In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.
Alive, thanks to the patient ministrations of the lovely Khristian Weeks. I was totally fine, and then I wasn’t.
Still, I lost probably the nicest day here in terms of weather, and that sucks.
We manage to make it out to pay our property taxes in the drizzly wet day, ironically the warmest since we have been here. Saint John has not put on her most dazzling coat in the rain. There are still slabs of salt-filled ice six inches thick and a foot or more wide acting as ramps from the street to the sidewalk. Picking up dog shit seems to be against the law here (Khristian calls them canine fecal sculptures), and I will never complain about the occasional pile in a tree well in Baltimore again.
Regardless of weather, it is sad to leave this place, although I think we are ready to come home, given what we can’t really do right now on our property due to lingering illness and weather.
No pictures accompany this short missive today, and fewer pictures in general, I have noticed. It is odd that I take fewer pictures since my sojourn from Instagram. I just don’t see the point, necessarily. You take pictures to share, or to keep a record, and I have no need for either of those things right now.
Things are shifting. I have not figured out how just yet, but they are.