The past couple weeks we've been packing, mostly my books.  It's a dual person assembly line.  I take the books from the shelves, and hand them 1 at a time to Stephen, who actually does the packing.  He tapes the box closed, and then I do my thing.  My thing, in this case, is labeling the boxes.  It occurred to me how many people of a certain age resist being "labeled."  They believe that this puts them in a certain box, from which they may never escape.  Well, I have news for these people;…

We got that place we applied to.  It's a 1 bedroom apartment in South Sacramento.  It's out of the way, but affordable, and we can have Tangey with us.  We both want to thank those of you who did magick to get us a new place.  Now please turn your magickal talents to finding Stephen Abbott a place.  He's getting a place by himself, because he and Len don't get along at all.  They're in truce now, in order to defeat our slumlady, who would just as soon we were homeless.  But it'll be a relief…

There is an old song (grandparents' time for me, great-grandparents' time for most of you young whipper-snappers) It goes partially: "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile,