Tonight we’ll spend our first night in our new house. It’s still got that surreal feeling—that sense of unfamiliarity, unreality. A fair amount of the furniture is in, but there are boxes everywhere. The cable is hooked up, and we spent part of the evening collapsed in front of mindless TV (still trying to sort out the cable modem portion of it). Things are still new: we can’t automatically swing around corners, or reach for this object or that. When Ken’s upstairs and he calls to me, I can barely hear him. But I know he’s there.

There’s so much to talk about that I can’t seem to figure out how to distill it down here. About the dining room table and chairs that Donna, the seller, bought for us. About Deborah, her niece, who’s renting the apartment (and thinks the house is happy that we’re here). About Egann, who cheerfully and (mostly) tirelessly hauled things, and Brian who was exhausted from an overnight flight but still lugged things hither and yon, and who, along with Morgana, put up with us (when we breezed through between Colorado and Oregon and now) and fed us and have always been friends. About ugly turquoise carpet in my office/library that will soon be a thing of shuddering memory. Of walk-in closets that are small rooms in themselves. Of Ken carrying me over the threshold late tonight.

So I’ll just say that we’re home. There’s so much left to do, so much ahead. But it’s home.