed? It could have to do with S being gone and now I'm all alone (except for a cat, a dog, a pig and a turtle). It is easy to plan my day around something we might do together, like eating meals, watching movies, or just getting high and sitting on the porch rambling or in silence. I got more work done yesterday in his absence than I've been able to do in a while, since we moved to this new address.

But I don't think it all is about S. I feel like my relationship with someone on whom I have a crush (likely straight) has met its end. It's an odd, somewhat icky feeling. I was talking about my attraction to this man to another (straight) man, a friend on whom I once upon a time had a crush. That crush evolved into a good friendship; it feels stronger now than ever. But the other one, the new one, seems to have met with some sort of barrier. He knows I'm gay, but he doesn't know I have a crush on him. At least I don't think so. But maybe he feels uncomfortable with the attention I pay him. Or perhaps his ex-girlfriend with whom he works (and who I know almost as well) has pushed him into a corner about his attraction to me and so he has decided to leave that corner.

I do believe there was some sort of attraction to me on his part. A crush, perhaps. Straight guys seem to do that a lot in my life. It's a weird thing; it's been going on since high school, I would say, long before I even could admit I was gay. I think it might have something to do with the way I was raised, the religious anti-homosexual stuff that is a big part of who I am. I'm a non-threatening homosexual, I guess in part because I was raised to believe that being gay is just about the worst thing one can be (it leads to child molestation, drug use and other illegal activities).

So, back to this straight guy. I have very recently being trying to come to terms with my attraction to straight men, to accept what it is I get from them, what they get from me. Ninety-nine percent of the time it doesn't become a sexual thing. The desire is certainly there on my part, and sometimes I get the sense that it is there in a small and perhaps confused way on their part, but only rarely has it turned into anything, and not because of my pushing. I had a brief fling with a straight guy a couple of summers ago, a man about half my age. He told me up front that he was straight, "always have been," but that there was "something about me." We hung out a few times, eventually gave each other blow-job,s but it ended in the middle of that. I kidded myself that I was just going along with this as experimentally as he was. But the moment he said, "Okay, that's as far as I can go," I realized that I had already gone a lot farther; it broke my heart. I blubbered like so many girls whose hearts he had likely broken. In retrospect I imagined he thought less of me because I was just like all the others.

There have been several instances -- most of them in the last three years, since I've been living in Austin -- in which I have developed very nice relationships with straight men on whom I have originally had an attraction. They transmuted into something better. I've tried to imagine how these men must feel around the women they've been attracted to but with whom they cannot have sex because the women are in a relationship or gay. I have conversations with these men about that, about the difficulty of maintaining a relationship that is different than the initial attraction, and they seem to think their struggle is very similar to mine. Perhaps. But I think there are additional factors that make my struggle more difficult. Particularly the fact that homosexuality is not accepted as normal across the board. And beyond that the fact that I was raised being taught that not only is it an aberration, but one of the worst sins a person can commit. Bring on the drugs, alcohol and minors...

S and I watched a movie called Cat Dancers, a completely surprising film about a three-way relationship. (The link has a schedule of when it is showing on HBO through the early part of January 2009.) The narrator of the film is Ron Holiday, a very beguiling character, very egocentric and odd looking. He wears wigs (different ones for different outfits, curly or straight) and seems to have poorly painted-on eyebrows. He is almost 70 years old and now teaches young people about working with exotic animals. I'm not fond of the idea of people exploiting wild animals, and that is one part of the effectiveness of this film for me; there are so many things about it that I had issues with and alternately with which I could relate.

One of the things I could relate to was how Mr. Holiday sees himself in his late 60s. He was an attractive man when he was a young dancer. He met Joy and they married and seemed to be a perfect couple; their life and their career were intertwined. They were the top adagio dancers in the country, performed at Carnegie Hall in their heyday. But when Ron felt he was too old to do the moves impressively, their performance changed from being just about Joy, and then, when they got their first black panther cub as a gift from a famous person friend, it became about their exotic cat show. They were doing stuff long before Siegfried & Roy (and apparently, if Siegfried had had his way, his show might've been called Siegfried & Ron, but Ron Holiday says Siegfried was not his type at all; "Too fem!").

Ron & Joy Holiday's show grew and expanded with more and more exotic animals, and eventually they needed help and hired a young man who eventually became their lover. The three of them were together 14 years, until tragedy struck. It's pretty jarring. But now all these years later (nine, I believe) Ron is living with the loss of both of his lovers, and he seems pretty content with not having a lover; I got the impression that he felt like he'd already had the best relationship of his life and that he didn't need another. Though he still seems to see himself as attractive.

I have to admit that I didn't see him as attractive at all. And that was the thought that stuck with me most. I see myself getting older, see my desire for younger, unattainable people, and I wonder why I keep doing this to myself. I've been asking myself for the last couple of days why I keep trying. I feel sexy, but no one else seems to. And that's not sour grapes. I feel like I long for (sometimes desperately) a relationship that is not available. As each day goes by, it becomes less likely that I will have another relationship. And I wish I could just give up on the desire. Where is that cord so I can snip it in two? It seems that I have a lot to offer people, that they are attracted to me, but then my sexual desire gets in the way and that confuses things. I hate that.

I want to find a way to release myself from this suffering, this desire that has no positive outcome. I won't make that my New Year's Resolution because I don't do those, and because, lordy, could you imagine what a set-up that would be?! But I continue to question this part of myself that plagues me. I would like to channel my desire into something more productive, something creative like my book. I planned on sitting down with paper and pencil as soon as S left town and creating a schedule for myself -- work, creativity, exercise, entertainment, socializing -- but I spent yesterday feeling sorry for myself, and finally got outside and raked half of the yard. It's a huge yard. I did this because I've heard that exercise is good for depression, and I can't seem to get myself to yoga class. Besides, I can't really afford yoga right now. I ignored my checking account for a few days and something horrible happened with my finances and I ended up spending something like $175 in overdraft fees. Fuck!

Oh, and that's something I meant to write about with regards to the latest crush that feels like it's coming to an end and isn't really turning into the friendship that it pretended it was going to be. This guy has opened an art gallery with his best friend and his ex-girlfriend. I think, because a friend of mine took me to the restaurant where two of them work, an expensive restaurant, he got the idea that I had a lot of money, that I might be a supporter of his cause. He gave us a flier for his gallery the night we were at the restaurant and then S and I went to the opening. I had some money saved up and liked some of the art and decided I would invest in a couple of pieces. Nothing extravagant, but a lot of money for me.

This guy was very attentive and sweet and really seemed to like me. He invited me to meet the three of them at another gallery opening; I dropped by their gallery with beer a couple of Sunday afternoons. I told him I wanted to hang around him (and them) more because I was inspired by them. He seemed to get it. I went to see a weird movie last night called Wonderwall (released in 1968 with a soundtrack by George Harrison); it was part of the Alamo's "High for the Holidays" series. I don't know that I would recommend it-- maybe if you're really high. I was a little high, and I enjoyed it enough. But while I was sitting with my bad service and my pizza and over-priced beer, I realized that my attraction to this straight guy has a lot to do with the fact that he reminds me of my novel, makes me feel inspired about it. He is similar to a couple of characters in different ways (one in a physical way, another in an artistic way). I thought I should write him a letter and tell him about this, but then realized almost as quickly that I was stoned and there was probably no way to make it come out not just sounding weird!

But speaking of letters, I think I need to write a letter to the Alamo. I'm working on a show with my friend M . Over the years she has written lots of letters to businesses (airlines to landlords to restaurant chain corporate headquarters) about dissatisfaction with service she has received. She is doing a performance of several letters in FronteraFest next month, and she asked me to write a song (which I did a couple of days ago -- depression is often creatively productive for me... hm, maybe that has something to do with why I keep leaning in that direction) and to perform with her in the show. Whee!

But anyway, yesterday when I was deciding on going to see Wonderwall at the Alamo, I read this on their website:

Music Monday Specials: Free large popcorn with purchase of a bucket of beer at all Music Mondays! Free large soda or $2 Alamo Ale w/ purchase of a pizza!

So I was thinking, Mm, a pizza and a beer, how nice?!

I ordered the "Wild at Artichoke Hearts" pizza and an Alamo Ale, and when the waiter came, I checked to make sure that the beer would be $2, instead of the $4.50 on the menu. She said she had never heard about that offer. I told her it was on the website. She said she would check with her manager, but obviously if it was on the website she would honor it. I told her I wanted the beer either way, but appreciated her checking.

She came back and told me that the manager said no. He told her that since that offer is outdated and they haven't offered it in so long that they wouldn't honor it for me. However, he was willing to give me a complimentary soda with my pizza! I think I need to harness my emotions and write the letter right now.

tick-tock

Maybe in the new year I'll get it together to blog more. Other things that I'm not doing are more important. I'm still trying to get a schedule for myself, some sort of routine, for writing, exercise, etc. S is leaving town today for five days; I'll be all alone in the house (with the several animals); I'm thinking this will be the perfect opportunity to get my shit together.

http://www.shelleygrund.com/FineArt/painting-a-day-Dec06.htm

soup's on

We're having a soup party today! Won't you come and join us? S made mushroom barley soup, saag paneer (with kale and spinach and cheese he made himself), and leek & sweet potato soup; I made Annabella's Oatmeal Soup, which is a vegetable soup -- black-eyed peas, zucchini, carrots -- and I also made black bean brownies, which have no flour and are scrumptious. S is gonna make scones, plain ones and chocolate chip/candied orange peels (that he made himself - such a homosexual in the kitchen!).

People are gonna start coming over at about 2:00, and we said the party would last until 8:00, at least the eating part. We don't care if people hang around a little longer, but I for one am gonna start cleaning up. Forty-five people RSVP'd for the party, some of them are children, but still, there's a lotta people coming. A couple more won't hurt; if you just sneak in, we won't even notice you. Well, we might notice, but we won't mind.

I've had fun the last couple of days putting things together for the party; this is such a fun house and property in/on which to have a party. There are lots of chairs around, lots of yard space, two porches, a fenced-in yard and three-plus acres of unfenced area. Our housemate/landlord worked on Spy Kids the movie, and they have a giant cherry from that movie, which I "planted" in the front yard. It looks great; very inviting. They also gave us a big red light-up cross (like the Red Cross cross, not the Jesus cross) back when we lived at the other address from the excellent movie Idiocracy; I have it against the front of the house. It can be seen from half a mile away.

Fun, fun!

Oh, and if you come, could you bring a ladle; we're shy a couple.

cat door turtling squirrel

At the old address, I had bird feeders on the side of the house, one right out the window by my desk, another in what functioned as the living room -- but what we called the middle room -- and we would see lots of birds at the feeders, cardinals, titmice, sparrows. I placed a sign that I pulled out of the trash against the house after moving it around the inside of the apartment awhile and deciding it didn't work, and it made a good hiding place for the neighbor cat Clyde to wait for unsuspecting birds. He killed two -- one killing leaving a lot of blood and feathers on the porch and side yard -- before I figured it out and moved the sign. The messier one was a young cardinal (the other was a turtle dove) and I felt really bad, but grew to love the daily visits from the dead one's sister, whom I watched grow up. She always had one feather sticking straight up from her body, just above the left wing. I don't know if that was because of a near escape from Clyde, but I always called her "The One That Got Away," or Totga, for short. I miss Totga.

We didn't have squirrels at that address; most of the pesky critters were possums, and they didn't (or couldn't) bother with bird feeders. When we moved to this address, I put one feeder outside my temporary bedroom window and the other outside the bathroom window. The birds (mockingbirds, mostly) light on the fence but haven't come to the feeder as far as I can tell. Maybe they're smarter here, or more timid. A squirrel made his way over the roof to the feeder outside my bedroom window and when I spotted him, he was hanging over the eave, lifting the lid of the feeder like a rude party guest, snacking by the pawful. I added a length of wire to the feeder, and that stopped him for the time being. He moved to the one outside the bathroom window, a slender feeder without a removable lid, but with lots of little feeding stations and perching poles next to each. It's a bit more difficult for him to get to those seeds, but he does it, falling into the red berry bushes below (the red berries which the mockingbirds love, by the way) once in awhile; but he makes his way back to the roof, back to the feeder. I don't mind the squirrels; I'm not going to war to keep them out of the feeders, but I'd much rather see birds out my windows than a squirrel.

When I was trying to get Timmy used to the cat door -- which is on the same side of the room as the bird feeder but out other window, the one with the air conditioner unit in it -- I kept it propped open to show him the way. When I started seeing the squirrel turtling his head through the cat door, I stopped leaving it open. I have a friend who had a squirrel sneak into her house while she was out of town for a weekend, and boy, what a mess he made; the chew marks on the window sills have been painted over, but they're still there.

I figured out that Timmy won't use the cat door on his own because he doesn't have enough of a ledge on the inside, so he has to dive through from below with me holding it open. Last night, exhausted, I lay in bed dozing but being constantly awakened by him tapping the door with his paw, trying to get it to the open position (I assume). I found a couple of boxes that I stacked up on my bedside table; they give him a surface big enough to hang out on and casually, comfortably make his way out and in, which he did all night long.

motivation...

...or lack thereof.

I'm struggling to find routine in my life. Not that I don't like living in this new place; I love it. But there are more chores to do here -- taking care of animals, which includes cleaning up messes, doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen. Maybe it feels a little too much like vacation here, possibly because our friends -- our current housemates and future landlords -- are in Panama, on vacation, and it feels a little bit like I am, too, or should be. I don't know.

I need routine to work on my book. I finished the first draft in November, which I'm proud of, but I'm not ready to show it to anybody outside of S, and not really even ready to show it to him, because I've got some work to do on it as I'm going through it "one last time" before I give it up.

I only worked 20 hours the past two weeks (I usually work at least 30 a week), so my paycheck tomorrow is going to be small. Fortunately, this is a three pay period month. I've worked close to 25 hours already this week, but am currently transcribing a call by a Swedish ESL guy, which just makes me want to take a nap. I just did.

Also, S just finished his last finals yesterday, so now he's around all the time (though he was away for most of the morning), and that tends to make me want to just hang out, get stoned, watch movies, eat. We're going to movies at the Alamo tonight and tomorrow night. Tonight, we're going to the one on South Lamar to see an Argentinian film called The Swamp (La Ciénega), and tomorrow we'll go to the Ritz on Sixth Street to see In A Dream, which I saw at SXSW and really want S to see. It's a documentary about the man who has done mosaics all over Philadelphia. It's a beautiful movie, and my treat to S for finishing his semester (any excuse...!).

Speaking of the animals, we were having some problems with Tinkerbell the potbellied pig. She was seeming a bit aggressive, butting our legs when we were in the kitchen, chasing us around, making kind of scary grunting noises, etc. She got into a six-pack of root beers (likely with the help of Bones the boxer), chewed off the lids, and made a mess of the main room! They drank up most of three bottles of root beer, but there was still a mess, and it was easy enough to clean up, but I was frustrated by all of Tinkerbell's cries for attention. I wasn't sure we were feeding her enough, so I sent my friends in Panama an email asking "Is Tinkerbell starving?" I got an email yesterday letting me know that once a month, Tinkerbell gets "what we call FRISKY." Oh... I was a little more understanding of her last night and today, let her chase me around the yard, and didn't yank my foot back so fast when she went to bite my Crocs, and it really doesn't hurt. I don't know if it's her form of affection or frustration, but she's pretty harmless. I spent some time combing her, which she sometimes likes, and rubbing her belly last night, which she always loves.

We're also doing a lot of entertaining, which S and I both love to do, and since we have this great house to ourselves we're upping the occurrence. This coming Saturday, we're having a Solstice Soup Party (with 45 expected); on Christmas Day, we're having a Orphans' Xmas Brunch (with eight people, more or less); and then on January 11th, we're having dinner for the three people who run biRDHOUSE Gallery, from whom I recently bought some art and endeared myself to them. One of the two guys gave us a postcard for the opening of the gallery when we were at one of my birthday dinners, S and I went, and we hit it off; I like them a lot, have stopped by the gallery for a beer and have gone out to another opening they invited me to The woman who completes their staff (who is more the administrator, I think, while they are the actual curator/owners) as it turns out, is having a birthday on January 12th, so I'm going to make a cake and we're going to kick off her birthday season. That'll be fun.

I'd much rather think about these things than work, but work I must.

life on the ranch

So, we live with a potbelly pig named Tinkerbell who spends most of her time sleeping in her human parent's (my friends) closet; my friend saw her at the feed store, I think, in a little cage, and felt sorry for her and brought her home. She was cute and squiggly back then; it's been six months, I guess, and they had to enlarge the dog door to the outside because she was having a hard time squeezing out and in, and they're out of the country for a month and they figured she might grow too big for the opening by the time they get back.

There's also a boxer named Bones living here which my friend found in a field near her work. He was literally skin and bones -- they've got some pretty disturbing pictures of when they found him -- and the vet, whom my friend took him to thinking they would have to put him down, originally thought he was seven or eight years old. But the vet said it wasn't necessary to put him down, and now he's a very healthy three or four year old.

And then my extraordinary house cat, Timmy, who has made himself quite at home here. He likes this address so much more than the last place we lived, where I adopted him because his roommates picked on him and he peed on his human parent's things and they put him in an ill-devised screened-in room on the front porch in very cold weather (I can't remember now if it was last winter or the winter before that). Here, Timmy has a cat door to go in and out of, and once he gets out there, 3.5 acres of wandering room. I was a little nervous about him getting lost or wandering into the road at first, but I followed him around and watched his patterns, and I'm pretty confident his habits are healthy.

I put up a dog gate at the end of the hall so that Bones could see Timmy and so that Timmy could explore the rest of the house, which he has done the past couple of days in Bones' absence because a family friend has taken Bones to his friend's house to play with her dog. Yesterday he brought Bones and the other dog, Sam, back here to play in the fenced-in yard, which wore Bones out pretty good. He was in bed before we humans were.

There's also a rescued turtle named Chewy in an aquarium in the kitchen, but they're not warm and snuggly animals, so I don't think much about him. I would love to get a goat or two, for the milk, and their freaky cuteness. I have this idea to get two baby girls and name them after my grandmothers, Nana and Mamaw. It would be nice if there was some situation where I could rescue them instead of buying goats from a breeder, but I don't wish that there are goats out there in need of rescuing, and getting them from a breeder is kind of rescuing them (though buying from a breeder keeps that practice alive, and I'm not sure how good I feel about that) -- I guess it remains to be seen if and when I meet the breeder). S & I were talking about goats last night around the chiminea. I said, "I'm pretty sure they would be outdoor animals," to which S said, "I certainly hope so!" Not that he has any problem with a boxer and a potbelly pig at his feet in the kitchen while he's cooking, but it could get a little crazy if we had goats and chickens, etc., running around indoors!

I bought a chiminea and put it on the front porch, and last night S & I christened it with some wood from the oak trees here, a piece of cedar from the stack I bought for $4 when I bought the chiminea, and a piece of root from the big pecan tree which fell in the yard during a storm last year at the old address. It was semi-ritualistic, burning the old and the new wood, the old memories and the new ones to come. We had a chiminea on that porch which broke, but while we had it, we used it a lot, and turned the porch ceiling a sooty black color. So to avoid that, I got some galvanized aluminum pipe from the hardware store and the friend of the family who's staying in the Airstream on the property (and who took Bones on a playdate again this morning) helped me wire it up, so the smoke goes out past the roof ledge, mostly; some of it comes out of the front of the chiminea, but it only makes us smell all toasty-roasty like we've been sitting around a campfire and doesn't soot up the porch. The pecan wood burned nice and slow, and I remembered a stack of little logs I stacked there at the old address that I think I better go get for the front porch.

Ah! Life is good.

I am having a little bit of trouble getting on a schedule. I haven't touched the novel since before my out of town guest came and went, and then the move. But I'm confident the time will come. First I have to get my work schedule going. (I only worked 20 hours over the past two weeks!) Regardless, I am feeling quite comfy here, even though this living situation is temporary. The next move will only be across the property to our shipping containers house, when it is complete, which our friends say they will be focusing on once they get back in the country at the beginning of next year.

movement

It has been 18 days since my last confession-- er, blog. The morning sun is sitting on my right shoulder and that constant hum of the interstate two blocks away has been replaced by the occasional swishing of cars on the two roads outside my window. But they're not close by, these two roads; I'm sitting in the middle of a 3.5 acre piece of land in Austin's "Upper East Side" (as the tongue-cheeked like to call it). We've moved out of our dilapidated apartment near downtown to a three bedroom ranch house owned by my oldest friend in the world. I don't mean that she's like 107 or anything; I mean she's my longest relationship in the world. We met when I was working as a barback in an R&B club in Houston. I was 19 years old, she and her friends were 17 at the time, sneaking in with fake IDs (which I had no say over one way or the other). She and I hit it off and have remained in contact these 26 years, with her traveling the world and then settling back in Houston and now Austin with her husband and their six-year-old, and me moving to NYC (where I met S) then Nashville (with him), then onto the road (with him and a third), then to Florida (without either), where I lived with my oldest friend in the world at the time. I met that friend just a few months before I met this one, and that relationship fell apart when I moved in with her and her husband and their two kids on the Atlantic coast. Therefore I had a lot of fears about moving in with this friend (since I don't talk to that friend anymore). But I'm a lot closer to this husband, and we faced my fears at the get-go (I sent out a group email outlining my fears), and it looks like things are gonna work out.

They offered to build S & me a shipping container house on their property (for minimal rent) and we were excited by the prospect, particularly since our apartment near the Capitol -- groovy as it was -- was falling apart. They were hoping to finish the construction and have us move in before they left for Panama for a month, which they did last night. But life got in the way and they weren't able to complete our new digs, so they asked us to move into a third of their house (they would take another third, and we would all share the third third), because they needed somebody to take care of their boxer and potbelly pig in their absence. So here we are, almost fully moved in. Our bedrooms and bathroom-and-a-half are set up, as is the front porch, which they let us use; there's a bunch of boxes in and around the kitchen that need to be dealt with, but that'll happen eventually.

Besides my relationship with my dearest oldest friend in the world, I was most concerned about my cat's comfort in the new space. But he LOVES it here, I am happy to report, and we're all confident that someday he will be snuggling with the boxer who stands at the gated hallway door drooling and whining and wagging his tail at the sight of the cat (who is not as freaked out by this as I thought he would be).

The only thing that has suffered since my last blog is my timesheet. I had a good friend visit for six days and took the whole time off while she was here -- she helped me bring a couple of loads over; and then after she was gone, I spent another half week-plus finishing the move, straining my back, taking time off. So I'll stop blogging now and get to work and hopefully update more frequently in the coming days, weeks and month.