I wish I had something pithy or even vaguely witty to write. Only more boxes to unload, and not even the interesting ones.

The kitchen is done, except for one carton labelled “cast iron” that I found lurking in the garage today. What I still can’t find is (a) my makeup, including my tweezers, and (b) my jewelry. I am more disturbed about the former than the latter.

The computer is operational, but not connected to the net. So I’m still writing with my thumbs!

We have now been here almost two weeks, long enough to have an opinion. Which is: I really like the inside of the house. I’m less than thrilled with the outside and the neighborhood. It never occurred to me that I would be living in a sea of houses. Or that they would all be various shades of brown. Or that there don’t seem to be people living in them. It’s kind of like a Stepford Street–sterile perfection.