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After four days of back-breaking 12-hour days, I'm finally moved and the old place is just a memory. The slumlord sent me several threatening letters demanding various amounts of money depending on her mood. I tolerated it for as long as I could, but finally ended up sending a nasty little missive to her on the intricacies of contract law. Haven't heard a peep from her since, other than a polite "thank you" for the balance of my last month's rent. I'm still surrounded by mountains of unpacked boxes but I'm gloriously happy and not quite convinced that this isn't some strange dream. I went back to work today, giddy and exhausted...desperately longing for the weekend.
This is one of my favorite pictures taken by a friend. It's not that it's such a great picture, but it's full of the feeling of this house that I've loved and will be leaving soon. I painted a lot of pictures warmed by the old wood burning stove. I tickled my kids silly on the rugs, spent hours on the phone talking with my best girlfriend about our lives. I looked out the picture window, days and nights when I was particularly lonely, thinking that if only my vision were better I might see a companion somewhere on the horizon. This was the first place that ever felt like home...after so many nomadic years. I hope that the best parts of it are something that I will take with me when I go.
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