This morning I was writing to Susan about how much I've been wanting to be at the mini-farm. Most evenings, I drive back to Seattle for one thing or another, acupuncture, Hugo House meetings, camera class, dark room time, but most of all, packing. It seems like I'm always loading boxes into my car right around sunset, sometimes remembering to make one last trip into the apartment for a popsicle to eat on the drive, sometimes not. No matter how much I've done that day, though, I am always happy to do the hour drive back to Bow, where I end up standing in the kitchen, eating slices of watermelon with Tom for the last hour I have of the day before sleep. When I come home, Emmy gets so excited her whole body wags and her teeth chatter. It's nice to have a dog love you.
Tomorrow is the very last day of the Queenview. Five years wrapping up in a whirl of dust bunnies and fragile champagne coupes and old issues of Domino used as packing material. Then it's Lindsey's wedding that evening, and a drive home to the mini-farm afterwards. Sometimes it's very convenient to be someone who never drinks. Then it's Sunday, and for once, there are no plans for anyone to come over, or for us to do any chores. Maybe by the end of the day I'll know the answer to the question, When was the last time I sat down with a book?