Greetings From Box Island

Snowman Tea Cup

There’s a line in a Jackson Browne song that says something about making sure everything else is set to go before they come for his piano; boy can I relate!  As we near our moving date, we have now taken up residence on Box Island.  Seriously, I have an entire porch with boxes stacked from floor to ceiling.  Where the heck did all that stuff come from, and where am I gonna put it in a smaller house?

But as I wander from room to room in our controlled chaos, I find things that I cannot pack.  Oh I will, just not quite yet.  It is very hard for me to have all of these things out of reach.  Okay, what I really mean is out of my control; there I said it.  So I pick out a few things that I know will keep me grounded, things like a sewing machine, or a computer.  Things that bring me comfort on Box Island.  It’s not that my things have gone away, they’re just very inaccessible.

This week we had a massive snow storm dump several feet of snow, followed by ice, and now sub-zero temperatures.  Normally I would welcome this.  I would read, sew, watch movies, whatever, as the snow flew around me.  This time we had to pack.  And pack.  And did I mention we packed?  Three hutches of china later my hands look like a piece of newspaper, except rougher.  So when it comes to the little things, like a snowman tea cup, the little things really do mean a lot.

Yesterday I enjoyed one last sewing session to whip out a pair of quilted wool mittens.  Afterwards I said goodbye to my trusty companion, Kenny the Kenmore, and stowed him away safely in a box, nestled amongst other sewing supplies.  Soon I will pack away Miss Kitty (the KitchenAid mixer), but first I needed some comfort– and comfort food!  So I took a few moments and made some rye bread.  I know that may seem weird, but in times of uncertainty or confusion, I find solace in cooking.

And then there’s my desk.  A smallish pile of research papers to the left, snowman tea cup to the right, and my trusty laptop in the middle.  I’m writing my last post from the 102-year-old house on Box Island.  As I sit, Jackson Browne plays in my head.  They’ll have to make sure they’re all set to go before they come for my piano…and my computer.

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