The problem with writing to you is that I have to think of something to say. My life is currently subsumed by trying to move. So I write down my hopes, and then I tell you they've been dashed. I write about my trees, and then I tell you that someone is likely to cut them down. I feel like middle-aged Rapunzel--still stuck in the tower but with her hair sheared off and her exhausted old prince asleep at the bottom of a well.
I realize that, in the larger scheme of fate, the attempt to shift from one place to another is a non-story. Other people seem to do it without difficulty. But that is not the case with our move.
We will end up somewhere, but at this point I do myself damage by any public hoping. Middle-aged Rapunzel is a bad gig. It also makes a boring story.
So I am going to take a hiatus from writing these notes to you. I can't imagine you're enjoying them anyway. I'll try to be back in a few days, or a week. Love to you all.