Mr. Hall loves the flighty Mrs. Hall

Good morning campers!!!

Did everyone remember to set their clocks back? What? That was yesterday???

Why didn't anyone remind me? I figured it out though, after I started making breakfast for the wee Pancake. An hour early. She got to go back to bed. I can't get back to sleep so I'm writing this instead. :)



I am a flighty bird. Especially when I am the throws of moving into my new house. Oh Glory Day!!

This weekend, Mr. Hall and I removed copious amount of storage items from the storage sheds. He then busied himself with strapping things down to his handy dandy trailer. He adores that trailer and I must say, it is a very excellent one. Either way, it was a bit chillsters out and strapping things down is something I don't need to help with. So I stepped into the sun, closed my eyes and wandered off in my mind.

About five minutes later Mr. Hall says, "WHAT are you looking at?? What are you doing with you hands?"

I said, "I was on the beach at St. Tropez. Lounging in a beach chair, feeling the slightest cool breeze. I wasn't looking at anything, my eyes are closed while I soaked up the sun. Can you smell the sea salt? I am wearing my cutest bikini and listening to the waves of the ocean.", I motioned over to the highway. "Can you smell the coconut from our pina colodas? There right here, in my hands. I ordered you one." I held out my hand and indeed, Mr. Hall came over and reached for one.

So we stood in our fall jackets, all full of dust, cobwebs and moving, and he closed his eyes. And for a few minutes, we were on the beach.

Take care everyone and may you be moved where ever you wish :)

Where the deer and the antelope play

I am a romantic. I can wax poetic about anything. Really, I can call out the beauty of a ham sand which, polyester or tuft of hair in the shower drain. What is even easier to romanticize is the the place where I am. It is easy to wax poetic about the place where I am now; because I know it will be the place where I've been.

The place I am now is walking the wee Pancake to the grocery store. It is two blocks away from home. She talks endlessly about all things most important to a five year old. What color her favorite flower is, what color her favorite tree is, her shiny new sandals, "Aren't they pretty Mama, can I wear them to school?" And we hold hands and talk about what she wants her birthday cake to be, chocolate or strawberry. It is gorgeous outside. Movie gorgeous. Warm and syrupy. Not quite dusk, but sunset light all the same.

And I get all misty for being able to walk two blocks to the grocery store. All sad because we will be moving to the country soon. And I get all sad, knowing that we have certain things we do here, where we are now. Certain places we go and know exactly what to expect. We know who will be there and what we will order. We know where the good parks are, the one with the best slide and the local house cat who always stops by for a pet. The cat that will lay there and tolerate the most roughest of grabby toddler grabs. And it never bites or hisses, it just reluctantly moves on to the next kid.

Where we are now, will be where we have been. It wasn't our choice to be here in the first place. But we call it home now. But home is a fluid and finite thing. The only permanence is us, the Family Hall.

It is the oddest sensation. It is like having my belly filled with ice chips and my jet pack roaring to life, all at the same time.

More on the jet pack later.