Good Saturday morning! The cat is still on medium-high alert, but he is eating upstairs this morning. The weather is humid again; I seem to have moved to some sort of swamp. Perhaps this is the town's way of welcoming new persons. One morning, great things did happen on the third day. However, for me the third morning is not enough to judge the town's climate. Speaking of historical undertakings, in the days of the horse culture among the Plains Indians, a tribe could be packed up and underway in as little as a half hour or so. Today, we have advanced so far that any move of a modest household is a major undertaking requiring weeks of work. The best thing about moving is to sell all of your heavy stuff at a yard sale, and then laugh when someone else has to move it to another town. I just wish that I had come to that wisdom before I moved all that heavy stuff. Good news, I found the missing shelves late in the evening, then promptly chipped one placing it back in the cabinet.
Unpacking holds a compulsion for me that is difficult to shake. Everything simply must be put back in place as quickly as possible in these new quarters. Although I realize that any house on this earth is only a temporary assignment at best, I still tend to become attached to home. Hard moments include watching my friends in Christ drive back to Sidney on Wednesday evening, while I drove the other way. I moved only about 45 miles east, but still far enough to feel the sting of separation. One day, we won't have to endure great or small separations ever again. Praise God for the coming day!
Bucky
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