The Last Box

Well, I have officially unpacked the last box. Now, there are some caveats to that statement:

First, there are still four boxes that have not been unpacked in the craft room, but I know what is in them. In fact, one of them is the box that sat in the office in New Mexico for the entire two years we lived there and it never got unpacked. It has all the stuff for our family genealogy in it. I fully intend to put it all in the family tree, but it is one of those things that is a great black hole of free time. Now that we are unpacked though, I should have lots more free time, in theory. That is, if I ever manage to get rid of the stack of papers that has been piling up since we went to get our stuff from New Mexico. I've just been piling all of it -school info, bills, et cetera into a pile, and now it's out of control - a full fledged hot spot, in Flylady parlance. Only good things can happen from dealing with that pile - I know there's at least $1000 of checks I need to deposit in there, I'd have everything on the calendar and a clue as to what's going on, but still, I'm afraid. Fear or not, that's my duty for today. . . The Pile.

Second, we still have to deal with all the stuff that is in our garage. I can pull my van (carefully) into the garage, but Jerry's car is still out in the driveway. Why? Because this house is smaller than the last, and because we aren't unpacking all the tchotsky for this temporary home, we have a boatload (or garage load, as the case may be) of stuff that will be going into storage. Once all that is gone from the garage (and the craft room) We'll be fully settled into the new abode.

Our final problem with the rent house seems to have been solved - we slept an entire night last night without hearing one noise from our nocturnal squatter in the attic. Our possum is gone! The handyman came and removed a soffit vent the night before, and we heard him escape with a THUD. I guess being trapped for a week was more than he bargained for, because he didn't come back, and we closed up the vent. Thus ends the saga of the possum.