We are supposed to be busy. In a week’s time the plan is to move into the house we’re building: the house in which the wiring and floorboards and plastering are still being done; the house that has no running water or gas (we’ll use E’s folks’ place for these until the time is right). In between times there are the four days of FloydFest, in which both of us are quite heavily involved. Ah, FloydFest, the place we met; our first anniversary approaches.
It all seems so unlikely, and yet this morning we found the space to sleep in. Empty boxes everywhere, debris strewn across every available space: southern Lebanon without the terror and devastation.
On Saturday we emptied three carloads of goodies at a yard sale and still it’s hard to find a dent in it all. Man, we got a lot of stuff. So much more of it needs to disappear too, over the coming week, as the space we’re moving into would not be a quarter the size of this house. Sure, there’s another half of the place as yet unready, but that still leaves a lot of stuff that simply don’t fit.
And here I sit hypothesizing while boxes wait, unhurried.