We spent the weekend packing 45 years' worth of stuff (minus the junk, the furniture I sold to/left for David, and the things that just wouldn't fit in the moving truck) into a U-Haul (which got stuck in a ditch next to an on-ramp of I-95, in a snowstorm, on the way to Millinocket, and got tugged out by a tow truck driver with the last name of Doyle, no relation to me, after one of Maine's finest threatened to tow it to an impound yard); driving said U-haul 145 miles south; and emptying its contents into our completely disorganized, too-full house. Dennis, of course, (who worked like a superhero to get it all done), may disagree with me about leaving the junk behind. Note Medusa, that crazy contraption from my Mom's old beauty shop.
Here are the goods, in the former living room (affectionately referred to as "the mold room" for months now). Maybe someday our house will look like any other, but then again, it is orange, so maybe not.
Oh, one more thing: after writing that post, I have a sudden desire to read some Faulkner. Interesting, that.