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Yes, folks, I'm alive.
I'm writing this from within the sanctuary of Carterhaugh, my new apartment in Glens Falls, using the DSL that Verizon is finally consenting to let me use. My deepest apologies for not updating sooner, but lordy, kids, has it been the week and a half. Let me see if I can whip through the major bullet points as quickly as possible:
1) The move has happened, with much personal input (read: spine-crushing work) from me. Actually, the hauling of large furniture of five flights of school-grade stairs didn't go quite as nightmarishly as I'd thought it might. Since then, it's been a matter of getting things assembled, which means I've been matching many a Tab A to many a Slot B as of late. There's still a pile of empty cardboard boxes in my living room the size of the Merchandise Mart, but only because the thought of dragging them all down five flights and halfway around the building to the dumpster is not within my definition of Happy Times.
2) What is within my definition of Happy Times, however, is the arrival this past Saturday of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rafaela. Ohhhh, very, very much Happy Times indeed. It's amazing how much of a joyrush it is to sit up and realize that...well, she's actually, truly here, y'know? It's also amazing how easily we've fallen into this domestic mode we've found ourselves in: going grocery shopping, cooking, just spending time together... *happy sigh* I could definitely get used to this. (Have I mentioned lately how absolutely nuts I am about her?)
3) Many—dare I say, most—of you won't understand how life-event-quality cool this is even if I try to explain, so I'll just say this straight out and let those of you who'd be impressed be impressed: we saw John Renbourn and Jacqui McShee at Caffe Lena on Sunday, sitting a scarce 25 feet away from the stage. "The Trees They Do Grow High," "Watch the Stars," "My Johnny Was a Shoemaker," "Cruel Mother," a finale of "Cruel Sister" (you may have heardrafaela squeal with rapture from where you're sitting), an encore of "Turn Your Money Green," et al, ad infinitum. It gets better: we met them after the show, and they signed my copy of the Pentangle's Sweet Child. Oh, dear gods, yes! We thanked them for all they've done, and told them that they were indirectly responsible for us meeting each other. When we got out of the cafe, she and I had to sit down on a bench to stop ourselves from bouncing up and down and screaming.
4) I got to spend some wonderful time with the wee ones, and took them to the Living Earth Festival at Crandall Park, where Abbey got her face painted, and Nik got his sandals redecorated when he stepped into the duck pond mud up to his knees. I had no problem with that, except for the "Daddy, carry me!" part.
Much more to say, many more stories to be told. Life has somehow, somehow turned sweet. It sneaks up on me every time.
I'm writing this from within the sanctuary of Carterhaugh, my new apartment in Glens Falls, using the DSL that Verizon is finally consenting to let me use. My deepest apologies for not updating sooner, but lordy, kids, has it been the week and a half. Let me see if I can whip through the major bullet points as quickly as possible:
1) The move has happened, with much personal input (read: spine-crushing work) from me. Actually, the hauling of large furniture of five flights of school-grade stairs didn't go quite as nightmarishly as I'd thought it might. Since then, it's been a matter of getting things assembled, which means I've been matching many a Tab A to many a Slot B as of late. There's still a pile of empty cardboard boxes in my living room the size of the Merchandise Mart, but only because the thought of dragging them all down five flights and halfway around the building to the dumpster is not within my definition of Happy Times.
2) What is within my definition of Happy Times, however, is the arrival this past Saturday of
rafaela. Ohhhh, very, very much Happy Times indeed. It's amazing how much of a joyrush it is to sit up and realize that...well, she's actually, truly here, y'know? It's also amazing how easily we've fallen into this domestic mode we've found ourselves in: going grocery shopping, cooking, just spending time together... *happy sigh* I could definitely get used to this. (Have I mentioned lately how absolutely nuts I am about her?)3) Many—dare I say, most—of you won't understand how life-event-quality cool this is even if I try to explain, so I'll just say this straight out and let those of you who'd be impressed be impressed: we saw John Renbourn and Jacqui McShee at Caffe Lena on Sunday, sitting a scarce 25 feet away from the stage. "The Trees They Do Grow High," "Watch the Stars," "My Johnny Was a Shoemaker," "Cruel Mother," a finale of "Cruel Sister" (you may have heard
rafaela squeal with rapture from where you're sitting), an encore of "Turn Your Money Green," et al, ad infinitum. It gets better: we met them after the show, and they signed my copy of the Pentangle's Sweet Child. Oh, dear gods, yes! We thanked them for all they've done, and told them that they were indirectly responsible for us meeting each other. When we got out of the cafe, she and I had to sit down on a bench to stop ourselves from bouncing up and down and screaming.4) I got to spend some wonderful time with the wee ones, and took them to the Living Earth Festival at Crandall Park, where Abbey got her face painted, and Nik got his sandals redecorated when he stepped into the duck pond mud up to his knees. I had no problem with that, except for the "Daddy, carry me!" part.
Much more to say, many more stories to be told. Life has somehow, somehow turned sweet. It sneaks up on me every time.
