Yes, I am in the back of a police car here.  You can see bars on the window (you can actually see them better in the reflection on the left side of the photo).
I was thrilled.
I think--I hope--this is the only time in my life that I will get to ride in a police car.  So why was I happy?  Because they were rescuing us.  Me and my buddy K.  We had set out that morning to drive to CT for a meeting of rug hookers at a good friend's house.  While leaving Boston we hit a pothole on the Mass Turnpike and shredded the tire on my friend's car.  Argh!!!  Nasty.

We limped along on the Pike with hazard lights on and got off at the next exit, which was close, fortunately.  I'll spare you the details of a long and somewhat harrowing wait for help (over an hour).  The tow truck driver couldn't take 2 people in his truck, so a kindly policeman agreed to ferry us to the garage, and did. 

I was in the side of the police car that was apparently for the hardened criminals--no door handle, bars on the windows, hard plastic seat (the better to hose off easily in case of unmentionable disgusting substances produced by anyone sitting there).  My friend K was in the opposite seat; her door had a handle and her window had no bars on it.  Between us (and also between us and the front seat) was a barrier of clear plexiglass, undoubtedly bullet-proof. 

I was so interested to see what all this was like!  It was the ONLY good thing about this adventure, trust me.  Of course I couldn't keep my mouth shut and told the kind officer that he was giving two hookers a ride.  Perhaps that is why I ended up on the "wrong side" of the back seat?  I wish you could have seen his face, until I explained I was referring to rug hooking. 

I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  The short ride was mind-bogglingly uncomfortable as we bounced up and down over every tiny bump.  Those hard-plastic seats are really torture.

I totally loved my ride in the Paddy Wagon.

After which we got the repair done and proceeded to CT.  We had to--we were bringing lunch.  We got to stay for only 3 hours before we had to go home, and had a great time as always, but I was so disappointed because we usually stay all day and the setting is absolutely gorgeous.  Oh well, another time.

Yesterday I was able to move out of my studio here, with the help of a very kind friend, and bring it 90 miles west to my new home.  We couldn't quite get everything in, but here is all that's left:

It will be a cinch to move these final things and I can just put them in my car.





Here is the most recent picture from my room-packing exploits:

Not too much left besides the kitchen, some clothing, and odds and ends.  It's all beginning to become real.  I'm curious to see what the next month brings, and how I will react to it.  Which reminds me:  it's time to meditate.

So here is why I haven't been blogging, and won't be able to blog much for awhile.
This.....................................................................................................and this:

O, mama!  My aching back.  Truthfully, my back is fine--a major miracle--but my knees are killing me.  Each day I set a goal of how much to get done, and so far so good.  But wow, is there a long way to go. 

It's bad.  But oddly, it's not quite as bad as I'd feared.

The plus side is that I'm finding lots of buried treasure.

-- A memorial journal to a beloved friend (pictured) who died many years ago.   I haven't seen it for years and it has a number of great photos and stories--I'll have to get it back into circulation with her other friends, who are all still special much-loved people in my life.
--Several notebooks with tarot notes I wrote back in the 1970s. 
-- Random photos popping up, small glimpses of a former life. 
-- Books I no longer need and can let go of (hurrah!), and wonderful "old-friend-books" I haven't seen in a long time. 

So far I have resisted taking the time to dive into the buried treasure, but tonight I  plan on indulging myself, going thru the memorial journal and looking through those 40 year old notes on tarot. 

“It's easier to die than to move ... at least for the Other Side you don't need trunks.”
― Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose