The dining room is almost completely empty and ready to clean. (And paint that one wall. And wash the windows after.) And then the dining table returns to its spot of honor.
One dresser’s contents transferred to the new dresser. Sewing supplies installed in the now empty one. Mind you, I’m not actually cleaning stuff out at the moment, but just putting them away. I’ll have to sort and decide later.
Another two hundred words this morning. It took me an hour, but they’re done, and I can relax. I did some additional tinkering last night, too. Apparently knowing I’ve done my count for the day frees me up to write more. Who knew?
Someone has offered blackberry, boysenberry, and raspberry rootstock on Craigslist. I want my own blackberry bushes so much, I can just about taste the jam. I miss the days when I’d pack up the Eldest Child and head south past Half Moon Bay to pick ollalieberries with my best friend and her offspring. If I had my own berries, I would make jam and pies to my heart’s content–or until I ran out of berries.
I have a fence to plant them against, and no problem whacking the hell out of the to keep them in line.
But should I?