I’ve moved and everything and nothing is happening. Nothing that doesn’t happen to others, and everything upside-down. Many good experiences with lots of scary feelings thrown in. Also a ton of adult decisions, some with heavy implications, such as cutting down trees, and some that are simple delights, such as choosing a location for my studio desk, and picking out trim for the top of the porch posts.

The cats have settled right in, which I take as a seal of approval.

It feels so much like Fall. The air is cool, with a crisp feeling to it. There’s that happy/sad feeling when I pull on a long-sleeved shirt. So it feels appropriate that I’m making little red leaves to go with this guy, soon to be winging their way to Texas.

There’s lots to do in the city to get ready for the big move so this week we whipped up to the house for a quick 24 hours to meet with the contractor and do a little maintenance and tidying.

M decided that the time had come for tackling his “white whale” project – taking down the flagpole. It’s been bugging him with its brazen rustiness and he wanted it gone.

Armed with WD40 and wrenches he set to it. Surprisingly the bolts gave way quite easily. He came in to get the hammer and I followed him back out to document the process.

Feeling confident.

All business.

It’s going well…

When I saw this expression on his face and his arms shaking I worried I was photographing his demise and yelled “D’you need some help?!!” but he was much too focused to hear me. (This is the picture that’s been cracking us up for days. But only because he was not crushed by the pole.)

Success in sight.

I’m still flirting with the idea of flying the Scottish flag (this one, or maybe this one) while M just wanted the flagpole gone so the compromise was to take it down and store it for possible future rehabilitation. The only space long enough was the 2nd floor of the barn which required some leverage,

and more help from me than it would appear from this picture.

All done.

I’m thinking a planter or some shrubs would be good where the base is. That’s if M doesn’t take it out with some dynamite while I’m not looking.

It started to rain on my way home but I had my umbrella. Once I was on the bus it began to pour down. I thought about the idea of letting myself be bored so instead of reading I watched the pattern of the water on the windows, and noticed how people were standing under awnings, waiting for the rain to pass. I saw 3 dogs tied up outside a store and they were doing the same thing as the people, staying close to the building. One of them looked up at the sky as if he was trying to guess when it would stop.

The rain seemed to make people friendlier, hanging out together when normally they’d be rushing along alone. Then the sun broke through and the light was extremely white and reflected off all the shiny wetness so that people looked like silhouettes walking down the street. It was so beautiful.

This guy was hanging out on my back step. I left the door open for the longest time, afraid to smoosh him. The eye spots are wild. Anyone know who s/he is?

Rose rightly identified it in her comment as an Eyed Click Beetle. See more information here, and here including, “In hot weather, they are prone to enter people’s houses at night if entries or windows are left opened.”

This one did not “click”, although we did find it upside-down later on, so perhaps it clicked when we weren’t looking.

I’ve started packing, which always takes me down memory lane.

Phyllis and Margaret were my grandmother’s cousins – seen here circa 1919. I think it was 1990 when they moved to a nursing facility, after living independently in their little house in Edinburgh became too challenging. They were both in their 90s.

I had just moved to my first apartment and was given a gorgeous set of maple bedroom furniture from their home, and a lot of household stuff no one else wanted. The furniture is still in Scotland but some of the smaller items ended up coming to America with me, including this bread bin from their kitchen.

And this little leather briefcase, now falling apart.

I keep my stash of most treasured vintage fabric and lace scraps in in.

I want to take all the lace out to play but I need to shove it back in there for now. It deserves way more respect and attention. Maybe at the new house I can frame some of it.

Ack! Days and days go by with no word from me here.

Truth be told I’m barely holding on to all the threads of my life, it’s so abundant. I’m driving back and forth from city to country, welcoming visitors, weeding and mulching, cleaning, finding contractors, applying to craft shows, filling jewelry orders, and packing and getting ready to move again. I know everyone is busy and I’m tired of using that old complaint so I’ll just say that it’s unlikely I’m going to be “keeping up” here this summer. I’ll try to drop by with some words and pictures when I have a computer handy. Please bear with me through another transition.

The former owners left me some treasures they found while working on the house, and I’ve been discovering others, like this little wasp nest tumbled from the side door frame.

And when I set out to weed the old compost heap it led me to weeding in front of the barn door and then to picking up pieces of broken glass and plastic, which led back to the heap where I sorted and picked a whole lot of plastic and found a rich mix of treasures such as these:

Doesn’t everyone need a plastic three-headed monster? I know I do.

These were the daylilies by the barn last Saturday.

Who knows how they’ll look this afternoon when I see them again. It’s a strange thing to be walking through muggy New York streets while in my head I’m walking the yard, thinking about the smell of the white clover taking over the lawn, wondering if I should do as Crockett says and break up the daylilies this fall since they are only sparsely in bloom.

Somehow I don’t think that when I’m at the house this weekend I’ll be thinking about the crowds of NYU students on Union Square, the bus driver swearing at the minivan that cut him off, or the general abundance of filthy concrete. Now why is that?