Knock, knock...

A favorite old joke: knock, knock. Who's there? Banana. Knock, knock. Who's there? Banana. (are we having fun yet?) Knock, knock. Who's there? Orange. Orange who? Orange you glad I didn't say "banana"?

Well, lately my life has been sort of like that joke. Wake, wake. What's there? Packing. Wake, wake. What's there? Packing. Wake, wake. What's there? Didn't. Didn't what? Didn't you want to get up and do some more packing?

This routine of packing but not moving is really making me see-saw about my daily existence. I'm not quite sure whether I want it to slow down or speed up. The pace is pretty steady...like the termites, remember? Similarly, the "damage" is still rather under the surface. Behind the doors and drawers it's pretty much empty, but the boxes, stacks and rubbish resulting from all this sorting and short-term storage make the house appear more, not less lived-in. Still, it's kinda nice to have an excuse to pile all those tax files and children's school folders into spanking-new boxes marked "files - N.O." Don't have to think about those for a few months, the theory being I will be so ecstatic about the new abode it will be (almost) a pleasure to sort and re-file my past, reminscing and sipping a medium-bodied Syrah while the ferry horn announces another crossing, just beyond the levee. Imagination, don't fail me now!!!