I love shopping for houses. Let me rephrase…I LOVE LOVE LOVE shopping for houses. There’s something about treading through a place and imagining your story taking place there. Every home brings with it a new life, a new day, a new set of patterns. And you also get to look at how creative some people are, and how crazy other people are. Like the guy who put a full bathroom in an attic crawl space, or the older gentleman who had a true man cave in a strange room above his garage with a sign that said “Keep Out”. But alas after all the joy of voyeuring my way around town, inevitably it comes time to actually move. And I HATE moving. At the ripe old age of 29 I have now moved 13 times. That does not include the shifts to new dorms or the rental house my parents briefly stopped in on their way here. Nor does it include my summer in Choteau, MT or the basement of my uncle’s house in Bozeman (twice). I HATE moving. At the end of a loooong, tedious day and with all family emotions stretched taunt, we managed to stuff my life into the back of a tiny U-Haul, my Subaru and the Toyota. In my defense my Subaru is primarily holding the bounty of a Pig of Success, and my newly donated (thanks Moll) futon cushion. So here it is…my life in boxes and photos…but wait…what’s that?? Squeezed in that tiny, foot high space of the Subaru? I left that clear so I could see out the rear view mirror. What is THAT???
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