So I moved into my new Victorian flat in Alameda today. A friend in need is a friend indeed; of all the people I know in the Bay Area, just one came to help me. Someone I hadn't even met in person, too. She helped out a lot and as a result of that and some amazing yard sale luck, all flat occupants have something to sleep on tonight. I found some lavender wildflowers in the backyard, in addition to the pumpkins already growing there, and spotted several patches of vibrant clover. People who had to go around Jen's car to continue walking on the sidewalk were friendly about it, some even chatted, and a frail elderly man, when I apologized, said, "I can't help you, but I gonna make sure you get it down okay." Guess he was going to call for help if the mattress fell on us as we slid it down from the car. Driving 880 with a huge mattress and box springs on top was quite an experience, but we did it, even roped the stuff onto the car ourselves; two women who never did learn knots in Girl Scouts. Had the first hot home-cooked meal I've had since the end of May. It wasn't fancy, but it was good, and we ate it in our new home. And I've been wanting a shawl to put over my arms (it gets chilly here)--I got a large pure silk scarf at an estate sale: beautiful, perfect and cheap. I got to have a delightful conversation with Jen. We talked about friends and lovers and life and Weird Al and Jen's lovely Mackintosh Art Nouveau tattoo and motorcycles and Starrynight. It was nice to talk to someone besides my flatmate, with whom I've been on the road for seven weeks. Jen even offered me a job if the museum one doesn't work out.

There's not really a point here. It was just a day unimportant to anyone but myself, full of tiny triumphs and small pleasures. It was a very good day. Here's to the next year, in the House with the Disappearing Stairs.