Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

At least, that is what I *think* it's called. Bum bum. Bahdadadadadah. Da da da da da da.

It always reminds me first of Susan Sarandon in the Witches of Eastwick, encouraging her students to let the music 'tickle, tickle tickle' them. Then I remember music appreciation class in college, the semester of my hell week in sorority pledging. My pledge sister and me in our cardinal and straw with our pledge pins on, listening to classical music and desperately trying to stay awake; extremely grateful for the chance to just sit in class and not run the risk of offending a sister.

Plus ça change.

Night Owl

I will admit that the world looks pretty and sparkly at O'dark-thirty in the morning, but it is equally sparkly and pretty at the much more reasonable hour of -- oh, let's say anything before 2 AM.

I can count on one hand the number of sunrises I've seen. Alright, it might take two hands but that's *it*. The number of sunsets is uncountable, so much so that I don't consider a vacation complete unless I have photographed at least one sunset. So when I see a sunrise it is notable and usually associated with some Event: a long trip (driving to Christmas at Grandma's), a death (my Mother's), a birth (Pippa's).

Today's sunrise viewing will herald the start of our relocation to London.

How fitting.

Adages are adages because they fit

Our house has never looked this good. Well - maybe right before the movers brought our crap inside, but with actual people living inside? NotSoMuch. I want to live in this house.

I can actually sit in any room in the house right now and breathe comfortably because there is no clutter and there is blank space to rest my eyes. Of course the real trick to this whole moving house thing will be to dump half our shit before the movers come and keep shit out of the new place.

George Carlin? Such a prophet.

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