moving on

 Welcome to Forest Street. The first minivanload came in before yesterday's close, and several more thereafter. The movers come—tomorrow?—and presumably the rest will be rattling around in a much bigger space. And The Dog, who has been terrified of the activity will be able to settle down. They FaceTimed me the first-floor room designated for me and other aging guests. Adjoining bath that adjoins the kitchen. Convenient. It's killin' me that I'm not there—I love moving. But that seems to be heritable: They go in for new digs fairly frequently, this being the third house (not including land and  tiny house) they've bought. I'll try to get up there with the Welcome Wagon next week.