I’m still here.—Elaine Stritch, et al.
Which is to say, I’ve had a tough time carving out a minute to sit down and write. Chef David has done the lion’s share of work, haltingly, painstakingly, one box at a time, and one carload at a time (with one rental truckload for the stuff that wouldn’t squeeze), until now all that’s left to do is rehome a piano and give our sweet rental house its stem-to-stern scrubbing before handing over the keys. We’ll leave it in better shape than we found it, which is the correct thing to do.
It is all that’s left, save unpacking in our new forever home. We are filthy and exhausted. This is my sixth move in a decade, so now I’m ready to plant roots in this sandy soil, here to say for a long, long while. At least that is the plan. We like it here so far, and so does Scoutie. The neighbors have welcomed us warmly and we’re getting the lay of the land, establishing running and biking routes, learning how to nudge the car into the garage gingerly, figuring out the best times to come and go on a busy north-south artery during tourist season in Wilmington.
I leave you to enjoy this exquisite Elaine Stritch performance on Stephen Sondheim’s 80th birthday back in 2012, the year of my first move and the beginning of a grand adventure. ‘Til soon.