Moving some more. Again.

Bradford, Maine, day 9. I’ve been tip-toeing and trying not to hurt feeling with my blog. But that’s not me. This is the truth, nothing but the truth. I’m a Band-Aid ripper. I’m a ‘sure let’s get a tattoo’ person. But you knew that already, right?

We are staying in a primitive cabin in Bradford, Maine currently. The deal to buy a house in Winterport just didn’t shake out. I was there today packing a few things, and dropping our adult-son off who still stays there—our long-suffering middle child. He really did suffer. And is now living with a life-long disability. But more on that later.

The camp was full of junk and loose strings of silky cobwebs. Overstuffed armchairs that had sat for years were home to families of little mice—and good for them. A futon that was inconceivably uncomfortable. And lots of condoms. I guess it’s good to be prepared. So there was some serious cleaning to be done.

We are the kind of people that can see through all those things. That’s how we bought our last two houses, which were a lot of work. Work is something that we aren’t afraid of. Kevin and I work wonderfully together, in literally all environments and situations.

Now we are working together to lug water from the stream nearby and give Chippy his best life. Those are the important things, right?

I’ll circle back.

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