Can't taste it yet, but it's awfully close...

Boxes and bags are packed. Floors and tubs are scrubbed. Loads of laundry are finishing up churning and drying. The furniture is being re-homed and sold and transported thither and yon. There's a skeleton of a kitchen, of a home. It's surreal and dense and leaves me with butterflies in my stomach.

I dropped by to visit the Harlos House. Pat and I discussed adventures, and it was good. I recommended an iUniverse book for her younger relatives. Scott Sanders seems to be on sabbatical (can't blame him) and it seems the persimmon tree in the front yard near the driveway has finally been aged enough to be cut down. I had wanted to pick and eat one in his honour, but I believe there will be time and opportunity for that yet.

This afternoon will include a visit by FRIT and Ballentine and another City Bakery detour to chill with Rob Himmel in the afternoon. Still so many loose ends, as soon as I finish one list, I generate a new one. Always more nitty gritty details.

I picked up coals and a starter pot of tabac for the nargile, for fear that prices are vastly inflated in the fair city of St. Louis. That and I <3's me some 10th St. Market, enough that I braved traffic at 9:15 to secure parking in the Lennie's plaza for errands (and of course, they don't open 'til 10:00...).

Tonight will hopefully find me chilling at shift change with pizza beer and I'd like to join the AuthorSolutions crew for lunch, but it depends on their schedules. A few deep breaths, an extra cup of coffee -- I can do this. I've done this every 2-3 years of the first 18 years of my life, then every 2-6-8-12 months since then. Moving is easy. Living is hard. Settling is hard. Building a nest is hard. But moving? Moving is easy.