Daylight Savings

We should keep daylight savings. Year around. We should march on Washington and demand it. We should stamp our feetsies and make girlie fists. Let there be light at five in the afternoon. Let there be light.

The above picture is an early morning shot out of our window, but that's pretty much what five o' clock in the afternoon looks like since Sunday.

We have moved. Our renters are in our house unpacking. We are in our apartment unpacking. And even though we did some major editing, we still brought too much STUFF and will have to take some of it out. We almost filled a dumpster at the house. And that's after eleventy trips to the D.I. discarding STUFF. Our attraction to STUFF and more STUFF is overwhelming. As much as we have moved in the last few years, we continue to accumulate it, as if it bolts our feet to the planet.

We went to church on Sunday and felt completely at home. Warm fuzzies for good friends. Warm fuzzies for the stained glass windows, the pipe organ, that tree in the front, the leaves.

Warm fuzzies for the cemetery where we walked out that summer day like a village. Warm fuzzies in Sunday School class with the fireplace. Home.

Tom enjoys strolling to Backer's Bakery for his almond pastry or to the Lion House to take shots of the hardy Hollyhocks behind the green iron fence.

I walked upstairs to the Black Sheep Wool Company and found that they not only have a schedule of lessons but have master knitters waiting to help you on Sunday afternoons from two to four. I have known how to knit forever, but the details of finishing have escaped me over the long years since I knit Tom a couple of sweaters. I want to learn to knit socks, but I'll start with a muffler and ease my way in.

A light coating of snow this morning. Winter's coming. All is well.