Home at last...

Hi.

Remember me? The lady who wouldn’t shut up about the construction on her house?

I’ll stop now. We are constructed and moved and all is right with the world.

There are no moving pictures. That’s because we started at 9 a.m. and finished at 5 p.m. and no one had time to take a freakin’ picture.

With the help of John Boy and Dark Garden, we moved the few salvageable items from the House of Squalor and all the new stuff out of storage, slammed it all into the house and then, like true Italians, cooked a big honkin’ meal.

In fact, I don’t recall much about moving over the 4^th of July holiday. I more remember eating and the associated activities. But we must have moved because this:

…is now this:

And this:

…is now this.

And this:

…is now this:

And this:

Dirtman finally got to set up his Christmas present…

…which the lovely John Boy will now demonstrate.

We even had our first dinner party, which I insist on calling it even though I couldn’t be sure

whether dinner would be the shish kabobs I planned or pizza delivered because I couldn’t figure out how to work any of my appliances (Instructions? We don’t need no stinkin’ instructions.). And so we invited the Providers of Gnome, who are very easy-going people, and because Mrs. POG forced me to unbox all my kitchen stuff, not just the absolute necessities, because she must suspect that I am one of those people who would rather go out and buy a new garlic press rather than unpack the old one. And she would be right. (Mr. and Mrs. POG also own Shenandoah Style, a wine and gourmet shop at the Strasburg Emporium, so they are good people to know when your priority on moving day is what’s for dinner…).

And so life is good, what with being able to sleep all night without the bed attacking and a washing machine that sings a happy tune whenever it finishes a cycle and an office to myself without a trace of Hokie maroon and orange.

Now what have I got to write about?