A Sign of the Times
It’s kind of sad to see the post in our front yard, evoking thoughts of what we’ll leave behind, good neighbors and good friends. We have been very lucky with our choice of neighborhoods.
Things have been quiet here since Monday. I suppose house shopper’s mainly go out on the weekends. It’s been relatively peaceful. House is clean and all that we can pack is packed except for tools and stuff in the garage, a work in progress, but no rush—a few hours every day. It’s much less stressful now, our only worries are how long it’s going to take to sell the place, and who to hire to ship our stuff to Sweden and two vehicles we have to sell.
The cat’s seem more relaxed. There’s been no wind snake for the last two days, although I’m sure the carpets will be vacuumed once again on Friday. My Ford van is acting up. I think it knows it’s going on the auction block. I bought it new in 1971, so many years, and miles and good times. Used to have a double mattress in the back—those wonton California days. . . . Will take it to the shop today.