I don't use the word often - it smacks of far too much religiosity for me - but well, sniff, sniff, um, sniff....

I'm sitting in the wheelchair at the computer desk which is now in the second bedroom which, as anyone who's visited Hedgehog Haven (aka Hamster Hill, aka Chez Roscoe aka Fill In Yours Here) knows, has always been far too much storage dump and far too little useful room.

When Stu got his writing job at Collecting Channel, he deliberately - and very smartly - set up the back room as an office. It's always been useful for storage, mostly for our excess books, but he was so aware that just crossing a threshold and going a few feet makes a psychological as well as physical difference. And because of phone lines and all that complication, that's where the computer's been ever since. It was nice having Stu home but not home during that time, and I seldom went into "work" except on occasion to suggest I go out to Romio's and get us an eggplant parmesan sub.

Except that well, I started finding the walk to be an issue, even when it was a few yards. There were nights I stayed too long in the room because I lacked the ability to get out of the chair easily. But, oh. there was so much that had to be done in this room and it didn't get done for a long time for all sorts of reasons.

This weekend it got done. The secretary is now over yonder - and I can use it from the wheelchair as well. The computer desk was rolled into here, all the things unplugged and re-plugged, and i don't have to switch to an office chair to work. I don't have to worry about not being able to get up. I don't have to waste heat in the overstuffed back room (still full of books and our very cute flip-out red sofa - hey now we can have overnight guests again and we won't worry about the sofabed and the wheelchair (anyone see a children's story in that title?)

We've got stuff still to do - getting that bookcase we've had in the garage for what, a year? back in shape and transferring all my sale/swap stuff onto THAT so i don't have to use the brick and board in the back room, where stuff is piled in a very fey fashion. And I need more light here, and gotta figure out where those go but oh my gods.

It's warm, it's comfortable, the room is usable now, my Bergeron painting is back on the wall and i can actually See It Every Day (it's my one Big Deal piece of sf art, the original art that was used for the hardcover of James Tiptree, Jr's Brightness Falls from the Air. Jesus, it's gorgeous.

And getting to the door will be easy. and getting out of the room will be easy. And really really really starting to play with beads over on the secretary will be easy.

I was hugely teary yesterday as this all came into being. Stu spent hours on this. The Great and Wonderful Glenn Hackney came over to help. Then he went home to get some scraps of wood to deal with the fact that the back wheels of the desk were farblunget. And came back In The Snow (see uphill, both ways, barefoot) with his friendship, four bags of the Sunday NYT (yay, Laura's story's gotta be in there somewhere!) his exacting eye and dammit there I go again.. sniff.

Okay, I do admit to being a wee tad short with him after he came back to the house and I said "Glenn, in it snowing?" and his "yes, don't you think it's beautiful" and I might have, maybe, a wee little tad, taken his head off with my response of just a bit. I know it's supposed to end but folks? It wasn't supposed to accumulate to the extent of that many inches and goddamit anyway. And that SUCKS about Bill Richardson dammit, just sucks.

Oh and did I mention the heat works in this room? Did I mention that we recently learned that one of the living room baseboard heaters did not work? And that we have no idea how long it's been that way? possibly a year or more? But it too was fixed, replaced on Saturday and I think we already feel the difference.

And no I don't have to go out today and that white shit should be gone soon. Today I plan to sit here and try to work, when, that is, and only when I finish all my coffee and make a dent in something like five months' worth of Sunday New York Times which might take a good part of the day. Oh yeah, and making stuffed cabbage.

And I love my friend Glenn and i love my Stu and sniffle, honk, sniff.