Thanksgiving

It has been said that I’m a neat freak; couple that with a shard of OCD (I select one green bean at a time at the grocery), and you have me mopping the kitchen floor around 11pm, like I was last night.

Matt and I are in our new place, and although it’s a mite more snug, we love it. There are dark, hardwood floors (a Swiffer…I get to use a Swiffer!), crown molding, and any quirk one would expect to find in a place built in 1914. Each night we unpack boxes, and we’re slowly making our way to finding the box that holds the remote control (Matt’s OCD begins here – he’s a man, after all).

Sure, there was a gas leak that Matt and his mom detected, but it’s charming, I think.

The best part about moving is the joy of purging. I think we’re now on the Salvation Army’s Christmas card list. It’s a time to ask oneself: Do I really need my album collection anymore? (mostly hand-me-downs from my sister, but there are some good oldschool Fleetwood Mac recordings in there).

Between computers, scanners, TVs, printers, iPods, Mp3 players, speakers, wires, cords and my very-expensive-and-I-can’t-wait-to-get-rid-of-it stereo, there is little room left for the couch.

The first night there I made macaroni and cheese; it was all I could find in the wreckage. I felt very “Barefoot in the Park” when I said, “Come and get your hot meal!”

Last night we ate in the dining room, and this weekend we’re shopping for a Christmas tree…the Charlie Brown kind that we can squeeze into a corner.

I’m blessed; on that note, Happy Thanksgiving!