Moving up here has been a lot of things. (Moving seems to always be a lot of things.)

But I’ve been discovering little bits. Like yards that people have spent time on. Back where I used to live, everybody’s yard was nicely mowed, but that was it. A hayfield had more personality than most of the yards. There was an absolutely crazy town ordinance saying you could have a fence, if it was three feet back from your property line. Dumb asses. So everybody had these fields of green grass. Ack.

I can only plant right along the edge of the house, basically below the eaves. A lot of the dirt is fill that hasn’t supported any kind of plant life since the house was dropped in the late 70’s. That would be some pretty barren dirt. Stupidhead dug it out, and we added some stuff in, and I planted stuff. We’ll see what happens. And not being brainlessly optimistic, I also stuck some stuff in pots.

The kitchen still sucks, but there’s a drawer whose purpose is not clear, so I started putting herbs and spices that have been living in plastic bags into little canning jars, labeling them on the top, and sticking them in the drawer that had no purpose. Something I’ve wanted to do for years, but never had the drawer for.

And down in the heated, dehumidified basement, there’s the keyboard and my violin. Every time I go down there to hunt something up, I stop and pick it up and fumble through a few scales. Hard walls, unforgiving acoustics. I need to spend more time down there.

I found the sock that I was working on and put away someplace safe so it wouldn’t get lost when I moved. Three weeks ago.

And we sit down at the table and have dinner every night. Food. Hot. On a plate. With a human being. If that’s not sane-making, I don’t know what would be. And saturday nights we list what we’re thankful for.

Little bricks of sane-making. Soon I’ll have a wall.

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