17 days since my last post.
That’s what happens when you move house and home. (And subsequently watch five additional kids and a couple additional dogs.) I feel a twinge of guilt, but really I’m just so busy/happy that I couldn’t care less about missing my blogging goal. I’ll get back in the swing of things eventually. Seeing as it took us four years to get into our last groove, I am just going to enjoy the ride and do my best not to set too lofty of expectations.
Easter Sunday, April 5, 2015–we moved in to our Anchorage.
The toilet worked, the pipes had thawed (though a few leaked), and we could navigate our long driveway even without 4wd. The beautiful 9’x7′ bookshelf that Brett had built me as an engagement present was assembled and held hundreds of beloved tomes. One gorgeous floor was refinished, a couple of walls were painted, and the worst of the broken windows was replaced. I went to work the first week scrubbing, dusting, beating rugs, and makings scads of lists. Lists of groceries, chores, repairs, and hopes. Internetless, I relied on my wits and the aforementioned book collection to entertain myself. I painted more walls, designed storage solutions, wrote letters, and resourcefully cooked using a microwave, crockpot, rice-cooker, grill, electric skillet, and kettle. What irked me the most was not knowing the weather forecast!
Like that is even predictable in Minnesota. I guess I ought to read a newspaper… or almanac.
Lots of seldom-used stuff is still in storage at the Portage, which is in want of a thorough cleaning and painting touch-ups before we list it. Hopefully by May, but with our crazed schedule I trust it will be in God’s good time. Then will come bittersweet goodbying to our dear old home.