The quick brown fox jumped over the good, but lazy Parker family.
my wife is calling the new place our “twenty year” house, because she says that is the minimum we’re going to be here. i call it our “you’re going to have to take my cold, dead corpse out of here” house, because … well, you get the picture. (i told sparklet earlier this week that the next time i move is when *her* kids move me into a home for the mentally addled.)
all told, the move actually didn’t go too badly.
my wife and baby made it to Tejas, had a great time, and returned on time, alive, with all eight limbs. (they took lots of pictures which, given my track record, it’ll take a month for me to sort though.)
for the move itself, our POD was delivered right in front of our door step with everything present and accounted for. we had movers who came in underbudget and early, and didn’t break or lose a single thing. even our cable company hit their installation window (tho i’ll politely ignore the fact that their window turned out to be 24 hours later than what they told me it was going to be).
by day three, all boxes were unpacked on the top two floors, with the exception of the lady sparkler’s clothes. by day nine, there were no boxes left in the entire house.
i’ve had a string of little projects to keep me busy, but nothing major — took down a tree in the backyard, filled in the coy pond of death, put up a railing in the basement, hung temporary shades in sparklets room, wrapped sparklet’s porch in wire fencing, and hung a Texas flag for Memorial Day (above).
we’ve already met (and love) our two closest neighbors on the west side, and our three closest neighbors on the east side. oh, and one of them has a 15 year old that is on the lookout for baby sitting gigs in the neighborhood.
and all happened while i wasn’t blogging for six days consecutive days — and the stoppage didn’t blink me into nothingness. (who knew?)
but, even though it went well, it’s just not worth risking doing it again. now, if you’ll excuse me i’m going to sit down in my beautiful, ninety seven year-old backyard and do nothing for the next decade or two.