While walking downtown to check the mail the other day, I noticed some awesome vintage cars. Blabberon chronicles shopping carts…I apparently am destined to track the population of beautiful old cars. I’ve noticed that there are often one or two in the Skunk Train parking lot, especially on the weekends, and I suspect that the owners probably come up in convoy. Whatever the reason for it, I love seeing a lineup of old cars gleaming with loving care.

Often, the cars are beautifully restored, and it’s obvious that the owners love them very much and handle them with kid gloves. These paint jobs looked fresh, with beautiful polished fittings and gleaming hubs. I swear to Pete, if I didn’t know better, I would have thought these cars were brand new. I would really love to get a peek under the hood someday, but I never seem to spot an owner with an old car, and I’m not about to charge up and start poking around. Although it’s tempting.

These two cars looked a lot alike from behind, so I swept around front to check out the scene. It took some close examination for me to see the differences—but the front view really show what different cars they are. I also checked the backseat for rum runners, just because these seemed like those kind of cars. I didn’t spot any, but here’s a back view of the Graham:

Look at those curves! Amazing.

These beautiful vintage cars make me wonder about the cars around us today. Most cars seem so clunky and ugly, I can’t imagine people collecting them and lavishing attention on them. Of course, given how shoddy car construction is these days, I’m not sure any late twentieth century cars will be around in 70 years to restore, even if people want them. Whereas these vintage beauties will probably still be purring.

I think I might be suffering from car envy. I don’t even really want a car, but some of these vehicles are mighty sexy; and they probably require a huge time commitment. When I’m old and retired…

While I was lounging on the porch reading a cheesy novel today, the phone rang, and it turned out to be one of my friends from the East Bay, so I answered it.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I’m in Fort Bragg,” she announced gleefully.

As indeed she was. I really like being surprised by visits from friends, especially those who live far-ish away, since it’s more exciting. First we went and wandered around Understuff while she looked at panties. (By the way, my plus size readers, I discovered the perfect bra there recently. It’s the Natori Sport and although it’s allegedly a sports bra, it’s an all around comfortable bra which feels like not wearing a bra at all. When you’ve got big gazongas, that’s saying something.)

We also took her dog, Milo, to Jughandle, and we romped around with him. Milo is kind of like the canid version of Loki, and the two in fact look quite alike. Loki puffed up like a well leavened bread dough when he saw Milo romping around in the yard, so I doubt that he would appreciate the comparison. At any rate, Milo doesn’t like water nearly as much as Loki does, so he was a bit bitter about wading in the stream with us. I haven’t been to Jughandle in quite a while, and I forgot how infested with tourists it gets. Milo seemed to enjoy himself, though. He’s a pretty good kid, for a dog.

Upon our return to Fort Bragg, we went for a tub at the spa and then headed upstairs to the Bistro. On our way up we ran into another friend, whom we gangpressed into joining us, and we had a romping meal talking about Harry Potter and fan fiction. Alas, no beignets on the menu, to my bitter disappointment. But there was some awesome steak tartare, and we also enjoyed scallops with a warm creamy corn sauce, and seared tombo tuna. I like corn. I’ve been on a corn kick this week, starting with corn chowder on Wednesday. Mmm. Corn. We followed with some sorbet and a choice cookie experience. Choice.

I also ran into one of Mr. Bell’s favourite people, Dr. Jordan, along with his wife Dr. Leslie. They were enjoying an evening off as well as some Bistro food. Summertime is danger time for pets, so the clinic has apparently been hopping. Remember, kids, don’t leave pets (or children) in cars unattended, and keep dogs on leash, since dogfights can rack up major vet bills!

All in all, an awesome day. I love it when a day goes from ordinary lounging to extraordinary romping. Now I’m all tuckered out, though!

Last night we went to Big River and built a bonfire, because Tristan said that was what he wanted to do. First we went to Portuguese beach and grabbed some poles, because Tristan wanted to construct a sweat lodge on the beach. We carried large poles up the cliff in the dark. It was dark, and the poles were large, if I haven’t mentioned that. By the time we were done, I was plumb tuckered, I tell you what. My legs had gone all collywobbly.

I actually managed to construct a pretty sweet fire using the embers from someone else’s. I was very proud of my fire, since I built it with small sticks and scrap wood, as Big River has been pretty well stripped of timber.

Then, Sven showed up with some Veuve Clicquot, and we all sat around the fire drinking it out of plastic cups. You think I jest, but here’s a sampling of those present, enjoying their red party cups:

Veuve Clicquot is pretty awesome. I can get behind it, as a beverage. It was very dry and foamy and delicious, in a way that most of the cheap California sparkling wine I have had is not. I don’t think I would drink Veuve all the time, unless I made a lot more money than I do, but it was a really nice treat. And appropriate for toasting a friend who is moving away, I think.

Here’s the start of the sweat, which I popped into in an early stage and christened the “slime lodge,” because I couldn’t breathe in the humidity and my ass kept bumping into the slimy, cold tarp. As you can tell, I didn’t enjoy it very much. But that’s ok, because Tristan did, and I lounged by the fire throwing sticks at it while he did.

Alas, as often happens with bonfires on the beach, I went to sleep rather late, only to be woken at an hour I would rather not discuss by the delivery of a propane tank and the destruction of the other half of my garden.

We went on a quest for a new swimming hole yesterday.

It didn’t start out that way. Initially, our plan was to go to our conventional lazy swimming hole along the Navarro, since we (ok, I) didn’t feel like hiking to our other favorite spot. First, of course, we had to wander around Harvest collecting snacks, and Sven picked out an awesome watermelon, using his unique powers of watermelon selection to zone in on the best one. Next, we headed out to the river.

Unfortunately for us, someone else was already at our swimming spot, which was a little strange, since it’s not very well known. Since we don’t really like to share and we were up for an adventure, we quested further down the road in search of a swimming hole I remembered from my youth. We actually looked for it once already this summer, but a familiar landmark had disappeared, so we were unsuccessful.

This time, however, our mission was meant to be. We traipsed down a short path to find ourselves balancing on some very large logs next to invitingly deep water and across from a sunny sand bank. We promptly stripped, so as not to get our clothing wet, and we ferried all of our goods across so that we could lie in the sun eating avocado and goat cheese on Bruce Bread olive rolls. Sven busted open the watermelon and we devoured the sweet, crispy flesh in between handfuls of cherries, spitting the pits into the bushes behind us and wondering if cherry trees would appear. (Verdict: no.)

Later I tried jumping off the logs, and I found it quite satisfactory.

Unfortunately, the wind came up in the later part of the afternoon, which made being on land slightly less pleasant. I think that on a perfectly still sunny day this spot would be ideal, and it may become my new favorite. Especially if we put in a zip line so we can soar across the river to the opposite bank. Oh, yes.

There are few things I like more than spending a good chunk of an afternoon at the river with friends. Especially on Sundays, when my self-imposed work week looms early the next morning. Well, early as in whenever I wake up, but still. My carefree hours are waning to a close on Sundays, and I like to do something fun rather than skulking about in dread of the next day. I’m also very glad that I came home when I did, as it allows me to spend time with Tristan before he leaves for Chicago. As he himself said while we were sitting on the bank drinking black raspberry soda: “Everybody knows Mendo summers are awesome.”

Indeed, they are.

Yesterday, I finally took the advice of several individuals (who were presumably tired of hearing me complaining) and I purchased a set of ear plugs in festive neon colors. The purchase was precipitated by a fear of what usually happens on Monday mornings.

It starts at around 5:00 AM, when the garbage truck goes by for the first time. Despite the fact that there are only two sets of cans in close proximity to my bedroom, the garbage men somehow manage to dump approximately 12 garbage cans before driving off. A little bit later, another truck comes by to pick up the recycling, which they throw in piece by piece, presumably sorting the single stream recycling cans. Let me stress that the garbage truck parks directly next to my bedroom, so close that I can smell the banana peels as I lie seething in bed.

At around 7:00 AM, the starlings start. First, it’s just gentle peeping, and then it is followed by full bore shrieking for food, which sets the roosters (roosters?!*) next door off. I am determined to continue sleeping, however, and I burrow sulkily into the covers.

Then, at 8:00 AM, they start working on the house next door, dropping iron weights through sheets of plywood and methodically placing one nail for every inch of surface, to make sure that the house is structurally sound. I finally give up and roll out of bed, grumbling softly since I went to bed about five hours ago, and I stumble into the kitchen to make tea, tripping over a cat who is manically demanding food.

It is a great irony that it is noisier in Fort Bragg than it was in San Francisco.

So, anyway, I got earplugs. I do not set much store in ear plugs, so I prepared to be colored unimpressed. Last night, I followed the directions carefully, inserting the earplugs and gloomily watching them pop back out, perfectly illustrating the “NO!” caption on the ear plug packaging. I finally settled for holding them in for five minutes while the foam expanded, and then stealthily removing my finger.

My first assessment was that despite the 32 decibel rating, I could essentially hear everything. I heard cats meowing, I heard the toilet running (again, damn it), I heard the starlings making restless peeping noise as they slept. Ah well, I thought, this will make an amusing story the next time people tell me to “stop complaining and buy ear plugs already!” So I settled off to sleep, with an unusual and strange feeling in my ears.

I woke up briefly at around 5:30, when I vaguely heard rattling noises, and Loki stepped on my bladder. I realized that the recycling had been picked up. I couldn’t hear starlings at all, and when I finally got up at nine and pulled the ear plugs out, I could hear construction going on full bore next door, as it obviously had been since 8. My ears may have felt odd, but oh, it was worth it. I can sleep during the week at last!

*Yes, my neighbors have roosters. I actually checked the municipal code, because I was curious, and discovered that you are allowed to keep chickens, as long as they don’t cause a nuisance. I rather like chickens, so I don’t really care. For those of you who feel differently about your chicken keeping neighbors: “…provided, however, that if such animals cause a nuisance by reason of their numbers, noise or odor, such a nuisance may be cited as an infraction or abated by civil suit.” (Ord. 520 §11, 1979.)

I just returned from a night out in Albion, which was excellent. Today in general, in fact, was excellent.

I woke up at around 10 to discover that it was sunny and warm, so I ate fruit from the farmers’ market and read The Last Madam on the deck while drinking orange pekoe tea. I settled down to work for a few hours and then Baxt came over. I made Michael’s awesome goat cheese pasta* for lunch, and we ambled over to the coffeehouse, where I saw a cluster of old friends, some of whom are visiting from far away. I also ran into my father, who rarely ventures into the Headlands, so that was awesome. We played several brisk rounds of ratfuck, a Coffeehouse tradition, before ambling down the street to the new Japanese place for dinner.

I will say this…the service was indifferent, the decor was awful, and the food was extremely slow to come out of the kitchen, but my spicy tuna roll was awesome. I actually ordered an eel roll, not a spicy tuna roll, but it’s cool. It turned out to be delicious, and made with really choice tuna. I don’t think I’ll make a regular habit of going there, but I have a sense that I will be eating there again, which is more than I can say for some other places around town. Probably will be ordering to go in the future. But that tuna roll, oh yes, it was good. I also saw Dr. Jordan there, but he looked like he was eating out with Dr. Dowd, so I didn’t bother them.

Replete with dinner, we ambled out to Albion, where we invented a new kind of double solitaire and I kicked ass at Spades (final score: 600/120/0). We waited for the hot tub to warm and talked about nothing in particular, and I felt rather happy to be alive, so replete and joyous in the moment, just being. Once it got nice and toasty, we all piled into the wood fired hot tub under the stars, and sat in companionable silence, sometimes muttering things. A few shooting stars streaked across the heavens while we sat. It was…amazing. I had missed nature, the dark, rows of trees standing dark and menacing against a sky so filled with stars that it almost hurt. I can see why Juliet wanted to cut Romeo up into little stars, looking at a night sky like that. I could see the Milky Way winding its way between crisp constellations, and I marveled at the size of the universe.

“So many stars,” K said. “We don’t have those back in Pittsburgh.”

“Well, I suppose you do,” I said, “but you couldn’t see them. San Francisco was like that. I had forgotten what the night sky really looked like.”

I remembered going to the Eastern side of the Island, where it was marginally darker, to watch for shooting stars one night with Cap’n Boysenberry. The Bay was inky dark, slapping lightly against the rocks, and we sat and watched until we felt cold and cramped. I thought about how much I missed Albion, clear dark night and hot tub and friends, and I wanted to hug everyone suddenly, but I was too lazy to move.

Back in the house, we lounged in towels with the music on low and talked about the meaning of life, and I was happy to bask in the meaning of my own life, friendship, happiness, love. I know I say this every day, but it never gets any less true: I am so happy to be home.

*Michael’s Awesome Goat Cheese Pasta:

Boil water for pasta. I made rice pasta, because Laurel is gluten intolerant. You can make any kind you want, though.

Slice up a portobello mushroom, and saute in plenty of olive oil and butter. Take the mushroom out, and throw a sliced leek into the pan, along with garlic. Let the leek and garlic start to caramelize, and then add zuccini, sliced bell pepper, and any other veggies that seem appropriate. Also add a pinch of chopped fresh dill, along with red pepper flakes. Cook until soft, before adding a small amount of sherry to deglaze the pan, along with vegetable or meat stock, and toss the mushroom back in. Simmer while the pasta cooks. At the last minute, add an obscene amount of goat cheese and blend, creating a runny cheese sauce with yummy veggies in it. Add more finely chopped dill. Drain pasta. Toss pasta with olive oil and butter. Add goat cheese/veggie combo, along with more olive oil and a dash of balsamic vinegar. Toss to coat, serve individually, allow diners to salt and pepper to taste. It will taste like spring exploding in your mouth. Mmm. Spring. Did I mentioned I got peas at the farmers’ market again? Well, I did, and I am eating some right now, and they are awesome.

The walking Fort Bragg blog inspired me to do a little wandering of my own. It was sunny, sort of, and in the spirit of Google Streetview, I thought I ought to present Fort Bragg in a falsely sunny light, to make it seem even more excellent than it already is.

Every day, I wake up and brew a cup of tea before I decide what I’m going to do, and in what order. (During the week, planning is simplified by the need to work, of course.) Since it was sunny in the morning, I hit the deck, like any self respecting sun starved resident of Fort Bragg.

Those are the branches of the walnut tree on the Northern end of my deck. They need to be trimmed a bit, since they are stretching long tentacles downwards in an attempt to take over the world.

That’s the weird fruit tree next to my deck. Can anyone figure out what it is? Here’s a closeup of the fruit:

You can also see one of my Japanese maples in the background in the first shot, along with the dead clematis. I’ve been leaving it up to make a screen between my house and the main house, but I really need some totally sweet kick ass vine to plant and run wild there, since the screen of dead twigs look isn’t too appealing.

I think that Loki and Mr. Bell look like a Dorothea Lange picture here, all 1930s Depression row house desperate. The execrable lace curtain is a legacy from the previous tenant. None of my sweet hipster curtains fit there, so I’m leaving it up for now.

I decided to do my errandy type things earlier in the morning, to get them over with. Unfortunately, this decision coincided with the Skunk Train’s departure for nowhere is particular.

Look at that majestic example of locomotive power, folks. Usually they run the steam train on Wednesdays, and it is far more impressive. I guess they didn’t have enough folks to merit busting out the 38 this time around, though I’ll try to get a picture of it in the future. I have a train fetish. Funny story about the Skunk Train, when I was in kindergarten, there was a class trip, but I couldn’t go because I had chicken pox. That’s about it. I guess that’s not actually all that funny, is it?

Anyway, while I was waiting for the train I took a shot of the trainyard. You can take the girl out of the derelict former industrial space, but you can’t take the…

A good chunk of that is actually Georgia Pacific land. Beyond that, the sea.

This is my local meatery. They are totally awesome. I didn’t actually need any meat today, but I wanted to put a picture of Roundman’s Smoke House up anyway, just because. They make turducken sausage, which is quite possibly one of the coolest things ever. Also, since their website is coy about it, here are their hours, for anyone who is wondering:

Monday-Friday: 9-5:30, Saturday 10-5:30, and Sunday 10-3.

I wandered up Laurel Street, which is my second home, to check in on Headlands:

I always pop in to see if there’s anyone I know, any news which needs to be had, or barbecued tofu to be eaten. Sadly, negative on all three, so I traipsed onwards to drop in on my old landlords to say hello. On the way, I took this photograph of Franklin Street all torn up:

I was going to document the entirety of the horror, but I got bored fast. Just multiply that by about six blocks.

I also ran by the post office. I tried to photograph my post office box in the postal ghetto, but my cell phone camera was not up to the task. Also, there was no mail, so it was not very exciting. I don’t really know why I have not gotten any forwarded mail yet. Should I be concerned?

Going further South, almost to the end of my territory, I went into Down Home Foods to get some baking soda.

Down Home Foods is a small natural foods store which has a lot of useful stuff. However, you should check expiration dates on stuff when you buy there, because sometimes they forget to pull things. This almost caused a quiche disaster once, so I always confirm freshness now.

Home again. See the Japanese maple and the walnut tentacles? I even looked for naked people to spice up my Fort Bragg quickie streetview, but nothing doing. Sorry, guys.

I had three goals for today, outside of work:

1. Drop off my mountain of dry cleaning.
2. Go to Albion.
3. Do the laundry.

I managed to accomplish one of them, which is, I suppose, saying something.

The dry cleaning had become rather an issue. The thing is, and some of you may be horrified to hear this, I am really lazy about dry cleaning clothing. I tend to wear wool sweaters and slacks, er, well past expiration date. I mean, it’s not that they get to a state of bad smell, just that they are not as fresh and crisp as they ought to be, really. And they smell rather like me. I think I smell ok, most of the time, but wet wool and me can be a heady combination. So anyway, I had a stack of sweaters and slacks which really needed to be dry cleaned sitting in my closet in San Francisco, and the thought of lugging it all into the City and finding a dry cleaner had just been too much for me. Especially since the weather had been unseasonably warm and nice, thus making me feel really silly for even thinking of cleaning wool garments. Although the time to do it is when the weather is nice, so that it is ready when you need it.

So anyway, I brought this pile of exhausted wool clothing up with me, and I sort of wore one of the sweaters the other night, because it was freezing, and I decided that I really needed to just do it, drop it off and get this ball rolling on the whole dry cleaning thing. So I bagged it all up today and traipsed to the dry cleaner.

Only…it was raining. Not too much, not like a deluge, but raining. So I got soaked through and I was cross because of the pits of gravel and dirt where the sidewalk used to be, and I skidded through the door of the dry cleaner and tried not to look cross as I stacked the pile on the counter. And the nice lady took it from me and started logging it all in and said “Friday good for you,” and I said “yes,” and she handed me the slip, and I wandered out the door, and halfway through the block I realized that all I had was the tag, with a number, and how would they know it was me, and what if someone stole the tag and then went in and tried to steal my clothes, and then my favourite pants which I hemmed by hand would be gone, and I would be so bitterly sad.

But when I pulled the tag out, it turned out she had written my name on the top. So there you go, that’s what living in a small town is like. I probably hadn’t been in there in 10 months and she still knew who I was, and, get this, also knew my phone number, because that was in the line below it. My question is whether she really does have an encyclopedic memory of every customer by sight (or pants, or maybe smell), or if there’s something about me that she just remembers. Creepy.

About the Albion thing, I really wanted to do it, but suddenly it was nine o’clock, and then ten, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to organize a ride, and since I don’t have a car, that was pretty much out. Hopefully I will get to see my friends there before they skip town on Sunday. Proposals have been made for a river trip, although the weather is hampering things.

As for the laundry…well…I got really spoiled having a washer and dryer in the house, right there, ready for action. It was just so damn convenient, you know, everything all downstairs so I could just toss things in. Now, I have to drag things to the laundrymat. I have been going to Lucy’s since I was a wee lass, but the laundrymat has certainly fallen on hard times. Half the dryers don’t work, the prices keep climbing, and it’s very sad, desperate, depressing, even. And there are all these weird smelly people, and people insist on smoking outside the door, and it’s really not a very pleasant experience, all told. Was Lucy’s cleaner and nicer when I was a child, or was I just oblivious? So the thought of loading up a backpack and traipsing there in the rain was just too much for me to even begin to ponder. Tomorrow, perhaps. Assuming it’s not raining. Which it probably will be.

It would be pretty awesome to have fresh clean sheets, though. (Never fear, dear readers, my approach to sheets is not like dry cleaning clothing. I wash my sheets around once a week, as a general rule. But clean sheets are the best, all tight and pulled down and crispy detergent fresh.)

If my house was any larger, I would shoehorn a washer and dryer in here. I don’t care that there’s no hookup. I would create one using rubber bands, a plunger, and six hair pins.

Today was the first day at the river, since I don’t have internet yet and I cannot do anything productive as a result.

We cruised out to Navarro, which is not yet blooming, for the afternoon. It was pretty awesome. A little more chilly than I would have liked, which is partially my fault for dawdling when we should have been taking action, but it was nice to lie in the sand, drink beer, and dabble toes in the water. I went in a couple of times, just to say that I did, but the water was fairly cold and there was a stiff breeze, so I didn’t spend very much time submerged. The point, really, was to be there. The first day at the river always feels like the first real day of summer to me.

Tomorrow, I hope to accomplish much. Perhaps I will even end the day with internet of my very own, so that I can stop stealing moments here and there, like a thief in the night.

I have stolen a few moments of painful dialup to post a brief update about my day, dear readers, because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being lonely of a Saturday. Today I went on all sorts of adventures, but the best was a Shabbat dinner.

I have, you see, returned home, to Fort Bragg, rather suddenly, and I am faced with all sorts of chaos for the next month or so. I am staying with my father temporarily while I look for a new home, and trying to work, and trying to sort out things down South. This is a most excellent and great change, and I may more go more in-depth about it later, but right now it is very, very stressful. (So…by the way…if any of my local readers know of anything, well, one bedroomish for under $1,000, please write me: meloukhia at gmail dot com. I would say call me, but I don’t want my phone number all over the Internet. But those of you who know who I am can look up my father’s number in the phone book. Two bedrooms would be even better. I would also like a garden, a unicorn, and world peace. I happen to be an excellent tenant, and I will never move. Ever. Again. So, you know, once you rent to me, you don’t have to worry about anything until I die or something. Also, somehow, I am making an astonishing amount of money at the moment, so, you know, no worries on the rent. And I have good references. Anyway, back to regular broadcasting.)

When I got things more or less squared away for the afternoon, I called friends to let them know that I was back in town, and that excellent things needed to happen, and they started happening. The last few months have been really difficult for me, and I have learned a lot of things about people that I used to respect and care for deeply, so it was really wonderful to be warmly received here by people who really do care about me, and value my friendship. I am not bitter about any of the things that have happened, and I am almost glad that they did happen, but I was feeling rather like Ariadne on the rocks. So it was really awesome to be scooped up and reminded of how excellent people can be, when they put their minds to it. Which is how I got invited to a Shabbat dinner.

It wasn’t precisely a Shabbat dinner, because most of the people were not Jewish, but it is a regular event held on Fridays, and wine and bread are blessed. So it’s a Shabbat. Anyway, after a rather hectic day, I headed over to Caspar in the afternoon to meet Brendan and an assortment of other people. The house where we were, oddly enough, is a house that I lived in very briefly as a young child, so that was kind of a trip. Brendan assured me that I would be welcome, and I was a little nervous at first about barging into someone else’s Shabbat dinner, but I should have had no worries.

Brendan and I went for a walk on the Headlands before ambling back to work on food and socialize. I breathed the fresh air deeply through my nose, which was not clogged with snot and grime for the first time in months. I felt…clean, and happy.

It was a splendid evening. I didn’t actually know most of the people there, but I felt very welcomed, like a part of a big joyous family. All sorts of delicious food was made and we sat down and the Shabbat candles were lit, the wine was blessed, and the delicious vegan challah was blessed as well before we dug in to a great meal. It was a great assortment of folks, one of whom was new to the area altogether, and everyone seemed to be having fun. It reminded me of a bittersweet dinner party among friends that happened a little over three months ago, when things were very different. How suddenly things can change, eh?

I feel sort of drifting and braindead right now, so it was really nice to sit down among loving people, relax, and not think about all of the things that are going on. I may have bills due, I may need to desperately find a house, and I may be fairly cut off, telecommunications wise, but it was good to be reminded that I do have friends, and that I can make more friends. I felt like tonight’s dinner was the beginning of a long association with wonderful, awesome people, and I am really looking forward to where it’s going next. Already, it is promised that I will be taught how to surf (finally, hooray!) Schemes were made for going to the river while we ate vegan cupcakes and good music played softly on the stereo while we groaned on the furniture. This, gentle readers, is why I came home.

And I do I feel like I am home again, after an extended tour of battle. I may feel somewhat adrift and lost, but I was made so instantly welcome by people who don’t know me at all that my faith in the world, and in people, is beginning to be restored. If I can be so graciously and lovingly welcomed into somone’s home…there is hope. All is not, in fact, lost, and that is a pretty excellent thing.

People I love whom I also saw today: 6 (including Brendan, Haddock, and the Sardine).
New people I would like to know more about met today: 8
Houses looked at today: 2
Houses rented today: 0

My troubles are over, and now I am at home.