Moving: All boxes are mostly unpacked, or out of sight, with the exception of MY clothes. I find this quite telling as to what motherhood can mean for someone once obsessed with her closet. Forget your own stuff. It will sit in boxes for months, quite possibly 12 months. Unpacking will happen only as you realize you've washed everyone else's clothes before your own and now you have to open a box to find something clean, but very wrinkled, to wear.
But it doesn't fit because your boobs are still to big and you haven't unpacked the junk in your trunk.
Neighborhood: Drugs. They might have been fun at one time, but now they're just annoying. We have two major drug depots on each side of our block. To the west we have pot, to the south west we have crack in addition to people clearly not taking their AIDS cocktails, and shootings--there was one last week.
Inside of the house: I love love love this house.
Inside of the the inside of the house: we could quite possibly have ghosts. Remember the boots they found in the lath and plaster? Well, inside of these was a death notice. This note was revealed to me a few days before moving in, only after the person who found the boots was confident I didn't believed in ghosts. I guess I said I didn't.
Business: I'm not sure what happened. Maybe advertising is paying off or it's blind luck, but I'm at the point where I'm going to have to turn away business or be very 'exclusive' with my bookings. Kinda of cool but also kinda of bad because it means time away from the boy (not only shooting but the time it takes to post-process) and that makes me feel really bad.
That's a good enough update, right? more and photos of the new / old(1905) digs later.
The Husband has been good at keeping the internet abreast to the recents: See his posts here