Last Post from Chelsea

Here it is, hawklets, my last night in Chelsea. I am sitting beside the astonishing number of boxes it took to pack up the desk. Sylvie watched the operation with whisker-quivering curiosity and couldn't wait to explore the terra nova of the empty shelf.



I believe the move will be positive. Still, it's hard to embrace a change like this when the kosmos thrusts it upon you, rather than letting you think you made a decision and that you have some control.

Jim Morrison is growling "The future's uncertain and the end is always near," somewhere in the vicinity of my right ear. I wish he'd stop.

This morning I walked up to the farmer's market and heard the train whistle blow. I almost cried. I hope the train whistle doesn't blow while I'm turning in the keys to house's new owner. I really don't want to almost cry in front of her.

I am thankful that my new swingin' pad is near enough that I can move stuff carload by carload over a few days. Gives me some time to get used to the idea. Looking at my tv and stereo and yarn in the new place, I felt a little bit at home there already this afternoon. And I'm reading up on how to care for hardwood floors, 'cuz my new ones are filthy. I Swiffered them, but walking in bare feet still turned my soles sooty.

I have dishes to pack yet tonight, so I'll be ready to roll when B & D get here tomorrow with the truck.

Let it roll, baby, roll.